When Darkness Falls

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"Talking"

'Thinking'

Inner Voices/Sylver while in animal form

[Nakka Notes]

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Chapter 3

Omen of a Dark Angel...

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Dark flames lapped hungrily at frail buildings as the screams of the fallen echoed through the midnight sky. The thick scent of blood and death filled the air. Bodies lay scattered throughout the entire village. Some were impaled with spears and arrows while other was hacked to pieces from corrupted blades. Blood bathed the earth a dark crimson hue and the sky was clouded from the thick, nauseating smoke that lifted from those hate filled embers. The roar of blood-drunk men could be heard, followed by more screams and pitiful pleas for life.

Sparrow felt her heart tear at the sight. She wanted to go to them, protect them, save them. But she could not. No matter what she did, she could not save these poor people. Why? For one, anybody that ran in her direction simply passed right through her. She was unseen and untouchable to this chaos, but everything was seen by her. It was a cruel torture. What creature would force her to witness such evil and not allow her to do anything? And the other reason? One could not alter the past, no matter how much she wanted to.

She did not know how she knew, but she knew this place. These people were as familiar to her as those who surrounded her daily. She knew this town as much as she knew the one she spent her childhood in. All of it... so familiar and yet to foreign. An unknown rage and pain rose within her and she could swear she heard a voice cry inside of her. Then, something began to tug at her soul. Without a sound, she painfully made her way through the burning buildings, trying her best to block out the sounds of the dying and the sight of the dead. She found herself in the heart of the town where a small group of men stood. The men were all obviously bandits as evident from their looks and the blood soaked blades they carried. However, one of them stood out from the others. He was tall man wearing a blood red cloak and what looked to be black, armored pants and boots. His arms were covered with the same armor which extended down to clawed hands. His face was covered with a beautifully carved white mask with red and gold patterns. Cold, malicious gold eyes stared down at the ground with growing rage.

Moving closer, Sparrow got a good look and just what he was staring at with such spite. It was a little girl, no older than about ten or twelve. She had chestnut hair pulled into pigtails [which had been unraveled rather roughly] and bright blue eyes. Eyes that stared up at the dark man before her. Almost as if judging him. She felt familiar to Sparrow, but she could not place it.

"I shall ask you one last time." the cloaked man said while bending down and gripping the little girl's hair roughly with those clawed, metal hands. His voice was elegant, but dark and full of evil intent. It caused a shiver to run up Sparrow's spine. "Where is the boy?"

The girl remained silent, even as he gripped her head tighter, those eyes never leaving his. His own golden one narrowed and gave a low hiss of rage. "Very well then. If I cannot have your brother, then I shall take those accusing eyes of yours." He then pulled out a thick, black dagger and slowly dragged it across the girl's face. Sparrow watched in sick fascination as the man slowly carved out the girl's eyes, and yet she did not make a sound. As the sickening sounds of metal against flesh echoed in her ears, she felt her stomach lurch painfully and it took all her strength not to heave where she stood. Before long, the man stood back up, allowing the little girl to crumble to the ground in silent pain. A mixture of blood and tears ran down her cheeks as the man chuckled darkly. Even the men that surrounded them looked horrified and nauseous upon watching the cruel event.

As he placed his dagger back from where he pulled it from, the man turned his head and stared at Sparrow with deadly, playful eyes. She felt fear surge inside of her as the man slowly began to walk directly towards her. Everything around them began to fade away into nothingness, leaving behind an empty darkness. In the back of her mind, she could hear a voice scream for her to run. To run as fast as she could from this demon. Sparrow began to take several steps back with every step the dark man took. This continued until she felt her back come into contact with something hard and cold. Before she could turn around, a pair of steel coated arms wrapped around her, trapping her.

Raw fear welted up inside of her and she instantly began to struggle against her captor. But as she did, those arms tightened painfully around her. She then felt something cold brush against her ear and a cold voice soon followed. "At last... I've finally found you..." His cold voice caused her body to freeze and her eyes to widen in fear. "That man was a fool to think that his bloodline could elude me forever, though he did make it rather difficult for me to find you. He was clever. He made sure that his lineage was well hidden from the world... From ME. But I have finally found you. After centuries of waiting, you... are... MINE..." he whispered darkly in her ear.

