Arcalian

Once upon a time Leo was writing a story called "Bethphel's Diary." It ended with the death of the protagonist. I remonstrated wtih him, and he invited me to write my own story at the Attic instead.

At first, this was a rich, rewarding experience. At first, I thought my story, with it's essentially evil protagonist, would be dark and brooding and cutting edge. At first, I thought I was part of this community of writers, that I was amongst like minded people whom I could trust, and who could trust me.

What a naieve fool I was.

One by one, other writers on the site that I thought I could trust did things that made no sense to me. Laufey created Evil!Aerie. Weyoun incorporated an Evil!Ellesime into his story. Silrana killed Anomen. On and on I went. Worse and worse it got.

Then Ananke came. And her story was interesting. I ignored the death of the rightful protagonist. I followed the Sarevok-Imoen banter with interest. I watched with fascination as things progressed.

When Edwin froze Imoen and prepared to kill her, I knew it was time to leave the Attic. But, fool that I am, when I got on today to post my intention to leave, I read her next chapter.

She didn't do what I thought she would do. She did something entirely worse. I didn't even beleive that was possible.

I should have left a long time ago. I could delete all this and stay, merely posting my own stories. But what would be the point? Only a handful read them anyway. And less than that ever bother to reply.

I'll try to explain something here, before I go away. I beleive in the happy ending, what some dissmissively call the "Hollywood" ending, for a very simple, straightforward reason: Real life provides tragedy enough. More than enough. I came to fiction to get away from that, not increase it.

I was going to private messae Dorotea, and ask her to email me when she puts up new chapters of Bitter Gray Ashes, but what would be the point? I know it will end badly.

Go ahead and respond to this, as none have to my stories for years now. Go ahead and debate wether my tone was merely rude or outright flamebaiting. Go ahead and chide me for my behavior. Go ahead and say I should know better than to throw such a hissy fit. Who knows, some of you might even support my position to some extent.

I won't ready any of the replies. I'm not coming back here again.

Goodbye.

....the very old "Faerunimaniacs!" post/filk/pastiche?

I can't seem to find it.

Adrian's Scream did nothing to harm Golodon, but it disrupted his spell nicely. He drew his glowing green blade and marched in, meaning to cut the mage's head off.

But Golodon stepped back from his strike, a confident sneer on his face, and snapped his fingers. More orange-band dopplegangers seemed to come out of the walls. He ducked back from Adrian's next swing and began to cast again.

Tree moved to help Adrian against the mage; the others turned to aid the purple-band Dopplegangers against the orange-band mirrorkin. Frennendan led this charge, black eyes wide with unfathomable rage.

For so long, he and the few others of his kind hiding in their enclave had been afraid of this place; only to find their masters enslaved in turn by another. Frennendan had worked with humans and often pretended to be one; it was his life and nature. But that the overlords of his own kind should kneel, willing or no, to a human master filled him with an outrage not unlike that of a relgigious person who witnesses their holy symbols being defiled.

Not that he was particularly willing to be siding with the purple band dopplegangers either; this was for them purely a political dispute. Those that won would still with to enslave him. He never would be at home here.

Tree and Adrian focused on Golodon. Adrian could do nothing more than disrupt the man's spellcastings. But Tree vaulted over and planted her boots on the man's head.

He stumbled back but would not go down. Now Adrian slashed into him, again and again, but there was no sign of blood. Nor was it mirror images; his blade was connecting with something solid.

"I have mastered the magic of surezanity and immortality, and know secrets previously known only to the Liches, as I tried to say before," Golodon boasted, sending arcs of energy at them. "That is why I am the Unmanned!"

Adrian freed Jan and Dradeel as Tree continued to duel the foe.

"Can you drain him of his powers, Tree?" he asked her.

"If I'm understanding him right, doing that would enable him to posess me." Tree shouted back.

"Wise, she-creature," Golodon taunted. "But I will still triumph."

"No, you're just an idiot," Adrian said.

