Iorveth sighed as he set aside the medallion and looked glumly towards the kitchen, where he could just glimpse a tadbit of what dinner was going to be. He hadn't been exaggerating when he called this place a rat-loving hovel and the skewered, still vaguely wriggling forms roasting over the flames were more than enough proof of enough of the fact... unwanted as it may be.
He was about to seek peace in the depths of his mug once more when the drunken slurs of some rowdy peasants took him out of his reverie.
"Hey chicky, take off th' hood an' let us see yer pretty f-face." A common sight in such a drinking hole, Iorveth knew. Dh'oine doing what they did best, acting like the mindless apes they are.
Furrowing his brow he glanced around in the room, the heavy and oily fumes in the small taproom making it hard to see what was going on exactly. With his eye squinted he made out the shapes of four men, all besieging a woman who was trying too hard to be inconspicuous. She sat on her chair with a stiff back and tried to sip her beer in indifference. He couldn't make out much more, other dh'oine trampled into his line of view and shielded the pestering filth from his sight.
It was impossible to say if the woman under that hood was a kinswoman or a human and that was what kept Iorveth for going straight for the apes, until one of them got exasperated with the blatant reluctance of the woman and grabbed roughly for the hood shielding her face from their greedy eyes.
Iorveth could only make out a flash of pale skin and a lock of white hair in the second it took her to grab the arm of the guy and push him back with an impressive amount of force. The lad seemed disorientated first but then anger took over in his drunk haze and he squared his shoulders.
"Don'tcha play any f-... foul games y'bitch!" He growled and raised his hand to strike her.
That was when the elf decided that he could not wait any longer. Aen Seidhe or not, with what he had seen she definitely roused his interest and curiosity.
Coming to stand in front of the still stoically sitting woman he put a hand on the hilt of his sword and looked directly into the eyes of the attacker, the sparkling green of his eye frozen and cold with fury and disgust.
"Keep your hands to yourself, dh'oine filth. Though I feel the lady can take care of herself, your uncontrolled flailing threatens to disturb my drinking, not to mention the other fine lasses of this... 'establishment'." Iorveth spoke with biting mockery and successfully managed to derive the thugs attention from the mysterious woman.
"Ahhh look boys, who d'we got 'ere eh? A fucking knife-ear not knowin' 'is place eh? Crawl back where y'came from ye piece o' dogshite." The peasant growled, clearly having issues to speak and keep his eyes trained on the elfs face in what he thought was an intimidating expression.
A half smile tugged at Iorveths lips and he crossed his arms, standing a little taller than the thug before him feeling so brave with his friends behind his back. He'd love to slit up their bellies but knew that would only rouse unwanted attention, attention he did not need right now.
"I don't think so, peasant. Now let the Lady enjoy her drink and be on your way." Iorveth said, his voice deadly calm and all traces of mockery wiped away. Sadly the idiots were too drunk already to really heed the warning in the veterans voice, their leader laughing with malice.
"Think we back away from an elf, huh? Well think 'gain ye tree fucker. Maybeeee we gotta beat some sense into 'is hollow brain eh? Whatcha think boys?" Of course no one objected, mutual hate as much a factor in this heated situation as alcohol.
Their little tiff didn't take place unnoticed of course and all too soon a small crowd of rubbernecks has gathered around them.
Witch a quick glance over his shoulder Iorveth noticed that the woman was gone. "Oh fantastic." He thought to himself sarcastically, having hoped she would be at his side in this since it seemed that she wasn't really incapable when it came to dealing with unwanted attention physically.
But now he had rode himself deep into the shit and getting out without exchanging a few punches wasn't an option.
For any more thoughts he had no time since one of the pavienn already charged at him, his eyes intent on more than just a brawl.
Iorveth realized that they were intent on more, on a lot more. Their eyes screamed murder and their faces were twisted into disgusting visages of bloodlust, that the peasants around them were cheering them on to 'Rip apart the filth!' wasn't helping apparently.
Once again he was sickened by the brutish dh'oine behaviour, once again his hate bubbled up, hate that made him justify to burn down their villages, to kill men, women, children and elders alike. To eradicate them from the surface of this world just like the humans would do to his people. Even if it made him no better.
He struck out, with all the precision and speed of a cobra, successfully nailing one of the drunk's in nose, which gave under his fist with a quite satisfactory crunching sound.
