Hearthkin

A brief post to break the silence...

I am pleased to announce the launch of my latest book - Hearthkin, which is part on of the Orphan of Karelmar Series.

You can find and purchase the novella here.

Vengeance (Finale)

Vengeance (Finale)

So, here we are at last, at the end of the short story of Vengeance. It has taken just under 3 months to write and present, and I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Again, I wish to thank the person who first requested it, it has been a bigger journey than either of us realised at the beginning.

This isn't the last time you will get to experience the story of Vengeance, because as you read this I am reworking it into a  short book, with some noticeable differences that I hope will make it a different, but equally enjoyable read. There will be more on that as it comes closer to publication.

For now, enjoy the finale of Vengeance.

*

Men screamed in shock and agony as the ghost ship pulled alongside the small cutter, disgorging its phantasmic crew. Doran drew his sabre as an elf with pallid, rotting flesh leapt down onto the deck before him. The stinking creature lunged at him, but he neatly side-stepped the savage attack, his blade scything through the elf’s guts. It screamed in pained outrage, and tried to turn on him. However, Doran’s blade had cut deep, and the muscles separated, sending the elf crashing to the deck in a shrieking heap – dark, coagulated blood oozing from the massive wound inflicted by Doran.

Doran turned to look along his small vessel and his stomach dropped. The deck was swarming with embattled sailors – his own crew vastly outnumbered by the ghostly horde that continued to flow from the other ship. He kicked out at a man with half a face who had just landed next to him, sending him tumbling over the ship’s rail into the sea. Another undead apparition suffered a sabre cut across the throat, separating head from shoulders.

All of a sudden, a piercing ringing filled Doran’s ears, obliterating all other sound – drowning out the cries and shrieks of battle, and the clash of steel on steel. He looked around, trying to find the source of the ringing. There was a maelstrom of white light swirling at the ship’s helm, from which men and ghosts alike were staggering back from. Raising his weapon, Doran headed towards it, squinting in the harsh light and wincing in pain from the ringing. As the light began to fade, a horrible figure came into view: it was tall, and at first looked like Mr James, the first mate of the Tempest. However, the next moment it took on the features of Mr Dask, and then the slender cheek bones of and narrow eyes of the captain of the Acdrenc Stefna – Aldrid Shorthelm. Most disturbing of all, to Doran, was the occasional moment where the shifting visage would resolve itself into a familiar yet alien face that had the green eyes that had haunted his sleep every night since the sinking of the Tempest.

He faltered as he came close to the being, his sword lowering as the apparition turned its calm, cold gaze upon him, its features becoming clearer as it gazed on him. His breath choked in his throat and a shaky whisper escaped his lips, “Renee…”

*

The wind whistled past as once again, Renee sped through the night. This time, however, with her mind clear, and Jonathan’s arms holding her firm, she felt safe. The ocean below reflected the stars above, and she gazed down at the glittering waters as they soared over them.

Jonathan’s voice entered her mind, “I do not know what we will find when we get to Doran, though I doubt it will be safe. Stay close to me no matter what.”

Renee nodded her understanding. Her heart was racing, and the tears flowing from her eyes had little to do with the icy wind. Doran. She knew it was not really that long since she had seen him on the shore of the promontory, but it felt like a lifetime. So much had happened since then, her life had been not her own – her thoughts and desires crushed away by burning hate. In her mind she could see him, standing at the prow of his ship, looking down at her with his broad, slightly sideways smile flashing against his short brown beard. His hazel eyes shone with love as he looked at her, twinkling from beneath his thick brows. She remembered how he would raise his hand when nervous and run it back through his brown hair, pushing it to one side. She smiled and sobbed when she remembered the way he would wink at her, ineptly, as his ship cast off, and then would walk the length of the ship as it left the harbour so as to stay within view for as long as possible. Despite his strength as a captain, his wave farewell was always as shy as that of a young boy. She remembered how he would hold her in his arms when he came ashore, and how she would press her head to his chest as he stroked her hair. Vengeance was wrong. He loved her, and she him.

Then, another image filled her mind. Doran lying on the shore, his body shattered, his blood pooling on the pebbles beneath him, his skin waxen and pale. All around, the shattered remnants of his beloved Tempest. Renee cried out in grief and shock, her stomach churning violently as she remembered the burning rage that had filled her in that moment on the promontory, the very rage that had allowed Vengeance in, and had brought her on this terrible journey.

