Short Story/Poem Contest

BANG!!! Something hurls itself against the cellar door. Little Johnny launches off his chair. In a panic he slips and slides across the kitchen floor in his socks. "Johnny's got an over active imagination," that's what his parents would say.

"The tavern is no place for little boys to be hanging around after school," Johnny's mom says and orders him home. "I have to work late tonight but your father should be home earlier then normal, the smelt will be shutting down early for repair. Johnny looks at her disappointedly. "Go on," she says. Johnny drops his head and shuffles out the door.

Latter that night mom comes home and finds her husband but no Johnny. "Where's Johnny?" "I though he was with you," dad says. The two go out searching for Johnny. They walk the stone paths. "Something's wrong with that boy," dad says. "He's always off somewhere and he can barely sit still in the kitchen and enjoy a meal with us. He's giving me a complex." "It's not you," mom says. "He's says he hears things. He's just afraid." "That's ridicules," dad says. "I was never afraid at that age."

The village is small and every one knows everyone else so it didn't take long to track Johnny down. He was at the trade office sitting quietly doing his homework. "What are you doing here?" mom asks. "Homework is supposed to be done AT HOME! You had us worried." Johnny looks up and assertively says, "I don't want to be home alone. There are lots of people here and I like that better." "This has got to stop," dad asserts. "And it's going to stop!"

The next day Johnny's dad goes to the village barracks. "I need someone to teach my boy how to have some balls." "You've come to the right place," the drill sergeant says. "I have just the plan."

The two show up at the house. "Where's Johnny?" dad asks. "Up in his room," says mom. Dad hollers up, "Johnny!"... No answer. Dad looks at mom. "He's up there," mom assures. Dad hollers again, "Johnny! There's someone here to see you."... "GET DOWN HERE BOY!!" The drill sergeant barks out. "Don't make me drag you down here boy."

The drill sergeant steers Johnny around through all the areas of the house. They finally get to the door in the kitchen that leads down to the cellar. Johnny reacts violently to the notion of being made to go down.

"I've found the problem," the sergeant says. "Now I'll implement the plan." The sergeant drags little Johnny down the stairs kicking a screaming and locks him in behind the lower door. Mom is very upset by this. "He'll stay down there till he learns there's nothing to be afraid of," says the sergeant. Little Johnny beats and kicks at the door for hours. Dad tries to comfort mom. "This is what he needs. This man's a professional. He's put balls on hundreds of men, he know what he's doing." Suddenly it gets quiet. After some time passes and it's still quiet the sergeant says "Now he's cured."

The three of them go down and opened the door. In the dim light, Johnny can not be seen. They go in and looked around. The many beams cast eerie shadows over the cobwebbed covered shelves that line the walls. Still no sign of Johnny.

Mom and dad continue looking wile the drill sergeant makes a quick trip to the provisions house to get a strong light. When the sergeant gets back he finds mom and dad out in front of the house, mom is freaking out. "What's going on?" asks the sergeant. Dad looks at him with hate in his eyes and motions him to follow.

Down the stairs they go into the cellar. The strong light reveals what they've found. Dad had moved many of the shelves out away from the walls. Tunnels! Behind each shelf is a tunnel. Nemours tunnels leading to and from the house.

The drill sergeant assembles a band of recruits and an extensive search is made. The tunnels make up a huge network that leads to every cellar in the village. Tunnels even lead to the cemetery and the crypts. Little Johnny is never found or seen again.

There was once a great settler who wanted to start a school and a village. He realized that he didn't have a enough pumpkins to buy a school. In his mind he knew he would have to raise pumpkin fields, but this settler was too lazy. He didn't want to go through back breaking work of picking up pumpkins and the economy was in recession. The only last option he thought would be to buy and trade pumpkins. Though in his mind he wanted to have many hard working settlers improve the empire. He forced the leader umpert4 to send his generals to fight the Witch of the swamp to get the loot to buy a pumpkin patch and pumpkins. So he immediately signed up to be a soldier in the Barracks. The army entered the portal with the generals to battle the Witch of the Swamp. But on the way the grim reaper stopped them. The figure moved and caused darkness to fall throughout the portal. He raised a dead arm and wielded an axe and killed the leading general. It said" what is the point of fighting if you are only to lose?". He then wielded his axe and made the army vanish. The next minute the poor soldier settler was tied up and the dark priests all around him cursed the soldier for all eternity. The next minute they vanished him and sent him back to his empire. Many of his other friends thought that he was the only survivor. He was named a hero throughout the empire. And he was granted a school by selling every last thing they had to get a school for this soldier settler. As soon as the settler went to his school, he hallucinated by seeing the grim reaper and his priests torture him and saying "all that lived will so be dead and with that the soldier was decaying and he mutilated himself to be rotten as a zombie. Many of those settler students were forced into becoming a zombie for biting them. The good settlers were frightful as the zombie settlers rose from the school. The ruler umpert4 ordered the zombies to be stopped and destroyed while the new school must be demolished. Then the sun came out and roasted many zombies. As many people thought, the zombies were gone. But the school still remains and settlers that come in, never come out. At night, they walk out of the school and into the open world still. Umpert4 saw this as many settlers were disappearing at night mysteriously. He used a sun buff at night that made them get roasted. But still some survived. Ever since then, the zombies were forced to serve the settlers for 12 hrs (hence the zombie buff). The zombies even though they are serving, are waiting and are planning.