One of the D'hoinne lashed out with a comically bad punch which Iorveth easily sidestepped, and countered with a stiff jab to a particularly painful pressure point near the armpit and the drunk fell shrieking to the ground.
The thick air, the bunch of people and his thoughts were making it hard for the elf to navigate however and two of his attackers managed to grab his arms, readying and holding him in place for the hail of blows that's about to pour down on him.
For a moment the world around Iorveth went still, devoid of sound and sight as he was catapulted back into dark chapters of his past that made the horrid scar on his face burn with memorized pain.
Arms holding him down, just like that. Gloating faces and gleeful laughter as they beat him into heaving puddle of shame and endless agony, without mercy. Without remorse.
Snapping an eye open he did not remember to have shut the elf roared, fury and instinct taking over him as he twisted his body and kicked out behind him, making one of his captors fly against the close wall with a cry of pain and a sick 'thud'. Dead? Alive? Iorveth did not care, in fact the hoped they would croak pitifully slow.
The remaining men did not expected this and backed away somewhat fear in their gaze as they caught the look in his eye. Iorveth saw, and smiled as he became his own small force of nature. His movements were fast and held a practiced ease, though an experienced eye would notice slight inconsistencies and a near mechanical stiffness due to old injuries and age.
Iorveth would have pummeled them all to death if it weren't for the strange woman showing up once more catching one attacker coming up on his blindside with a club in hand mid-swing. throwing him over her hip and slamming him into the ground in front of Iorveth with enough force to make the floor creak.
Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and she nodded towards the door with urgency, and somehow her touch calmed him, it felt familiar somehow though he was quite sure he'd never set eyes on the woman before in his life. His facial muscles relaxed and eased away the vicious snarl that had been edged into his features while memory took over him. Looking around a little bewildered he was pleased to see the dh'oine backing away from him and letting them go without any more complications.
He knew he had to leave the place immediately, but he didn't care anymore, not wishing to stay another minute in this damned rotten place.
The pair quickly made their way to the stables, carefully avoiding any guards, or any other drunken wretches that might cause them trouble.
Wasting no time in readying the mounts they set off for the hills. Iorveth was used to riding off in the night, as was his mount. So he knew what to look for, his sharp eye glancing back and forth like a hawk's, carefully avoiding the places that were certain to hold some kind of danger for him and his horse.
The woman and her horse weaved and twisted about just as adeptly, obviously accustomed to it as well, yet another curious thing about her. Like dark wraiths they shot over the treacherous surface, only their skill and experience preventing them from riding into their death. They didn't slow down their steeds until the lights of the town had been swallowed by the inky black night, Iorveth being the first to calm his horse. "Fod yn dawel, anhedda`." The elf murmured gently, steering his animal towards the woman's who was likewise slowing and to her credit soothing her own animal.
Iorveth patted his mare soothingly on the head, and scratched her behind her ragged ears tenderly. She was an old war horse, who'd been with him a good long time indeed, not as spry as she used to be sure, but she was used to enduring his exploits, and he found her steadfast reliability to be more reassuring than the pure speed of the younger mares.
He turned to see what his dh'oine companion was up to, and saw her doing much similar to her own stallion, who was formidable beast to be sure. A hulking black creature, with dark, malevolent eyes... Iorveth had seen eyes just like those once before... around 4 or 5 months ago perhaps, in the woods of Flotsam, overshadowed by a ridiculous ratty black hat. Iorveth made a mental note not to get anywhere near the bloede thing.
She noticed his gaze almost immediately, but remained silent, preferring to focus on tending to her own mount, not wanting to be the first to bring discord to the temporary peace of the moment after the chaos they'd just narrowly escaped from. Finally Iorveth decided to break the silence, "Well, you're bloede quiet for a dh'oine, I expected you'd of demanded an introduction at this point." Her body language gave away that she was in fact rather weary, but not afraid oddly enough. "I've seen a face akin to yours before," she replied calmly, "all over on posters that promised good coin to whomsoever delivers your head." She said with a voice that spoke of mischief and not really any bad intentions. Still, Iorveth tensed, ready for any sort of attack that never came. "And since there aren't many elves with a scar and a headscarf quite like yours, I assume you must be Iorveth. Am I right?" It wouldn't make sense to deny his identity when it was as obvious as it simply is so he nodded simply, not trusting himself to speak at the moment for a very curious sensation tickled the back of his head. Iorveth would have known if she had cast a spell on him, no, it was something completely different, something much more subtle and natural.
