---Reposted from the Nosgoth.net fan-fiction archives.---
i---Note: All characters are copyrighted and belong to their respective owners, namely Silicon Knights. The actual wording and added story elements are creations of my fevered mind. This item is not for resale. Enter at your own risk. Questions concerns or comments? Call me, but don't sue me please./i
bThe Story of a Soul/b
The last thing he remembered was pain. Searing agony as his own blade was turned against him by the vampires he had hunted.
Then everything was gone... for years his soul wandered the spirit world, the dull misty reality where time had no meaning. Occasionally the Sluagh would try in vain to consume his being. But this spirit was not meek and did not succumb to their eerie calls. With a flashing of indomitable anger his substance would flit away just before the ghastly scavengers could claim their meal. But he was lost, without direction, for even now the decay of balance had condemned all souls to wander. And so he wandered aimlessly.
He knew nothing of the living world. He could not. Even the life he had known faded as the confusion and emptiness of this new plane overwhelmed his being. His memories of life waned. While armies fought and the balance was thrown further into darkness --he wandered. When the Circle of Nine fell and Kain made his choice --he wandered. When Kain fought his way into the resting-place of the body he had known in life --he wandered.
But it was then suddenly that he heard it. It was a calling far stronger and more urgent than the hungry songs of the Sluagh. It was commanding, powerful, and it did not want to devour him. It was all the reason he needed to end his wanderings.
Across the spectral plane of Nosgoth he soared. Sweeping over gray mountains and blue gorges, through emerald buildings he followed the mysterious voice till his spirit found the source of the calling. He saw with some apprehension a fluttering glow as if from a Wraith, but the entity was somehow bound and could not be a threat to him.
Gradually he became aware of other spirits gathering around the source of the calling. Five it seemed to him, but he could not be sure, they twined about restlessly, circling and hovering. There was something familiar about them, almost comforting, and he did not understand it, but their presence added to his sense of ease. "Come to me," The voice whispered demandingly.
Without a moments hesitation the spirit gave its will into the control of the mind behind insistent voice echoing throughout the spirit realm. The spirit shivered suddenly, feeling a slight shift in the energies of the spirit world, something changed. There was a sudden pull and he was drawn screaming toward the voice.
The first thing he remembered was pain, the old wounds hurt as much as they had when his spirit had fled the world of the living. Pain, darkness and pain, but always behind them the commanding and powerful voice that had drawn him. He heard his own cry of agony fade into a muffled moan and then he opened his eyes. He looked into the hardened face of a young but powerful vampire. The vampire's sharp eyes pierced right through him and held him momentarily.
A ghostly image haunted his mind for just a second, and he remembered other vampires...and pain. For a moment he wanted to kill the vampire, to rend it apart and burn the body in a cleansing flame. But this old confusing instinct faded almost instantly; it was carried over from a time that had no meaning to the soul who had wandered so long. The vampire looked at him with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. And then he spoke, and the voice seemed familiar to him...he vaguely remembered being called...and in that moment his allegiance was sealed.
The vampire smiled. "You are Raziel."
Raziel watched in awe as the vampire moved to raise the others, his own mind was a maze of confused thoughts and vagaries. The agonized screaming of the others as they awoke did nothing to ease the mayhem that dominated his mind. Vainly Raziel tried to remember something...anything...all he could remember was the voice of his father calling him from the darkness, and the agony of waking to life.
The ritual was the same for each; the vampire kneeled in concentration beside their pale motionless forms for some moments. Then suddenly the form would jerk and shudder, screaming and at last look into the face of the vampire. The vampire would watch them intently for a moment, then welcome them, and give them their names. They then stared around with widened eyes, their bodies trembling slightly, perhaps in fear or confusion.
The vampire moved to the last body, kneeling wearily. The last did not awaken with a scream of agony, but with a low gurgling moan. The body turned away from the vampire, as if struggling to get away and go back to its silent slumber. After a few moments the eyes flicked open and looked up at the vampire with a docile sort of melancholy.
"You are Melchiah." Said the vampire.
Then the vampire stood, regal and fierce, he looked at his creations with pride.
"Welcome to Nosgoth, my sons. I am Kain."