Wheat fields lost on alcoholic beer
Pinewood forests vanish in coal plants
Gloomy music makes it very clear
That economy is seeing slow end.

It's the time to send Grim Reaper out
And to loot adjacent bandit camps.
Let these bandits see what's it about
Let pit their Victors with our champs.

Hundreds dead, but budget goals are met
Storage houses are filling once again
Spreading Liberty and Freedom ain't half-bad
And it real life it works the same.

Halloween is rather state of mind
Than a pumpkin field for extra buffs.
Even though holidays retire
They continue to live in us.

All the Traitors, Outlaws, Knights and Witches
Teach us in realm of Settlers Online
That we don't require excusing speeches
When our mind's set for Pumpkin time!

Samhein post 1 Chapter One

My name is Samhein and I began my life as no more then the child of farmers in a
small village. There was little there but the fields and the mills but in the
distance we could see the houses of the nobles and it had been known to whet an
appetite for adventure in many more then me. Some came back even to own a farm
instead of being mere tenant farmers like my family. We only 'rented' the farm,
living off less then a quarter of it, and the rest of the harvest went back to
the rich owners. Oh how I envied them and it obsessed me until finally I was
fourteen and old enough to enlist.

Life as a mere recruit might seem like nothing to many of you. But I had my
first shoes ever in my life. Farmers usually made due with sandals in the
warmth and in the cold, we had roomier calf high sandals that allowed us to
wrap our legs in rags and tie them about with the leather ties. As a recruit
we had what would be considered ankle boots but they were far better then my
old rags had been. Unlike some of the other recruits lured in from drinking
brew in the tavern, I was there sober the first day I was old enough to enlist.

It was odd to wear a set of clothes that were all new and unpatched too. We
usually might have a new garment made to replace on that had fallen completely
apart, but the rest were in various stages of use and much patched. As farmers
we could not be 'armed' either, though we could have a knife and many of them
were nearly as long as my brand new bronze sword. Still a sword was much
superior to a knife and I felt braver and older with my sword at my side. I
fell in with some other farm boys much like myself and thought myself to be the
king of the world.

Our first forays into battle were with bandits as inexperienced as ourselves
that took up refuge in the farther sectors. Being lucky was the best value
in the first fights until one learned a thing or too. Our drills had perhaps
prepared us a little, but it was one thing to strike a straw man with your
sword and another to fight a raving drunk bandit. I was lucky enough to
survive and first and then smart enough to make use of my lessons. It was
perhaps dangerous seeming to some but a farmers life was not safe as outsiders
might think. Accidents with the sickles in harvest were the worst but one
could often step on a rusty piece of farm equipment or even be savaged by
the pigs.

We were soon back in town with not just our prize money but whatever we had
looted from the bandits. I had even acquired a slightly better pair of boots
that were calf high, though not freestanding as the expensive ones. It still
needed lacing to stay up although it had been well rubbed with fat and shed
water quite well. I had also acquired a leather helmet and a nice water
bag that since we were in town, was filled with brew and not water. Unlike
some I did not go drunk into battle which probably accounted more then anything
else for my continued survival so far.

Flush with prize money we opted to spend our time in town in a room at the
tavern instead of the barracks. There were many such with sets of double
high beds and warm hearth. Four of us went together and got the room and
enjoyed a bit of drinking and boasting at the table next. Since my da had
made his own beer as well I had a harder head then most of the fellows and
sat at the table happily regarding my fortunate affairs as the other three
stumbled to their beds and began to snore. I added some coal to the fire
and then I truly thought myself drunk when I began to hear a high toned
whisper from the fire.

"Beware" it whispered in a voice that sounded like it was in pain. "If you
go unshriven in death, never shall you rest."

I looked around to see which of my friends might be playing a game with me but
they all seemed solidly asleep. More to myself then to anyone else I whispered,
"Even if we are put into a mass grave and burned the priests say the prayers
over us and we can then rest."