One of his arms then suddenly moved and before she could do anything to stop it, those clawed hands dug through her back and out her chest. A gargled cry escaped her as she felt him tear through her heart. But pain was not the only thing she felt enter her body. Something began to ooze from his claws and into her bloodstreams. Something dark and foul, like a poison. She felt it slowly crawl through her body and wrap itself around her mind. Soon, a darkness began to slowly spread though her soul. As her body began to succumb to this cold blackness, she felt her body begin to fall. She looked upwards and all she could see where those gold eyes that glowed with evil intensions.

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Sparrow gave a screaming gasp as she thrust herself from the comfort of her bed. The sudden unbalance caused her to topple from the comfort of the bed down to the hard floor rather roughly. With a curse and groan, she reached up and used the bed to haul herself back up. As she did, her wild blue eyes began to dart about the room in an attempt to discover her surroundings. The room was of average size with rather elegant furniture. A dresser, desk, and several chests sat propped against the walls and a pair of door-sized, glass windows were on the other end of the room. Recognizing the room as her own, she gave a quivering sigh and moved to sit down on the bed. With a trembling hand, she gently wiped away the cold sweat that trickled down the sides of her face and tried to ease the painful pounding of her heart. Then, with a small gasp, she pulled her sleeveless shirt down slightly so that she could see where those deadly claws as torn through her chest. The area looked no different than any other day, but she swore she could still feel the pain of her heart being ripped apart.

'What the hell... What kind of dream was that?!' she mentally groaned while rubbing her pounding head. After a few minutes of trying to understand what had just happened, Sparrow sighed in tired defeat. Slipping her feet into a pair of soft slippers and wrapping a robe around her shoulders, she silently walked out of the bedroom. As she did, she had to step over the sleeping Sylver as he laid curled outside her door. This caused her to smile softly and reach down to gently rub his fuzzy ears. This was rewarded with a wolfish purr and an unconscious wag of his tail. Ever since a group of bandits invaded the mansion via the underground passageways, Sylver had moved to sleep outside so that he could hear ever sound that creaked in the house. With a silent giggle, Sparrow moved away from her Balverine companion and began to make her way downstairs. Along the way, she stopped in front of a large door that led to one of the more elegant guest bedrooms. The sounds of moaning, cursing, and grunting could be heard from within, but Sparrow was not alarmed at all. She knew exactly what was happening inside.

Not too long after the Chaos spell had worn off, Reaver had thundered his way back to mansion and took another attempt at her life. Sylver quickly countered and the two exchanged some rather heated words. Just as the two of them were about to rip out the other's throat, Sparrow [in a rather calm voice] dropped the bomb on the two men by saying that Reaver could stay at the mansion until they worked everything out. Sylver instantly began to list a rather large number of reasons why that was a bad idea, but Sparrow's mind was set. Reaver agreed and tried to worm his way into her bed with some sweet words, which was rewarded with a rather thick book bouncing off the side of his head.

With her generosity came rules and limits. Well... only two really. One, he would not try to harm her in any way and the other was that he would have to keep his hands to himself. He reluctantly agreed to this as well and left the mansion momentarily. When he returned, he had two young women and a younger man with him. If he could not have any fun with Sparrow, then he would bless others with his attention. Since then, the little foursome began a seemingly endless orgy. A rather loud one at that.

'Probably revenge for the book...' she thought with a roll of her eyes. Ignoring the squealing, Sparrow continued to wander through the house until she reached a room that she had added soon after buying the house. Using Inferno to light the many candles that donned the walls, she locked the door. The room was a large one without furniture. In fact, the only thing in the room was a large weapon stand that held weapons of all kinds. There were also a few targets and dummies piled up in the corner. One of said dummies strangely resembled Reaver with a rather comical face painted on its head. It had the most bullet holes in it too.

Sparrow had learned early in life that the best way to ease a troubled mind was to completely immerse herself in the thrill of combat. Pulling a long sword out of the rack, she kicked off her slippers and undid her robe. With the haunting memory of her dream fresh in mind, Sparrow began to swing her sword skillfully through the air.

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Lifeless, sightless eyes stared emptily out over the land of Albion. A calm silence washed over the world, allowing its blissfully ignorant citizens to continue on with this lives, unaware of the darkness that was slowly forming across the land. But she knew... She could see it... Though cruel fate had robbed her of her sight, she could see, no... more like feel, the dark shadow that was slowly churning over Albion.