Tree knew what was coming and ducked as Adrian's crossbow bolt burned past and slammed into Golodon's face. Still he did not fall, but Jan and Dradeel blasted him with power and he fell backwards.

"Don't kill, just knock him out, or he'll escape again," Jan said.

"Escape?" Adrian frowned.

"Death is no prison for him, he'll just move on to a new host, like a Lich with a glass jar, as he boasted," Dradeel explained. We need to pin him in this body before we kill him. We need Edwin over here now, probably Viconia too."

Golodon struggled but Jan, Tree and Dradeel kept him down. Adrian stalked off into the battle for his lover and the Thayvian.

From Waterdeep to Nashkel.

From Neverwinter to Luskan.

From a ship on the high seas to the blistering desert.

From the heart of the Black Network to the doorstep of a Harper hold.

"And the rivers run red!" Montaron cried.

Again, again, agian.

And they always did.

There were stronger warriors than Montaron. There were faster ones, more cunning ones.

But for sheer malicious viciousness, he had it. No Bhaalspawn could match him in that department, as Sarevok found out in the elder city below Baldur's Gate.

Korgan would have liked him.

A shame they never met.

At least not in this world.

Another rogue down. And another.

A crossbow bolt burned past her shoulder. She ducked, spun, and struck again, taking the shooter out at the ankles. He fell on her; angrily she shoved him away.

A mage stepped through the doorway, casting as she came. Valen moved in a blur of speed, tackling her and bringing her down. She could not break the mage's stoneskin protection, but she did a fine job of disrupting her casting.

Other thieves came at her with blades drawn, she slashed and whirled through them.

The mage had sat up and was casting again. Valen lunged for her....to late.

A chromatic orb slammed into her. Her new nature helped; instead of stunning or crippling her, it only made her wince and hiss in pain. Then she closed the gap and grabbed the mage's wrists, preventing her from casting again.

More crossbow bolts came arcing down from above. She had to get out of here soon. Her luck would eventually run out. But she couldn't breach the mage's protections.....

...unless, that was, she used her fangs.

Unless she fed.

No. Not yet. I won't do it yet....

So she kept one of the mage's hands pinned, and clamped the other around her throat. She could not choke the mage to death....but she could keep her from casting until the stoneskin expired, and then all bets would be off.

Another crossbow bolt thunked home into the wood beside her. A throwing axe skittered off her armor. She was getting nervous.

It occured to her suddenly that Bhodi was testing not just her abilities, but her worth; there was a very real possibility that she would die here. That would leave her magical armor in the hands of the Shadow Thieves, but she felt sure her Mistress was prepared to write that off. Or have some other spy steal it back for her.

She couldn't be angry at Bhodi for that. At least not today. She had to win. She would survive. She must!

An arrow this time, burning with acid. Her armor absorbed the strike and the corrosive both. But time was now something so urgent it screamed.

The stoneskin faded, and she choked the mage to death.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

She spun on her feet and looked up the stairwell. Renal Bloodscalp was there, readying his own crossbow. And beside him stood another mage. Three guild-sponsored warriors were on the stairs below them.

Time's up.

"Mistress Bhodi sends her greetings. You will never know how badly your organization is compromised until it is too late." She stood, gave a sarcastic bow, and ran for her life.


Renal fired one shot.

Not just a wooden bolt. Nor simply acid, nor even poison. But magically enchanted, with lightning.

It slammed into her shoulder, and her entire body jolted with electricity. She went into a stumbling roll out the front door. The guards drew their blades; she slashed at them absently as she got up, and kept running.

As she fled into the city, Renal reached the door of the guild and fired again; but it went high, over her head, as she fled.

-----

Bhodi wrenched the bolt from her shoulder. Valen grit her fangs against the pain.

"Well done, child. Truly, I am surprised you did not feed; but that will come in time I'm sure."

So, that was the other aspect of the test. Bhodi wanted her to complete the transformation as soon as possible.

But not today. Not today.

"I am going to bed, my pet. I suggest you do as well."

"Gladly, Mistress."