The voice, still seeming to come from the coal fire seemed amused, in a painful
sort of way. "Do not trust them in that," it said. "Your leaders are nefarious
in many ways. Beware yourself and keep watch lest you end an unshriven ghost
as is my fate."

I could neither find a friend awake or even possibly formulate an answer so I
simply assumed I was half asleep, half drunk and dreaming. So I took myself
off to the last bunk and it being a nice warm room unlike our drafty barracks
I found myself asleep at once. Only a few strange nightmares haunted me and
they were not bad and when I woke I convinced myself that I had imagined the
whole thing. Indeed we were to be in town for a few more days and for the
next two days the fire did not speak to me at all. A circumstance which I
regarded with happiness for I did not want to think I was going mad.

It was on the third night next that Swooper put coal on the dying fire, the
two of us being the last awake. And again I heard a voice from the fire, though
subtley different from the last. "Take heed," it whispered. "If you go unshriven
to the grave never shall you rest."

Immediately I knew Swooper had heard it for he rounded on me and told me sternly
to stop playing tricks.

"I've done nothing," I protested instantly. "But tell me, did you hear the voice
too?"

It took some time to convince Swooper that I had not made the voice appear to
be coming from the fire by some trick of throwing my voice. Finally I convinced
him that though a town sharp might know such things I was nothing but a farmers
boy. In truth though I actually wished that I might have done the voice for it
was blood curdling thought that the fire should be talking to us. And for all
our gaiety in town it was true that all of us knew that our next mission might
mean our deaths.

It was fortunate that Swooper was much needle-witted and he experimented
putting more coal on the fire. And the voice did then reappear telling us to
beware what followed after our deaths and to be sure a priest might be on hand
to send our souls over to where they were supposed to go. That was bad enough
though a few more drinks gave us enough courage to go on. Again it was Tom's
idea and we dumped the rest of that coal in the corner and then paid the boot
boy to bring us a new batch.

We knew not what they might make of the pile of coal in the corner when we
checked out, but we did not much care. Many such groups such as we broke even
the bunk beds fighting drunk and in comparison we were leaving the place quite
tidy. Though I admit I waiting until no one was watching and took a few pieces
of the coal, wrapping them up in an old rag and putting them at the bottom of
my pack.

There was not much to do since we were moving out in the morning and I dared not
question just anyone about the voices in the coal. At best they would think me
drunk, or perhaps put me in the bedlam house, and possibly thorw me out of the
regiment. I admit that any thing seemed better then to go home and tell them
I could not do my job. Though thinking of home did put me in mind of our priest
back at the farms.

Reverend DXTed was a right man who had always been truthful with us, even when
it went against his safest course. He was always ready to come and face the
worst problems, even when woken in the middle of the night to the news someone
lay now in their deathbed and needed the rituals of the dead to lay their soul
to rest. I knew I could ask him about the voice in the coal, but it would have
to wait until we came home again, if I came home.

It was my last battle on our island that caused me the greatest worry. Cavalry,
very expensive troops and usually of higher estate for they must bring their
own horses were thrown at Mary with no regard. Indeed I heard some of the officers
laughing at what they assumed was their privacy at knowing the whole of the
cavalry would be killed. It was the easy way of them that chilled me to the bone,
never even a pretense that they regretted the losing of so many lives.

My first real suspicions came right on the heels of this. For we commonly dug
graves for about ten men a piece, for it was not so easy to dig a grave for 200
or so. And true I saw the priests saying the rituals over the graves as should
be done, but as I counted the graves it seemed there were too few to account for
even the lost cavalry. In fact I believed I owned my own survival solely to
picking up the iron sword of a dead militia man, and the rest of his better gear
for almost none of us recruits were left after the battle.

In fact if the losses were not so high amongst us all I would never have been
able to 'promote myself' as I had for nearly all the militia were dead as well.
They would have been the ones to know my now dead benefactor but there was no
one left to demur at my assuming his identity and better pay grade. Still I
was very worried at what I saw and I was anxious to get home. Fortunately the
armies were so depleted by the last battle of Tree-Mary that we were given
a few weeks of leave and permission to visit our families. I could not have
been happier.

Chapter Two

My little sisters were so happy to see me they hung about my neck and shoulders
like wolves bringing down prey. I might have been brought down had my Ma not
interceded and chased them off that she might hug me herself. Even Pa
unbent and hugged me strongly and I was treated to more ceremony that I had known
we might put together. My family had seemed somewhat cold when I left but
now I perceived it might have been fear that made them draw back as I left. Fear
that they should never see their son again. And how very near it had come to
that it was true.