He didn't allow himself to dwell on it, and instead nodded, feeling just a tad embarrassed, strangely enough that she knew about the bounty on his head. She smiled brightly over at him, "Then we're already introduced, no need to go into anymore specifics, why we're practically like family at this point"
With that bright smile of her's in plain view, even as dark as it was he felt his subtle hostility towards her and the sharp distrust ebb, replaced instead with mild irritation and a strange sense of belonging. And while the distrust hadn't been banished entirely, it's sharp edges had smoothed somewhat, "And yet I am entirely unaware as to what to call you, so I would hardly refer to us as family," he replied in a wry tone of voice, with just a hint of irritation hardening accenting his words "It is only fair now for you to reveal yourself, adhering to simple customs of mutual respect."
She chuckled and looked up just a tad, allowing him to see the shadowy outline of her face. "Is it truly? I did not asked you to reveal your name to me. It was lucky coincidence that I learned of it." Iorveth already bristled but she continued before he could say something rude. "But, while I would disagree with the bit about family knowing what to call each other, you are right I suppose that it is only fair that we converse on even ground. So, you may call me Ciri." She spoke and pulled the hood off her hair.
The moon was mostly hidden behind thick, dark clouds but the light that was allowed to touch the earth was still enough to make her white hair obvious, silvery now in the pale light. Next thing he noticed were her eyes, a sparkling, vivid green. Almost mystic in their glow and beyond alluring. Following the contours of her face with his eye he tilted his head, the pull on his mouth showing his wonder when he took in the scar on her left cheek. All in all her appearence was quite unique, and he was certain he'd never encountered her before, yet still he could almost swear that if he just looked closely enough he could-
A frown soon edged her nicely shaped lips, obviously somewhat uneasy with his gaze, and Iorveth shook himself as he noticed his faux pas.
He did not know what it was, but something about her made him feel at ease, as if he'd known her for a while now. "Ciri, then." He smiled a half-smile and cocked his head as he nudged his horse into a relaxed gait.
"What, no thanks for me rescuing you from those bloede bastards? I risked my neck back there. And that for a dh'oine."
The elfs voice was mockery and Ciri answered just the same, her smile biting. "I hardly needed your help Ser. Can't remember asking for it. Scum like they are nothing, and you are hardly a knight in shining armor... If that metaphor is even still applicable." She sounded just a tad insecure in the end, honestly she still had no full idea of what was going on, but the elf didn't need to know that.
Iorveth shook his head, glancing at Ciri riding next to him, and resisting the urge to stare into her features once again, though only barely.
"What's your destination? It looks as though we share the same path." Ciri looked up and shrugged. "I won't be on this road for long, my... interests take me elsewhere. But we can share a fire tonight. The wilds as I'm sure you know, are rather unpredictable, especially during wartime." Iorveth was surprised that she offered to share a camp, but maybe she felt the same weird calm around him as he felt around her? It was impossible to tell, but what the elf felt was true was the sincerity of her words. He felt strangely confident that she meant him no harm, so long as he himself was provided the same courtesy.
He shrugged, "Very well, I cannot see why not. Having someone watch my back would be nice change of pace in this blighted ghoul infested land." Ciri shot a quick smile his way, "Not too fond of Velen are you?" There was something about the curve of her lips and the reckless glint in her eyes that made him think about his grandmother... and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
In response to her querry, Iorveth just spat. "Even before the war I hated this place, far too treacherous a territory. The nekker's have always been fond of this land for whatever reason, and thanks to Radovid & the blighted emperor their population's practically exploded.
The girl nodded, though she seemed to pale somewhat at the mention of the Emperor. "True enough, I ran into a bunch of them before I arrived in the town, nasty things those." Iorveth has noticed the sword fastened to the saddle of her horse and nodded into it's direction. "I take it you know how to use that then?" He inquired casually.
"Of course, I was trained by the best." She said with no small amount of pride in her voice, her eyes lost in memories for a moment. "And besides, Nekkers not much of a problem if you know how hold yourself, just have to know how to talk to em." Iorveth looked at her carefully when she said that, not entirely certain that she was of sound mind, though he thought he might know what she was talking about, he didn't press it though.
They fell into almost companionable silence after that, Iorveth still feeling rather uncertain about this and never allowed himself to really relax in her company. He had lived too long to fall for a pretty face and polite words. One lives longer when keeping their suspicion.