******
Much had to be done. The six learned of their vampiric ancestry, of recent history, and what was needed to survive in the grim world. They fought at Kain's side and raised their own children, giving up a portion of their blood to restore the soul of each. These children in turn fought by the brothers' sides, great armies of humans and vampires clashed...but the outcome was inevitable.
Humans were conquered, enslaved, bred in captivity and tended by vampiric shepherds. The twisted genius of Zephon helped to create factories that often had the sole purpose of blotting the sun from the sky. Kain started the religious order of Vampire Worshippers, and Turel saw to it that the order was maintained. Raziel put down the human insurrections that dwindled in number and soon ceased to occur at all.
Time passed and no one tried to recall a time before being born. Each had his own interest to pursue it seemed.
Dumah, always just a bit jealous of the power and strength held by his older brothers, Raziel and Turel, always tried to prove himself in battle. He was indeed a ferocious warrior.
Zephon plotted ceaselessly, his agile mind never quite succeeding in finding a way to overthrow the others. Perhaps it was bad luck. Or perhaps, as always, Kain knew more than he let on.
Melchiah just withered it seemed, always full of mournful sighs and embarrassment about his own fragile hold on un-life.
Raziel too pursued his own interest, which happened to be whatever Kain desired. This often led Zephon to call him unpleasant and degrading names behind his back. But whatever the others thought, Raziel was truly and wholly devoted to the being he knew as father.
Boredom set in after a time. They found themselves graced with decades in which they had nothing better to do than to watch the fledglings squabble and wait for the next transformation to lift their corporeal forms further from humanity and closer to divinity. Enhanced eyesight, slashing claws, powerful legs and hoofed feet with which to run down fleeing humans...and yet nothing to use such power on...
It was getting so monotonous that Dumah had begun the Games, pitting the best human gladiators or recently acquired Vampire Hunters against well-trained fledglings. It gave the Dumahim practice and Dumah a chance to exhibit his prowess in battle. The other Lietenants rarely failed to attend.
Turel and Raziel tried to find something to occupy time, other than Turel constantly teasing handsome Raziel about how all his prettiest priestesses kept flinging themselves at Raziel's feet in adoration. With Kain's approval, they began cultivating the talents of the loyal human servants and put to use their stagnating armies. The collaboration of their industry and imagination produced a wealth of beauty and art.
Elegant statues were carved, fine cloths were woven, metal smiths labored long days making beautiful armor, architects planned and raised great monuments and palaces, and adoring choirs filled those halls with songs praising the wisdom and wonder of Kain's Empire. The end result was a remarkable advancement in the living conditions for the vampire clans. Even captured feral-humans were in awe of the beauty and grandeur of the clan territories.
Rahab became a historian of some renown, recording Kain's wars as he had experienced them, and pointing out time and time again the obvious inanity of the human fight against the vampires. His curiosity over historical matters often led him on long journeys, as he delved into mysteries long forgotten. Once he returned with such vigor and excitement, roused his legions, and vanished with them for many days. When he returned he wore a triumphant smile, his black eyes glittering with joy.
He found his older siblings bent over a map of the Empire, planning the maintenance and increase of defenses, although Dumah declared adamantly that there was no need for them. Rahab dashed out of the room saying he had something to show them. Raziel, Turel and Dumah fully expected him to present them with a bound demon. Instead he returned a moment later loaded down with dusty scrolls, the dust smudging his face and clan cape. He had ransacked a far off monastery and returned with the only loot he had found of worth.
Raziel laughed good-naturedly at the incredulous sight and then set to work building Rahab a library in which to house his treasure. Dumah sighed, shook his head, then gathered his own legions to find more fodder for his Games. The Melchahim sometimes aided Dumah in these hunts and Melchiah showed up whenever Dumah brought in a new haul of humans.
He would peruse the ranks of cowering prisoners searching for the handsomest humans that matched his dimensions. Finally making his choice the humans would be carefully bundled up, to prevent bruising, and carted back to Melchiah's territory where it could be sure the victim was drugged and then skinned alive with precise skill. When Melchiah next wandered into the Sanctuary it would be in a face fellow captives would have found familiar, had they survived Dumah's Games.
Zephon disdained any such pursuits. Power was the only thing he craved. Zephon fell more and more to scheming, so that Melchiah could barely meet his gaze without some disgust at the barely concealed treachery he saw there.
"He would kill us all in our sleep." Melchiah said once, in his usual gloomy way. "If we had to sleep as humans do."