Not only did Pa uncork his latest barrel of brew, but one of the older of our
sows children was turned into a nice roast and besides the bread we grew
there were tubers and mushrooms from the forest and cheeses from the goats.
Truly I had no realized my family thought so much of me as to deserve a
welcome such as I got. Even my older brothers who were wont to ignore me as
the youngest, clapped me on the back and made me welcome as an equal at last.
I would have been perfectly happy but for the mystery of the coal.

Although I had arrived late, too late for travel amongst my class where candles
were thought to be expensive, much less oil for lanterns. But after a goodly
time for breakfast our good cleric, DXTed arrived to welcome me home. Of
course Ma insisted on making some more food, and truly we had ham a plenty
from the suckling pig and still plenty left over from last nights dinner. It was
a family affair for a bit and long before I could talk to DXTed without the
others hearing.

When I began my story his face looked sceptical but when I told him of the
second time the coal spoke he began to look grim.

"Where?" I asked him, does the coal come from?"

"Mostly from the mines from the north and east," DXTed told me. "But there
is another source," he said hesitatingly.

"What other source?" I asked him, never having heard of such a thing.

"There are these great workhouses called 'recyclers'," the older cleric told
me slowly. "They make coal, well, its absurd of course, but its said they
make it out of nothing."

A farmers boy had no use for the silliness of townies. "You can't make
something out of nothing," I told him stoutly.

"That is what makes me think that what they do make it out of is something
they do not want known," DXTed told me. "But I am cast into dread at what
you tell me. For we allow all spirits to go to the great BlueByte for
sorting. To stop a soul from seeking this end is an atrocity past thinking
of. True some criminals are so bad they are exiled in life, rapists, murders,
and even those who seek to trade in help chat!" he exclaimed. "But they
must all all go to BlueByte in the end," he insisted, his voice shaky.

Finally I told him of the coal that I had and with excuses to my Ma and Pa
we went off to where his humble abode was. I am not sure what I feared
the most, that the coal would speak or that it would not. Safely ensconced
in DXTed's humble cottage he brought out a brazier of the type meant to warm
the corners of a room which lacked a good fireplace.

Into this I laid out the coal from the bottom of my pack and we then used
some old adventure maps for kindling marked by the name 'Sons of the Veldt'.
As the coal began to take the flame we heard first a long sigh and then
finally some words.

"Oh unhappy spirit am I. For no criminal am I but an honest recruit and now
unshriven I can not seek the peace of Blue Byte but linger in torment here
on this lonely earth."

DXTed blanched at this confirmation of the atrocity and he rapidly brought
out the sacred oil and pouring it on the coal he said the prayers for the dead,
so familiar I could almost repeat them myself. The fire flared up, so much
later then expected from the oil and then we heard a stronger voice.

"Oh happiness and thanks," the voice said. "I see my way to the great peace now.
No more must I haunt the dark places of the night. Now I will rest with my
anscesters. Only be careful that my previous state does not become yours," it
said, and then with an almost exultant breath it said "Home, at last, blessed
home."

It took us a bit of brew to be able to do anything but shiver after this. As
blood began again to move in my body I asked DXTed that if he could perform
the rituals on the coal, that could they not have shriven the coal?"

"My boy," DXTed said. "Look at the brazier."

I looked and immediately saw the coal was out. In fact there was no warmth
there at all and nothing but the dusty powder of burnt coal remained although
there had been no time to burn it all.

"Impossible," I murmured, hoping to myself that I might be right.

"All too possible," DXTed told me. "They need coal to make swords for the
armies to fight. In a way its the most precious thing for the war
effort."

"But how might they make coal out of men's souls?" I asked him.

"I do not think they mean to," DXTed told me. "I have heard rumors that well,
before today I thought were nonsense. But I think they make the coal out
of their bodies and trapping the souls is just an accident. But they will
not then make the rituals for the dead because you see it makes the coal
burn out in moments. And the most dreadful thing is that I do not think
I can completely trust the other BBs, the reverands, with this information.
I fear that some of them must know what they are about."

I nodded only for it was my instincts that made me tell no one but my
families own cleric for the telling of this tale. "They must notice on
the battlefields that there are too few graves for the casualities to be
buried in."

"They might be constrained," DXTed told me. "If they were to 'notice', they
would be sent to the recyclers and could no more do the rituals for the
dead that they can now. Some is always better then none."

"But we are only guessing," I pointed out. "How could I find out?"

"I only know that the recyclers are to the north and west of the Mayors
township. The great place where the noble houses and the provision
house is. In fact the barracks are there so you must have passed
through."