It was only when they have found a small overlap in a cliff, shielded by bushes and trees that they spoke again once they have settled around the small bonfire, their bedrolls already laid out and the horses grazing.
"I'm sure you have some interesting stories to tell when there's a bounty on your head, no?" She asked, genuine curiosity in her eyes.
And oh indeed he had! Countless of stories, enough to fill tomes. Of course they wouldn't be all equally worth to read.. But still.
He meant to snap at her that he wasn't a bloede scribe, but the moment his annoyed gaze landed on her own... he felt the tension drain away from him and instead he murmured, "Aye, I suppose I do..." And so he began, telling her about times long lost, about proud elves he'd known before their utter downfall. Of the bathhouses, cities built of marble and of the old tree city he'd once called home and the mountains of Dol Blathanna. He didn't even know why he did this, it just cascaded out of his mouth like a waterfall and with every passing minute he felt lighter.
The old elf also mentioned a fair share of the wars he had partook in, he talked about their motives and beliefs because he suddenly felt the urge to make her understand the struggle of the nonhumans in a way he never felt himself able to with other dh'oinne. Of course he spared out a good amount of memories he'd rather not touch, either because they were too personal, or too painful.
And with every passing minute he felt a little lighter, a light smile forming on his lips.
Ciri watched the suddenly talkative elf with a smile of her own, listening to his every word and sometimes asking questions of her own, but those were rare because she rather let the Aen Seidhe talk about his eventful life.
Iorveth also mentioned the events of the last five or six years, though kept his encounter with the Witcher to himself. Something told him it would be better that way.
What the hell is going on here?, he thought, startled at just how openly he'd began to trust and accept this strange d'hoine. I never even spoke this much to the bloede vatt'ghern. "Bloede hell weddin, ye never even babbled this much to yer dear old mam this much before!" As much as Iorveth wanted to disagree with the voice... he couldn't, honestly. He'd always been one who preferred actions to words.
But here was, his throat feeling raw and dry from all the talking. He felt as though he has talked enough for the next fifty years or so.
Laughing a little breathless he leaned back against the rocky wall and reached for a flask with his personal liquor from his pack, the familiar sweet burn of his own Camelroot brew soothing his sore throat.
"Ha! I must have bored you -" "No, not at all. Thank you for sharing your stories, Iorveth." She interrupted him and he could sense no mockery in her voice, nor malice.
It perplexed him for a second before he looked up again and searched for her eyes. "What about you? You look like you have some interesting things to say yourself." Iorveth asked with genuine interest in his eyes, attracted by her pleasant character and though he was unaware of it the Elder Blood in her veins.
A shadow crossed her brilliant eyes upon his question and she looked away into the flames.
"We should rest, I'm tired and tomorrow's gonna be tough for the both of us. Mind if I sleep first?" She asked, her voice quiet.
Iorveth only nodded, finding himself oddly concerned about what might trouble her. Shaking his head to get rid of these ridiculous thoughts he took another swig from his flask and looked into the dancing flames as he began the first watch for the night.
"My... Yer getting old, Veth." And this time the voice in his head was his own.
It was only a couple of hours before dawn when Iorveth woke Ciri to take over for him. Utterly exhausted he was asleep the moment his head hit the stuffed pillow of his bedroll.
His slumber was light as ever, plagued by the demons of his past, who were only slightly mollified by the 'tea' he'd brewed earlier, reduced to nightmarish shadows rather than vivid as life figures, in some ways worse even though even that much he was grateful for. He could take the monstrous figures, it was the faces that dwelled within the shadows he feared most.
Iorveth woke with the first cold rays of the sun touching his face and tickling his nose, sitting up he immediately looked around, his eye scanning their little camp for Ciri.
But the girl was gone, though her belongings and horse were still there so he supposed she went herb-gathering or perhaps to relieve herself.
Grunting incoherently he rubbed his back, mildly bitter to feel it so tense and stiff and wistful of the days of even a half century ago, when his bones & muscles had been in remarkably better condition than they were now. Getting up he stretched and pulled the cloth from his head, breathing a sigh of relief when the cool morning breeze brushed through his raven locks.
After having moved a little to warm up his stiff muscles and joints he saw to their horses before preparing a strictly rationed 'breakfast' from his own meager vittles, and from some of the nearby plants, happy to discover even a few good potatoes and edible berries in the bushes.