Raziel shook his head, not wanting to believe such a thing could be possible, and tried to cheer Melchiah. "You see conspiracy everywhere my brother. Of course he wouldn't kill us. Who then would he have to plot against? The human slaves? He would die of boredom."
Melchiah managed a wan smile and drifted away, no one understood him...he often saw things that even Kain was unaware of. His tie to the mortal world was always weaker than that of his brothers...and thus he divined more than any could guess.
None could guess the change that would finally start the Wheel of Fate rolling once more.
******
That point of timelessness, that moment of static peace in the ever-changing currents of the universe may have been long in comparison to human life, centuries passed and the Empire was unchanged. But as always the currents shift. The tide swept in once more, startling and unexpected.
No one could understand what had truly taken place. It was as if a forceful madness had torn them from the foundations of their minds. Even the limber minded Zephon was confused, and the weak explanation that Kain had merely been jealous, was far from satisfying him.
"It should never have gone that far." Zephon remarked idly. He stated it without repentance or grief. For him it was simply a puzzle of logic. Besides, Zephon found it as rather a pleasant gift that Raziel had been tossed into the Abyss. Raziel's damnation put him a step higher on the climb to power.
They remembered the look on Kain's face, the shock, the surprise, as Raziel spread his glorious wings. The brothers felt stirrings of startled awe and jealousy. "Why should he advance and not I?" They wondered enviously. For the observant Melchiah the only thing that had mattered was the look of recognition that passed across his master's face, the slight shaking of the head, as if in disbelief.
Everyone tried to ignore what ridiculous Melchiah had said later.
"Yes...that moment of understanding and peace...he knew you see...he always knows what we can not."
They waited silently as Kain strode forward, inspecting the wings with such intensity that Melchiah quailed and Zephon began to revel with glee. Something of import was about to happen! Kain looked at the wings admiringly, a moment of pride perhaps. As they had watched that wonder turned to grim determination.... Raziel fell crying out in agony as Kain tore his wings and then ordered his damnation.
Purging the rebellious and bitter Razielim followed. "And just in time too." thought Zephon, for already many had begun to acquire their own ill-begotten wings. And after it all...Kain still kept the red flag of the dead clan hanging in the Sanctuary...It was all very strange.
Only Kain was not unduly troubled, he seemed prepared for some force no one else could see. Melchiah on the other hand fell into a period of bitter silence. He soon retreated to his clan territory and was rarely seen afterward.
And Zephon too, deciding he was in a game with rules he could not possibly understand threw down the chips and wagered on escape. He gathered his clan and besieged and took the Silenced Cathedral; where he hid, deciding survival was better than the absurdity surrounding the throne.
******
Pain, it was all he knew. His whole world had been reduced to terror and agony. The last thing he remembered was the voice of the vampire he had loved as a father, ordering him into this hell.
And there was no release, at least he had been granted that the last time. His body screamed in endless waves of pain, his mind reeled in turmoil, his soul struggled to get free of the growing madness. He fell, was falling, burned and was burning. And there was no way out. Long ago the water had burned away his eyes; long ago it had poured down his throat silencing his screams and devouring his innards. Long ago he had stopped cursing Kain and his brothers. All he could do was hurt and hate, and his hate grew exponentially as time passed.
And then suddenly, the pain was gone. This sudden absence of pain was almost crippling; he did not understand it. His last shred of sanity tried desperately to reason out this unfathomable quandary; his mind teetered on the brink of madness.
He glanced about the cold somber room ...it seemed familiar, this alien realm...
Then a voice spoke, deep, vast, and somehow amused. It had chosen him, chosen him to restore the balance. It offered him power, it offered him vengeance.
Even his hate was not enough to stop a moment of profound solitude and regret. He stood undecided, hearing echoes of another voice that had called him into a past life. But it was one moment, and nothing more, and like the instincts of Serafan upon waking as a vampire, the moment quickly faded.