"Passed through is putting it mildly," I told him. "We are sent to the
barracks and while training there, can not leave. Though I do remember
seeing the Mayor's fine mansion there. And its dark as night away
from the houses of the rich. I daresay if I were to dress in dark
clothing I could walk up to them and they would never be aware."

"I wish I could do more," DXTed told me. "It is a terrible risk but if
you were to return and tell me what you saw it may be that I can do
something about the situation. So far all we have is guess work."

"I dont even know how it was that we found the coal. I would have
thought people had heard it before and they would use it only to make
swords and not to heat the inn."

"I suspect they mixed up some of the batches," DXTed admitted. "If
not then many more would have heard the voices of the uneasy dead and
they could not keep it secret."

"It makes me think twice to go back into battle," I told him. "All men
must in time die, but to risk my soul, that is worrysome."

"If you tried to desert though they would hunt you down," DXTed told
me.

"They didn't notice when I made myself militia," I pointed out.

"But you kept your name," DXTed toldme. "Most likely they simply
assumed that you had received a battlefield promotion but the officer
that did it died before writing the papers."

"This is a dark thing," I said bitterly. "I meant only to fight for
our island and not risk my immortal soul."

"You would think they would be grateful," DXTed said. "But the nobles
are not the same as you and I. Beware them always for they do not
either think or feel as plain folk like we do."

"I'll keep an eye on things," I vowed to him. "I will make sure I
get back to you with the information. And to think that finally I
wish that I could read and write."

"Just as well," DXTed told me. "If I were to recieve a letter, well
I think it would draw attention."

"But surely you receive some from the temple?"

"Few," DXTed admitted. "And its obvious when its a temple message.
They use a special paper and a special seal that allows them to not
pay for the postage."

All too soon I was taken back to service for their was an uprising on
an island where some Traitors held the island for their own. Fortunately
I survived that one. And I saw nothing suspicious until the last
battle against the cannon. Then we had many casualties and then I
noticed again that the number of graves was too few.

Before I could make sure of anything else we were called back for
emergency service. Some fool on the island had placed too many wells
in one area instead of spreading them about and had caused the area
to sink and become swampy. I could not believe my good fortune for
the area I was told to scout for swampy leakage was the exact area
where the recyclers were to be found.

The first thing that made me suspicious was basically nothing. The
had three recyclers but during the long days nothing at all was
loaded into them. And there were loading bays, so I knew that it
must be that they would only load them a night, in secret. And no
one would pay the extra wages for labor at night and the extra oil
lamps unless they had very good reason.

I found myself in a quandry. I might go appearing to be drunk and
no one to pay me attention even if they saw me. Or so I hoped at
least. Or if I dressed all in dark colors I would be much less
likely to be seen but if seen it would be obvious I was trying to
do something I should not want to be seen at. I was brave enough
in the ordinary way to risk my life, but to risk my soul, it was
another thing entirely.

I finally dressed in dark clothing and went out after dark to where
I could see the recyclers. I hoped that I would find out that there
was nothing wrong. Better that I be mad then that they were truely
dealing in men's souls. But after many hours of waiting which I
took on hiding in the eaves of a building I did see the wagons draw
up at the recyclers. Wagons that I could smell before I saw them
clearly, for they obviously were filled with the dead.

Chapter Three

I made my way home on shakey legs that would have been better
coordinated had I indeed been drunk. The whole picture was making
itself clear to me. The workers spoke no language I had ever
heard and obviously were used to keep their secret from such as
I. I drank deeply of brew that night but still I slept poorly
and full of nightmares that I was being placed into the recyclers
alive that when I woke I was barely able to move.

To my horror a messenger showed up and gave me an order that my
sergeant had need of me. I barely was able to put on my uniform
while congratulating myself that at least I had removed the dark
smudges on my face before falling into bed. I was torn if I
should flee now, and only the fact that I had nowhere to flee
allowed me to show up and see what they wanted of me.

To my surprise they appeared to know nothing but were instead
promoting me to 'soldier' with the presentation of the coveted
steel sword. I could find no reason for duplicity for it would
have been the easiest thing to have me killed alone in my room.
They told me that we were pulling out immediately to go find a
Witch of the Swamp and I was so happy to be removed from my
current location I was less worried about the distant future
then the immediate present.

I made it through the attack on the Witch of the Swamp. I was
wounded in the arm, and though it was not serious I had a terrible
fever from it and nightmares of the recyclers. It was only the
pain of my wound that I felt all the way through my sleep that
told me that I was alive. But once I got over the fever I
swiftly mended and was ready to be shipped off again.


And then they shipped us off with little rest to Dark Priests. It
made me shudder that the names of the attacks were all spooky
kind of names. It made me ever remembering the recyclers and that
I might lose not just my life but my immortal soul. I had found
no way to let DXTed know of what I found or that he might come to
my aid if something went wrong.