He drank more of his tea while he did so, eager to quell various aches throughout his body,which stemmed largely from an early case of arthritis, brought on by many broken bones, and far too often strained muscles.
The 'tea' was more akin to liquor the way he brewed it, though it was pretty shite as far as actually getting drunk on it was concerned, but it was just as good if not better at getting his spirits up, and ensuring his body quit complaining so fiercely.
Iorveth groaned happily as a soothing warmth spread throughout his body and overtook his inflamed joints, rendering their howling wails to a bare whisper in the back of his head, and allowing him to focus on breakfast far more easily.
He actually began humming as he set to work, and found himself resettling the scarf on his head so that it fully covered his brow, and kept some of the sweat gathering at his exertions clear from his vision.
One of the few non-violent things in the world to bring him joy was cooking. And he couldn't help but find joy in it now, even if he was using what ingredients he had sparingly.
Before long Iorveth had a fairly gourmet-class meal before him, even if he did say so himself. A finely mashed & mixed together yam porridge boiled in a half pint of goat milk he'd picked up in the town, along with fresh cinnamon and some crushed berbercane berries mixed in.
Just the thing for an early day.
Once that was settled, he began pondering his next destination. The one artifact Gwynbleidd had entrusted to Iorveth was about due for a charging... but he wasn't altogether sure where to find such a place.
Iorveth was no stranger to the lands of Temeria by a long shot, but he'd never really taken much time to get know any of the land, apart from what it looked like, and where monsters were likely to hide and how to avoid them.
Though funnily enough, he was more apt to end up running straight to those monster hot zones nowadays, given that for whatever reason they seemed to like places of power.
Geralt had tried to explain it, but it hadn't really sunken in very well.
Iorveth sighed and began to dig around in his pack for the notes Geralt had left with him.
When Ciri returned she was pleasantly surprised by the scent of the food and the sight of the elf hunched over a map with a furrowed brow, his marred left face-side now on full display without the headscarf though his raven locks hid parts of it.
She was close to thinking he did not notice her arrival but his lips twitched lightly and his finger pointed from where it had rested on his knee towards a wooden bowl filled with the fresh food, along with a mug of some genuine & fresh brewed tea, made from berbercane leaves.
"Thank you." She simply said, not wanting to disturb the elf.
While eating she took her time to study him more, hoping he wouldn't notice, as fixated as he was on his map. His horrid scar and missing eye inevitably drew her attention, she was used to seeing such wounds of course, but she always wondered about the story behind them.
Iorveth could feel her stare like a flame on the left side of his face and asked himself why the hell he even revealed the mark of his shame long enough for her to see. As much as he felt at ease in her presence he couldn't wait to get away from her.
That he slipped so often without even noticing made him nervous and crabby.
"Ikke glosse que'na!" He snapped and looked up at her with an agitated expression. Ciri immediately flinched a little and looked guilty, having feared already that he would misinterpret her gaze.
"Squass'me! I did not mean to stare. I am just interested behind the story."
Iorveth did not look outright hostile anymore but still his face stayed as grim as ever. "I think I did enough story-telling. There's nothing to be said here... Just bloede pavienn doing what they do best." He said, quietly, his voice bitter.
Ciri knew when not to dig deeper and instead went back to eating her oatmeal in silence. That is until she heard his near silent "Fuck!" And decided to try to find out what he was up to with that damned map. A map that looked somewhat familiar to her, though she couldn't quite tell why.
"Can I help you? You've been sitting in front of that map for quite a while now, y'know." She smiled and looked over his hunched shoulders with pursed lips.
"Those are markings as the Witchers use them... How did you get this map?"
Iorveth sighed mildly annoyed and his annoyance only grew when he discovered that she had bend over his blind side so he had to twist more to look at her.
"Bought it." The elf snapped and tensed a little. "Now can you actually do something useful or is be annoying your only skill?" He growled and Ciri just shrugged. "Depends on what you're looking for Vethy." Her tone was definitely challenging now and he bit his tongue.
"Shu- Alright. Alright... I'm looking for points of power that are close by."
Intelligently she did not ask any further questions but studied the map on the ground before pointing at one of the markings.
"Here. It's perhaps a two days ride maximum, and the closest one nearby in the area that doesn't seem to have a curse upon it or is a brooding place for monsters."