"The dark tide has once again begun to flow..." she whispered softly as she closed her eyes. A faint smile then suddenly played across her lips and she glanced over into the shadows that surrounded her. "It's been a long time since you have appeared in this land, William."

A figure shifted in the darkness and a tall man stepped out. He wore a long blue and white robe with golden armor covering his right shoulder and his hands. A blue wrap was wound tightly about his face and he carried a large, golden Scythe in his hands. But what stood out the most from this man was his skin. It was withered and a sickly brown coloring. He looked more like a wrapped corpse than a man.

As he stepped forward, he tapped the butt of his scythe against the stone ground with mild irritation. "It has been a long time since I have gone by that name." Like his body, his voice sounded somewhat hollow and lifeless, and yet there was also an immense power flowing from it. Like a river of pure, raw Will.

"Ah, yes. How thoughtless of me." chuckled Theresa lightly as she turned towards him. "Now... What brings you back to Albion?"

"Have you not felt it?" His dark eyes moved out to gaze over Albion. "This stirring of dark Will? Such power... I fear it may be a sign of his return."

"But why now?" The gentleness in her voice faded and a faint look of worry washed over her. "Six hundred years have passed since that night. Why now does he chose to return?"

Scythe shook his head. "I do not know. It may have something to do with that girl." He looked at Theresa, lifeless eyes meeting equally lifeless eyes. "And what of you? What shall you do to prepare for this growing darkness?"

Theresa's smile returned and she slowly moved away and towards the center of the large room. There was a stone pedestal that rose upwards and nestled in its tight grasp was a perfectly crafted sphere. She reached out and gently ran her fingers across its smooth surface. It glowed softly under her touch. "The Heroes of Albion have been away far too long. While two of them have returned..." The fog within the orb shifted and revealed an image. It was Sparrow slicing through the air with her sword with much vigor. It swirled once more and showed Reaver passed out in the arms of two women and a younger man, his hand clutching his pistol tightly even in the afterglow of one hell of a romp.

"However, there are still two that must be returned." The image of Reaver faded and was replaced with that of a bulky woman sparring with another man in the middle of a snow storm, then swirled one last time to show a dark skinned man with brightly lit Will lines surrounded by a vast number of books, two of which were in each hand.

"It is time for them to once again walk upon this land." Placing both hand on either side of the orb, Theresa forced a large amount of Will into it, causing it to glow a blinding light.

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Far to the north, in the frozen land that was Hook Coast, Hammer swung her mighty hammer towards a small, thinner man, who easily slid out of the way to counter her strike with one from his overly large lance. For the past ten year she had resided in this frozen wasteland, honing her dominance over Strength and learning the truth about fighting. The warrior monks were not willing to let her join at first until she performed several near impossible feats. Feats that she overcame with [surprisingly] great difficulty. Apparently, they only taught those they thought truly worth.

The first thing she learned to do was completely forget her previous pacifistic teachings, as she was most definitely not going to be needing those here. Not that she had any difficulty with that. Her first year with the monks had been nothing more than intense studies of the very art of fighting and war. She had to learn the how's and why's before she was even able to hold her hammer once more [as they had taken it away the moment they accepted her]. It was stressful and she had to learn how to control her temper, though it didn't help that most of the higher students had taunted her. Nothing seemed to be going anywhere until one night when one of the more taunting boys pushed her too far during dinner by tossing a rather disgusting pile of slop at her head. Snapping out of rage, she countered this by heaving up a solid oak dining table [with several monks still sitting in it] and attempted to cave in his head.

The Head Priest, after seeing this, decided it was time for her to put her raging strength to good use and she was given back her hammer. After three more years of learning the correct stances, intense meditation, and balance Hammer had finally moved up from Student to Monk-in-Training.

With a grunt, Hammer swung her hammer and slammed it into the ground, sending a rather violent shockwave at her fighting partner. Unable to counter the move, the smaller monk found himself falling flat on his ass. He chuckled up at Hammer, who offered her hand to him.

"Not bad, Hammer. You certainly have improved in the ten years you have been here." He took her hand and she easily picked the man up. After he dusted the snow off of his robes, he took several feet back and readied his lance. "But let's see if you can pick it up a notch."

Hammer grinned and pulled her hammer back. "You haven't seen anything yet!" She charged towards him, but just as she was about to swing her weapon, a powerful [and rather painful] jolt ran through her body, causing her to stop and collapse to one knee with a pained gasp.