The battle did not go my way this time. I was set upon by three
enemy soldiers and felt a pain in the back of my head and then,
nothing. I awoke, thank BlueByte, in a tent. The cleric there
seemed odd, like he was asking me questions that had another
purpose.

"You were raving about the recylcers," he told me. "An odd fancy,
where did you hear it?"

"Oh I don't know," feigning a casual air made all the more easy
by the weakness in my body. "We used tell stories in the half
light as the fireplaces wound down. Frequently I dream of that
guy from Translyvania and the madman that sewed his companion up
and brought him to life.

"That must have been some time ago," the cleric said wit an
odd expression.

"Oh I only dream like that while running a fever," I told him.

Still he seemed very suspicious of me and pasted on a false
smile. He mixed up a solution of the poppy and gave it to
me for the pain. Fool that I was I drained the cup. Those
were my last coherent thoughts. I dreamed somewhat numbly
of a sea voyage back home. Though the smell around me was
terrible, and seemed to grow worse.

I came too briefly and to my horror I barely made out that I
was in a cart filled high with dead people. With dead troops.
I tried to struggle and to call out that I was awake but the
foriengers carting us paid no attention to my barely audible
voice. I passed out again and came to as the cart had stopped.
And right before me was the recycler!

Desperate now I tried to speak, "No I'm not dead, I'm still
alive."

But the cartmen seemed not to care. They never ceased their
chatter and their jokes as they threw each of us into the
loading baby which held a downward sloping chute. There wasn't
even time to pass out when the crushing started. Somehow
the walls of the room moved in on themselves, crushing us, well
most probably, into coal.

I floated in this terrible state for some time and then
strangely enough I felt myself to be a taven room watching
four recruits play cards and drink. It was too late for me
I knw but I hoped to warn them.

"Good recruits," I spoke respectfully. "Do not lose your
souls unshriven into the grave."

The Battle of the Witch written by Everdean

A musky smell filled the air; Lady Everdean couldn’t think of another way to describe it, other then earthy with an undertone of something bitter or maybe sour. Like the smell of life rotting; draining away, maybe from the lack of sun in the dark Swamp. She wondered what it was that made the sun so rarely shine over the Swamp; she had always been told that the Witch had cast a spell here to keep the Swamp under a constant shroud of darkness. This was not the type of adventure a young woman such as herself should be braving alone, but even though she felt like she was; she was not alone.

They stood now at the base of the mountains, uncertain if she should continue and lead her small group of followers into what could surely mean death for some of them. Sir Mesto interrupted her thoughts by clearing his throat; though he was several feet behind her it gave her chills. He was a warrior, someone who belonged here in the face of danger. Like Sir Nayton, who stood several feet to his left, the two men looked awkward standing next to each other. Each of them trying to keep as far away from the other as possible but still attempting to appear as allies. That was what it was like with officers from ally guilds, neither one them was there for the same reason, but least they were there. She waved the men forward; she knew stalling any longer would create doubt among the ranks and the last thing she needed was less help. Both men shouted a series of commands to the troops behind them as she mounted her horse and prepared to enter what could already be a hopeless cause.

There feet made little to no sound as they pushed there way thought the trees. The moss cushioned their footsteps, and Everdean smiled inwardly; this could be of great advantage to them. The Swamp was alive with sound; the hum of insect wings and water splashing as unknown creatures dove under the oil-like ponds and on occasion the sound of crows calling for each other. The humidity was horrid making loose hair cling to the side of her face inside her helmet, even though it was tied in a long dark braid down her back. As they rode, the smell of rotting became stronger and the more bearable earthy smell seemed to fade away until it was gone completely.

In her mind she thanked the enemy troops. Had they not been so carless about hiding there tracks in the mud, and broken so many branches on there way back to the Tower, her and her troops could have easily gotten lost here. She only hoped it would save them enough time to make a difference, to save there beloved guild leader Lord Uthren. The other knights, Sir Lehabim and Sir Pavy had immediately left to go after the bandits that had ambushed Lord Uthren on his way back to Catan. That had left Sir Mesto and herself the two remaining knights of Catan; to gather troops and allies. All they had been able to find was the settlers of Catan a small army and Sir Nayton who had brought troops from Olympia.

She had just broken formation to check on the well being of troops as a blood curtailing scream rose from the ranks and the sound of war and blades clashing began. She dug in her heels to make her horse move faster, somehow it didn’t seem fast enough. She could feel the other Knights on her flanks as the screams continued. It was that moment she realized they had so carelessly walked right next to there first enemy camp. Brown hooded figures were fleeing toward her, she let out a sigh, there troops could fight! And fight well it seemed. She unsheathed her sword longing for her bow but knowing against the cultists it would be useless.