Looking down at the spot her forefinger at pointed he nodded at first, but shook his head as he examined the markings more closely, "Its true, it is an ideal spot... but its not strong enough for my purposes, I need something... bigger, with more energy, something that's been soaking up energies for at least half a millennium." He saw her quizzical, inquiring expression and growled, "And no, you don't need to know why, its my business, and that's all I intend to say on the matter."
She huffed with annoyance, but accepted his words, as she truly did have better things to do than argue with the old Aen Seidhe Bloody hell she thought I do enough of this type of thing with the Sage, you'd think I'd learn to mind my own business Nonetheless she swallowed her irritation, and thought a moment more... thought again, grimaced slightly and decided to go for it. "There is another place... its not marked on the map, but I know it's there, and it's the closest high level place of power that I'm aware of, though whether or not its safe is another matter entirely." She looked at him with an uneasy expression "If you're serious about needing a good hotspot, then it's your best bet. Though I honestly have no clue as to whether or not its cursed, or what may dwell around it... you sure you want me to point you towards it?"
He sighed but nodded, he didn't have a choice if he wanted to uphold his promise to Geralt, curse or no curse. She obediently marked the place on his map, and he sighed as he noted just how far it was. It was a good two weeks worth of travel at the very least, probably more... but with as many minor hotspots around as there were, he figured he could make it in time.
"Looks good, I should be able to make it. This place have a name by any chance." She nodded, feeling a tad uneasy about what she knew was coming, he was not going to what he was about to hear. "Well out with it dh'oine," he growled impatiently, "what's it called?"
She told him... and she was right, he wasn't happy about it, in fact he looked about ready to sprout an archgriffin head and spew acid in her face, that was how unhappy & disbelieving he was about it. "Dh'oine," he ground out from between clenched teeth, "if this is an example of your race's sick peculiar humor, I will torture you, with torture unlike any other torture that has ever been perpetrated against your kind in the history of torture and I swear to you that your screams will be heard 'til fucking Skellige!"
Eventually, after a while of tense silence, Iorveth just sighed. He felt defeated and checked the altitude of the sun, then rolled the soft, worn leather up to tuck it into his coat.
"Thank you, Ciri. Whatever fortune made our paths cross... it was a good one I think." Iorveth said with sincerity, despite his initial outburst and continued belief that she was screwing with him and got up to pack his things. There's just now way he thought, there is no bloede way that its real!
He really needed to move on, otherwise charging the blade would be getting urgent soon, and he wanted to avoided that when possible.
The white haired lass packed her things as well and readied her horse. They worked in silence, no one feeling the need to disturb the peace with useless words.
Besides, Iorveth felt like he might snap at her if he opened his mouth now. Her revelation had shattered him, and his thoughts were conflicting.
Iorveth checked his pouch with oils and ingredients and deemed it sufficient for the way ahead of him. Enough to deal with the occasional Ghoul, Nekker or Endrega. Even Kikimores wouldn't be a problem, as long as they weren't accompanied by a soldier.
Mounting their horses simultaneously they smiled at each other. "Take care Ciri, wherever your path leads you. Va faill!" She nudged her horse and trotted off while waving at him. "Va faill, Iorveth." She said took off into the opposite direction while the elf headed for the ruin that would charge the thirsty artifact, at least for a bit. Bloede hell, even if there is a ruin at the place she pinpointed... there is just no way it can actually be Camelot!
Authors Note
Translations:
Dh'oine - Human
Pavienn - Ape
Vatt'ghern - Witcher
Va Faill - Farewell
Bloede - Bloody
Squass'me - I'm sorry/Excuse me
"Fod yn dawel, anhedda`." - Roughly translated means "Be calm/stand still/Slow down"
"Ikke glosse que'na!" - "Don't stare like that!"
AlexanderRavana: I do hope the wait wasn't too long, my dear readers. But here is the awaited update for the story. Enjoy and comment what you think!
TheGrinningPsychopath:... ERr i actually don't much to say this chapter. *shrug* worked hard on this, i'm tired. But never FEAR! The Grinning Psychopath, and his promising young pupil here, shall Work on regardless of how much energy it takes from us, We shall endeavor to bring you to the marvelous wonders and hells that lurk within our minds... heh and No you don't get a say in the matter lol! *Grin* Anyhow Review please, be sure to follow the story, and remember as always, Zone-Tan is right there with you, watching you fap.