The Devourer of Souls began his quest.
i---Many thanks to my sister for putting up with me as I read this to her and asked for her opinions repeatedly. Thanks also to all those creative and fun people at the Nosgothic Forum for expanding the world of Nosgoth. Thank you to those who answered my post about the Brothers. And most importantly, thank you to Silcon Knights for creating the world of Nosgoth and all its inhabitants! ^_^ /i
i---Note: All characters are copyrighted and belong to their respective owners, namely Silicon Knights. The actual wording and added story elements are creations of my fevered mind. This item is not for resale. Enter at your own risk. Questions concerns or comments? Call me, but don't sue me please./i
bThe Story of a Soul/b
The last thing he remembered was pain. Searing agony as his own blade was turned against him by the vampires he had hunted.
Then everything was gone... for years his soul wandered the spirit world, the dull misty reality where time had no meaning. Occasionally the Sluagh would try in vain to consume his being. But this spirit was not meek and did not succumb to their eerie calls. With a flashing of indomitable anger his substance would flit away just before the ghastly scavengers could claim their meal. But he was lost, without direction, for even now the decay of balance had condemned all souls to wander. And so he wandered aimlessly.
He knew nothing of the living world. He could not. Even the life he had known faded as the confusion and emptiness of this new plane overwhelmed his being. His memories of life waned. While armies fought and the balance was thrown further into darkness --he wandered. When the Circle of Nine fell and Kain made his choice --he wandered. When Kain fought his way into the resting-place of the body he had known in life --he wandered.
But it was then suddenly that he heard it. It was a calling far stronger and more urgent than the hungry songs of the Sluagh. It was commanding, powerful, and it did not want to devour him. It was all the reason he needed to end his wanderings.
Across the spectral plane of Nosgoth he soared. Sweeping over gray mountains and blue gorges, through emerald buildings he followed the mysterious voice till his spirit found the source of the calling. He saw with some apprehension a fluttering glow as if from a Wraith, but the entity was somehow bound and could not be a threat to him.
Gradually he became aware of other spirits gathering around the source of the calling. Five it seemed to him, but he could not be sure, they twined about restlessly, circling and hovering. There was something familiar about them, almost comforting, and he did not understand it, but their presence added to his sense of ease. "Come to me," The voice whispered demandingly.
Without a moments hesitation the spirit gave its will into the control of the mind behind insistent voice echoing throughout the spirit realm. The spirit shivered suddenly, feeling a slight shift in the energies of the spirit world, something changed. There was a sudden pull and he was drawn screaming toward the voice.
The first thing he remembered was pain, the old wounds hurt as much as they had when his spirit had fled the world of the living. Pain, darkness and pain, but always behind them the commanding and powerful voice that had drawn him. He heard his own cry of agony fade into a muffled moan and then he opened his eyes. He looked into the hardened face of a young but powerful vampire. The vampire's sharp eyes pierced right through him and held him momentarily.
A ghostly image haunted his mind for just a second, and he remembered other vampires...and pain. For a moment he wanted to kill the vampire, to rend it apart and burn the body in a cleansing flame. But this old confusing instinct faded almost instantly; it was carried over from a time that had no meaning to the soul who had wandered so long. The vampire looked at him with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. And then he spoke, and the voice seemed familiar to him...he vaguely remembered being called...and in that moment his allegiance was sealed.
The vampire smiled. "You are Raziel."
Raziel watched in awe as the vampire moved to raise the others, his own mind was a maze of confused thoughts and vagaries. The agonized screaming of the others as they awoke did nothing to ease the mayhem that dominated his mind. Vainly Raziel tried to remember something...anything...all he could remember was the voice of his father calling him from the darkness, and the agony of waking to life.
The ritual was the same for each; the vampire kneeled in concentration beside their pale motionless forms for some moments. Then suddenly the form would jerk and shudder, screaming and at last look into the face of the vampire. The vampire would watch them intently for a moment, then welcome them, and give them their names. They then stared around with widened eyes, their bodies trembling slightly, perhaps in fear or confusion.
The vampire moved to the last body, kneeling wearily. The last did not awaken with a scream of agony, but with a low gurgling moan. The body turned away from the vampire, as if struggling to get away and go back to its silent slumber. After a few moments the eyes flicked open and looked up at the vampire with a docile sort of melancholy.
"You are Melchiah." Said the vampire.
Then the vampire stood, regal and fierce, he looked at his creations with pride.
"Welcome to Nosgoth, my sons. I am Kain."
******
Much had to be done. The six learned of their vampiric ancestry, of recent history, and what was needed to survive in the grim world. They fought at Kain's side and raised their own children, giving up a portion of their blood to restore the soul of each. These children in turn fought by the brothers' sides, great armies of humans and vampires clashed...but the outcome was inevitable.