The first opponent moved toward her, the being was featureless in the brown robe, apart from his missing eyes. He has no eyes only black pit’s where his eyes should have been. His sword was drawn and swinging toward her but she was faster as her blade plunged through his flesh until its hilt hit it body, she was expecting the feel of warm blood around her hands, but there was no blood just black sand that poured from the wound until the being vanished. She turned just in time to see another being coming at her. Everdean ducked down off her horse just in time, and lifted her head to see as Sir Mesto who was now ahead of her as he raised his sword to behead the creature, whose head fell to the ground, as the body continued to run.

Sir Nayton, along with Sir Mesto had accounted for all the troops as the commotion calmed. There had been no time for recuperation not with Lord Uthren’s fate unknown and hanging in the balance. Everdean did not know how much time they would have, would it be days, hours or was he already lost. Mesto and Nayton had now taken the lead, she needed to regain control. She should have been more aware, she shouldn’t have been intercepted, but this was after all her first adventure. She shouldn’t be so hard on herself or that’s what Mesto kept telling her, his concern was admirable.

Sir Nayton had slowed and started talking to her, she would ask a mindless question every now any then to keep his company, like why DEI was inscribed on there troops armour and he explained that DEI is Latin for gods. They were more prepared approaching the second Camp; again it was the hooded cultists and again the managed to fight there way though without loosing a soul. Everdean worried they would not continue to be so lucky. Behind them she could hear Wonko, murmuring about the Cultists and the Witch clearly afraid of what she might do to him. “Uthren is probably soup by this point, the Witch is probably using his bones to pick her teeth” at that Everdean did not slow to reply with “They are only a few hours a head of us, they probably haven’t made it to the tower yet”.

The battles raged on as they fought there way closer to the Witches Tower, they had lost over two hundred men before they reached the stone wall and pillars that marked the entrance to the Tower. Everdean couldn’t help but let her mind wander over the lives of the lost. Smendy had one of the first to go, He had lived in the same village as her, and would wave as the passed each other on there way to the market or wells; Freakesy who had made it to the last camp and met his end against a Shadow sneaker; he never called her by her name alone, he always added darling or delightful to it and he loved everyone enough to freely offer sloppy wet kisses; and Sir Nayton who had sacrificed himself to a camp as a diversion to let the rest of them continue on. She pushed away the thoughts, she was here for a reason, to save Lord Uthren, and she wondered what he would say if he were here now, would he think they were foolish for allowing so many to die in his place. She did not know.

Though all the battles had been hard won she had hated the Shadow sneakers the most, with there black skin and featureless faces, they moved swift like smoke amongst the shadows of the swamp. She could vaguely hear the others talking about the Dark Priest’s and even the Dark High Priest they had just defeated, she wondered if they should all perish at the hands of the Witch. She looked up at the gate now, tired and with a heavy weight on her mind, from those lost. She turned her gaze to Sir Mesto, and realized she had yet to see the knight show emotion since his battle with the Dark High Priest, he had been only slightly injured, no worse then the injuries she herself wore. He seemed somehow distant, eager to push forward into the tower. Without saying a word they followed the path. How anyone could live here was beyond Everdean’s imagination, all the darkness covering the swamp seemed to emanate from the Witch Tower. It had been a day in this dark wasteland and it had made her miss home, the cobble stone streets and wheat fields, she longed for the sight of Catan, for fishing and the sound of the excitement when the explorers found new treasures.

They were at the base of the Tower, and before them the haze cleared and the sun peaked though just enough to see a woman.

Not a hideous woman either, her beauty made Everdeans skin crawl. Everdean reached for him but she was not fast enough, Sir Mesto had walked toward her, got down on one knee and kissed her hand. The shock struck Everdean and she went to stop him as he and the woman vanished and in there place the last line of defence came out of the Tower.

Just as Everdean began to lose hope after watching the Witch take Sir Mesto under enchantment, Sir Pavy and Sir Lehabim emerged from the tress to join in on the final battle. With hope regained Everdean unsheathed her sword and the battle began. Blades crashed all around her with the cries of the injured. She was unaware of how many she killed, but she knew the numbers were great, twisting, and spinning as her blade gutted the Dark Priests and Cultists that came into her path. Until finally the shouts of victory could be heard as the last of the Witches defence met its end. Without a second thought she raced toward the steps of the Tower, climbing them with such force the victory shouts faded in the distance. She was not sure if the men were following her or not, all she knew was that there was no time for celebration.

A light appeared at the top of the stairs.