"Hammer!" cried out the monk. He tossed his lance to the side and raced towards the large woman. "What is it?"

Hammer reached up and clutched her head as she felt the jolt grow stronger. Images of Albion and Sparrow pulsed in her mind and she could hear Theresa's voice murmur something inaudible. The overwhelming urge to return to her homeland swept through her as well as a sense of urgency. Something was wrong... Something was going to happen. And she had to be there when it did. As the thought sunk into her mind, the pain ceased altogether, leaving a panting Hammer kneeling in the cold snow.

"Hammer?" The monk placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She snapped her head up, causing him to take a step back out of surprise. "Geez! Don't do that!"

"I have..."

"Huh?"

"I have... to return..." she said through greedy gulps of air.

"Return?" He scratched the side of his head. "You mean return back south, where you came from?" She nodded. "Why now all of the sudden?" Her only answer was a shake of her head. Even she didn't know the answer to that. Her companion sighed heavily. "Figures... You show up out of the blue, it's only fitting that you leave out of the blue." He reached down his hand and with a surprising strength lifted her up to her feet [he was, in fact, a good foot shorter than her and definitely not that muscular].

"Well then, you better get going." She looked down at him with quizitive eyes. He grinned boyishly as he understood what her eyes said. "If you have the urgent urge to leave, then I won't stop you. Go on. I'll tell the Head Priest what happened."

With a silent nod, Hammer reached down and lifted her hammer, resting it on her broad shoulders. As she turned to leave, she looked back at her friend. "By the way, Lance... Thank you for pelting me with food that night."

"Anytime, Hammer." he said with a devilish grin. Since that night she tried to literally crush every bone in his body, he had a new found respect for the Hero. Though they were not exactly thick as thieves, they were still comrades and even friends to some extent.

With a faint smile, Hammer turned around and began to walk into the snow storm, leaving behind what had been her home for little over ten years with nothing but her hammer, the lessons she had learned, and the memories she had shared with fellow monks.

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Meanwhile, in the eastern reaches of the world, Garth, the Hero of Will, sat in blissful silence with nothing by a large quantity of books for company. Since returning to his homeland, Garth had forgotten just how much he missed it. Samarkand, though rather wild and uninhibited in some parts, had been home to some of the greatest scholars, mechanics, and alchemists, himself included.

The return would have been all the sweeter for Garth if Reaver had not constantly pestered him since the moment they arrives. Despites Garth's warnings for Reaver to leave him alone, Reaver had in fact taken refuge in a spare room in Garth's old house. This had irritated the Will user as Reaver had the nasty habit of bringing back quite a large assortment of nightly companion and hosting very large, very loud parties while Garth tried to study. When Reaver finally left to return to Albion, Garth had seen him off if only to make sure that the egotistical pirate would not jump ship and swim back to the mainland.

When he did not, Garth gave a sigh of blissful relief and began to catch up on some much needed cleaning and studying. He had been away from his little home for well over thirty years and everything was covered with a very thick layer of dust and a mixture of spiders, rats, and bats had made themselves at home. Thankfully his library was not as damaged as the rest of his house nor was his workshop where he kept several deadly chemicals under lock, key, and spell.

Taking a sip from some rather divine tea, Garth was about to open another large, well worn tome when a sudden jolt pulsed through his mind. Hissing in pain, he clutched his head tightly, causing his glass to tumble over. Like Hammer, visions of Albion and Sparrow coursed through his mind and the wordless whispers of Theresa echoed painfully in his ears. After several minutes of intense pain, everything faded away leaving the old Will User panting.

'What in all that is Holy was that?' he grumbled mentally while picking up his fallen glass. At least its contents did not get on any of his books or papers. He then stood up and began to collect several books, scrolls, and potions. As he shoved them into the various pouches that were strapped to his body, he began to blow out the candles that lit his house. Not knowing what was happening or what was to come, he knew that he had to go back to that land and to the one that brought them all together.

With a final look at his house, Garth pulled out a small, smooth stone and pushed a good amount of Will into it. With a flash of blue light, Garth vanished from the land of Samarkand.

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CE: And Garth and Hammer once again return to Albion! It's a shame that you can't really interact with the other Heroes like everyone else in the game. I would have Hammer traveling with me all the time [since I favored my Skill and she could get up close and personal with the enemy]. Ah well...

JA NE

[Goodnight]