Humans were conquered, enslaved, bred in captivity and tended by vampiric shepherds. The twisted genius of Zephon helped to create factories that often had the sole purpose of blotting the sun from the sky. Kain started the religious order of Vampire Worshippers, and Turel saw to it that the order was maintained. Raziel put down the human insurrections that dwindled in number and soon ceased to occur at all.
Time passed and no one tried to recall a time before being born. Each had his own interest to pursue it seemed.
Dumah, always just a bit jealous of the power and strength held by his older brothers, Raziel and Turel, always tried to prove himself in battle. He was indeed a ferocious warrior.
Zephon plotted ceaselessly, his agile mind never quite succeeding in finding a way to overthrow the others. Perhaps it was bad luck. Or perhaps, as always, Kain knew more than he let on.
Melchiah just withered it seemed, always full of mournful sighs and embarrassment about his own fragile hold on un-life.
Raziel too pursued his own interest, which happened to be whatever Kain desired. This often led Zephon to call him unpleasant and degrading names behind his back. But whatever the others thought, Raziel was truly and wholly devoted to the being he knew as father.
Boredom set in after a time. They found themselves graced with decades in which they had nothing better to do than to watch the fledglings squabble and wait for the next transformation to lift their corporeal forms further from humanity and closer to divinity. Enhanced eyesight, slashing claws, powerful legs and hoofed feet with which to run down fleeing humans...and yet nothing to use such power on...
It was getting so monotonous that Dumah had begun the Games, pitting the best human gladiators or recently acquired Vampire Hunters against well-trained fledglings. It gave the Dumahim practice and Dumah a chance to exhibit his prowess in battle. The other Lietenants rarely failed to attend.
Turel and Raziel tried to find something to occupy time, other than Turel constantly teasing handsome Raziel about how all his prettiest priestesses kept flinging themselves at Raziel's feet in adoration. With Kain's approval, they began cultivating the talents of the loyal human servants and put to use their stagnating armies. The collaboration of their industry and imagination produced a wealth of beauty and art.
Elegant statues were carved, fine cloths were woven, metal smiths labored long days making beautiful armor, architects planned and raised great monuments and palaces, and adoring choirs filled those halls with songs praising the wisdom and wonder of Kain's Empire. The end result was a remarkable advancement in the living conditions for the vampire clans. Even captured feral-humans were in awe of the beauty and grandeur of the clan territories.
Rahab became a historian of some renown, recording Kain's wars as he had experienced them, and pointing out time and time again the obvious inanity of the human fight against the vampires. His curiosity over historical matters often led him on long journeys, as he delved into mysteries long forgotten. Once he returned with such vigor and excitement, roused his legions, and vanished with them for many days. When he returned he wore a triumphant smile, his black eyes glittering with joy.
He found his older siblings bent over a map of the Empire, planning the maintenance and increase of defenses, although Dumah declared adamantly that there was no need for them. Rahab dashed out of the room saying he had something to show them. Raziel, Turel and Dumah fully expected him to present them with a bound demon. Instead he returned a moment later loaded down with dusty scrolls, the dust smudging his face and clan cape. He had ransacked a far off monastery and returned with the only loot he had found of worth.
Raziel laughed good-naturedly at the incredulous sight and then set to work building Rahab a library in which to house his treasure. Dumah sighed, shook his head, then gathered his own legions to find more fodder for his Games. The Melchahim sometimes aided Dumah in these hunts and Melchiah showed up whenever Dumah brought in a new haul of humans.
He would peruse the ranks of cowering prisoners searching for the handsomest humans that matched his dimensions. Finally making his choice the humans would be carefully bundled up, to prevent bruising, and carted back to Melchiah's territory where it could be sure the victim was drugged and then skinned alive with precise skill. When Melchiah next wandered into the Sanctuary it would be in a face fellow captives would have found familiar, had they survived Dumah's Games.
Zephon disdained any such pursuits. Power was the only thing he craved. Zephon fell more and more to scheming, so that Melchiah could barely meet his gaze without some disgust at the barely concealed treachery he saw there.
"He would kill us all in our sleep." Melchiah said once, in his usual gloomy way. "If we had to sleep as humans do."