Everdean slowed now as she crept to the opening. What she saw as she peeked through the door, was Sir Mesto obviously under a spell holding his sword to Lord Uthrens throat. He moved to swing his blade and she leaped.

Sir Pavy with Sir Leahabim at his side approached the light at top of the stairs; the Witch’s Tower steps had the same curve to them as the stair’s back home in the White Castle of Catan. It had made the climb easier, he had climbed the stair of the Castle many times it felt natural now. It had not taken long for them to break free of the celebrating soldiers, only a few moments for them to realize Everdean was already gone.

A woman’s scream rose from the top of the Tower echoing down the spiral stairs and both himself and Lehabim picked up there pace. It was not any scream. This was Everdean’s scream, and not the one she would accidently let out while she was being tickled. They flew through the opening to find, Everdean attempting to fight off Sir Mesto, a long gash ran across her shoulder and her blood quickly changing the color of her clothing under the awkward fitting armour. Lehabim went to her aid as he turned on the Witch, her figure was laughing at the scene unfolding before them as she watched in amusement the knights fighting one of there own. She did not notice his blade until it was too late. Her beautiful form wilted and withered as the black sand drained and turned into a emerald blood, her body staged and as she fell toward the weight of her injury and the last of her beauty faded to show her true form. The hideous beast she truly was.

Prologue

Everdean raced across the wheat field’s at top speed, her breath staggered under he laughter, as she stumbled into the flowered clearing beyond the cobblestone streets. Sir Nayton close on her heels, a small scream escaped her lips as he tickled her ribs once again. She had been relieved to find that he had survived, even more relieved when the enchantment on Sir Mesto faded over time. It hadn't taken long for all to return to normal after the knights of Catan and all those beloved to them still remaining returned home.

Quote:

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Next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle won.

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-Duke of Wellington

Darkness and death, rotting flesh dripping from bones being bleached in the sun, unholy sacrifices mark the return of Halloween. Slowly murmured incantations, hexes gaining intensity; chants droning to an ear piercing wail. The earth quakes, fissures crack the land; red tongues of lava flow up from the depths. Acrid smoke churns and billows swirling faster and faster in a tight circle. A horrendous thunderclap drowns out all the voices and spells. Anxious eyes watch the swirling vortex before them and fall to their knees as demonic red eyes pierce them to their very soul. The Grim Reaper has cometh, his steed is as skeletal as he, sulfurous smoke taints the air with every exhalation of his midnight death horse. The new Lord of the island has come, at what price is yet to be known.

DARKNESS and LIGHT

Twas Halloween Time for we Settlers on Line

When the fun it did rightly begin!
Darkness spread o'er the land
And with pumpkins in hand
To the graves of past kin
Settlers ran a visitin'
They made spells of light
To spread bright through the night
And the Darkness dared not come again!

Then some pesky settlers started to going on Line,

They searched for a spell all through the night
A darkness so dark it would shut out the light
Was soon found to continue the fun!
Provision Houses were now overrun
Making a light ever so bright to cut through the night.
Spells were passed on of both darkness and light
To those in their friendship who wanted to garner
The extra strong light for four times the larder.

Success brought such riches that all were just fine!

THE HAUNTING OF THE TRADE OFFICE

The screams keep coming. The sound of horror and pain fill the night sky as the moon shines blissfully unaware of what lurks in the shadows. Blood splatters on the walls as the insanity progresses in the halls of the once thriving office. It pools under the marble tiles on the stairs. It drips from the chandeliers once so majestic. The days of prosperity are now full of deceit and corruption from the bowels of society. Evil has taken hold of the trade business with the ghost of Wild Mary at the helm.

People once walked the halls in hope of equal trades for goods they spent their entire lives building for a comfortable life they had not known before. This was a time when greed was kept in an unopened box and the men were given the opportunity to fight or to work. The workers toiled for the island with a purpose. The power gained by their devotion would improve the lives of all settlers. The ones who chose to fight gave their lives willingly in an effort to bring peace to the region and to beat back the evil surrounding them.

For years, the struggles between good and evil were fairly matched until the curse of All Hallows Eve came. Nothing could have prepared them for what came next. The sky turned black and buildings turned green with skeletons arising from the ashes. Cauldrons of witches' brew rose in curls of black smoke to permeate the air and choke the forests with a poisonous blanket of doom and despair. The once beautiful islands became burned shells in the ocean where no man could survive. No men would try.

The ghost of Wild Mary with wood aflame crowning his head bore a resemblance to mighty kings with diamond and jeweled septors raised. Wild Mary dubbed his army of rogue soldiers, who sold their souls for a promise of riches, the Trade Tabbers. Their work is done. Trade is no more.




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