Raziel shook his head, not wanting to believe such a thing could be possible, and tried to cheer Melchiah. "You see conspiracy everywhere my brother. Of course he wouldn't kill us. Who then would he have to plot against? The human slaves? He would die of boredom."
Melchiah managed a wan smile and drifted away, no one understood him...he often saw things that even Kain was unaware of. His tie to the mortal world was always weaker than that of his brothers...and thus he divined more than any could guess.
None could guess the change that would finally start the Wheel of Fate rolling once more.
******
That point of timelessness, that moment of static peace in the ever-changing currents of the universe may have been long in comparison to human life, centuries passed and the Empire was unchanged. But as always the currents shift. The tide swept in once more, startling and unexpected.
No one could understand what had truly taken place. It was as if a forceful madness had torn them from the foundations of their minds. Even the limber minded Zephon was confused, and the weak explanation that Kain had merely been jealous, was far from satisfying him.
"It should never have gone that far." Zephon remarked idly. He stated it without repentance or grief. For him it was simply a puzzle of logic. Besides, Zephon found it as rather a pleasant gift that Raziel had been tossed into the Abyss. Raziel's damnation put him a step higher on the climb to power.
They remembered the look on Kain's face, the shock, the surprise, as Raziel spread his glorious wings. The brothers felt stirrings of startled awe and jealousy. "Why should he advance and not I?" They wondered enviously. For the observant Melchiah the only thing that had mattered was the look of recognition that passed across his master's face, the slight shaking of the head, as if in disbelief.
Everyone tried to ignore what ridiculous Melchiah had said later.
"Yes...that moment of understanding and peace...he knew you see...he always knows what we can not."
They waited silently as Kain strode forward, inspecting the wings with such intensity that Melchiah quailed and Zephon began to revel with glee. Something of import was about to happen! Kain looked at the wings admiringly, a moment of pride perhaps. As they had watched that wonder turned to grim determination.... Raziel fell crying out in agony as Kain tore his wings and then ordered his damnation.
Purging the rebellious and bitter Razielim followed. "And just in time too." thought Zephon, for already many had begun to acquire their own ill-begotten wings. And after it all...Kain still kept the red flag of the dead clan hanging in the Sanctuary...It was all very strange.
Only Kain was not unduly troubled, he seemed prepared for some force no one else could see. Melchiah on the other hand fell into a period of bitter silence. He soon retreated to his clan territory and was rarely seen afterward.
And Zephon too, deciding he was in a game with rules he could not possibly understand threw down the chips and wagered on escape. He gathered his clan and besieged and took the Silenced Cathedral; where he hid, deciding survival was better than the absurdity surrounding the throne.
******
Pain, it was all he knew. His whole world had been reduced to terror and agony. The last thing he remembered was the voice of the vampire he had loved as a father, ordering him into this hell.
And there was no release, at least he had been granted that the last time. His body screamed in endless waves of pain, his mind reeled in turmoil, his soul struggled to get free of the growing madness. He fell, was falling, burned and was burning. And there was no way out. Long ago the water had burned away his eyes; long ago it had poured down his throat silencing his screams and devouring his innards. Long ago he had stopped cursing Kain and his brothers. All he could do was hurt and hate, and his hate grew exponentially as time passed.
And then suddenly, the pain was gone. This sudden absence of pain was almost crippling; he did not understand it. His last shred of sanity tried desperately to reason out this unfathomable quandary; his mind teetered on the brink of madness.
He glanced about the cold somber room ...it seemed familiar, this alien realm...
Then a voice spoke, deep, vast, and somehow amused. It had chosen him, chosen him to restore the balance. It offered him power, it offered him vengeance.
Even his hate was not enough to stop a moment of profound solitude and regret. He stood undecided, hearing echoes of another voice that had called him into a past life. But it was one moment, and nothing more, and like the instincts of Serafan upon waking as a vampire, the moment quickly faded.
The Devourer of Souls began his quest.
i---Many thanks to my sister for putting up with me as I read this to her and asked for her opinions repeatedly. Thanks also to all those creative and fun people at the Nosgothic Forum for expanding the world of Nosgoth. Thank you to those who answered my post about the Brothers. And most importantly, thank you to Silcon Knights for creating the world of Nosgoth and all its inhabitants! ^_^ /i