“Hush now,” came Jonathan’s voice in her mind, sending out ripples of calm, “The past should remain where it is – do not let it govern your future. What has happened, happened, and no amount of wishing or whimsy can change that. It is the fate of all mortals to travel only forward in time. Dwelling on the past will do nothing but drag you back. Dry your eyes, and be ready. I think we are getting close.”

Ahead, there was a blot on the smooth glass of the ocean. A great cloud of fog sat over the water, swirling slowly but not moving or dissipating. At the heart of the brooding mass was a white glow that flickered through the mist. Renee felt Jonathan’s grip tighten as he saw it, and heard him snarl, “That is not possible.”

As the came over the fog, he shifted into a dive, and within seconds the came crashing onto the deck, scattering men and ghastly creatures every which way. Jonathan gently released Renee, who stepped forward, desperately seeking about for Doran.

*

Doran parried a blow from the apparition’s blade, white sparks showering from where the blades touched. He moved quickly to the other side of his opponent, oil skin coat swirling about him as he moved. The fog was becoming heavier, and he could feel the moisture clinging to him, plastering his hair to his scalp.

There was a crash behind him on the deck, and the split second he spared to look over nearly cost him his life. The apparition’s blade whistled past and he felt it slice through his collar, the tip just scratching his skin. He returned to the fight, not knowing the cause of the disturbance on the deck. He unleashed a flurry of blows, his blade flashing like molten silver, but each and every one was countered by the apparition.

Desperate, he spun on his heel, bringing down a thunderous blow on the creature. The blade stopped mid swing, caught in the ghostly white hand of the creature. Renee’s face peered out at him and she whispered, “Why, my love? Why do you seek to harm me?”

Blood pounding in his ears, Doran roared, “You are not her, you are not Renee!”

Mr James’ face replaced Renee’s, “No? Then perhaps I am every man you abandoned to the depths!”

The apparition’s face flickered, its appearance changing rapidly, shifting through the face of every crew member of the Tempest. Doran felt sick as he remembered their names. Hans, Robert, Maine, Brown, Baldred, the names rolled over through his mind, filling him with despair.

The flickering faces finally resolved themselves into those of Aldrid Shorthelm, “Well, human? Have you no words for all those who you left to rot in the seas while you breathed the air still?”

“I never asked to survive, or to live again,” whispered Doran.

Suddenly the visage changed to that of a man with perfect features, his voice deep and resonant, “No, but I ensured you did. Your death and rebirth gave me everything I needed to return to this world.”

With that, the creature squeezed, shattering Doran’s sabre, then kicked, sending the captain sprawling onto the deck. The apparition strode forward, raising its blade to strike. As it went to plunge the blade into Doran, however, something huge appeared behind it and grabbed it around the throat – hefting it violently from the deck.

The apparition screamed in rage, its form shifting over and over again as it struggled to break free of its captor’s grasp.

Someone was kneeling beside Doran. His vision was blurry, and his chest burned where he had been kicked. He coughed and felt warm blood fill his mouth. Someone was calling his name, taking his face in their hands. Soft hands, small, and smooth. Not sailor’s hands. He felt warm lips brush his forehead, and long hair fall on his face. He heard sobbing. He blinked and looked at the face in front of his. Green eyes, brimming with tears, gazed into his. He raised a hand to Renee’s face and she pressed her cheek into his palm, her eyes closing as his thumb brushed away her tears. He whispered her name and her eyes opened again.

“Please,” she whispered, “Please get up.”

Doran struggled to order his mind, but slowly began to move, heaving himself from the deck with Renee’s help. The apparition was still being held by the huge figure behind it, who leaned forward to reveal a rugged, tattooed face. He said in a calm voice, “Doran, take your blade and come here.”

Numbly, Doran stepped away from Renee and lifted his broken sword and then approached the struggling creature. The huge man said, “You cannot kill this thing as you would any mortal creature. We must step out of this world to truly defeat it. I can guide you, but you must be certain that you wish to do this.”

“What will it cost me?”

The man looked down at the deck, “I cannot say.”

Doran shrugged, “This needs to be ended, one way or another. I will do it.”

The man nodded, “Come close, and place your hand on its chest.”

Doran did so, and white light began to envelope all three of them, and they began to fade from view.  As Renee watched on with wide eyes, Jonathan looked up at her with sad eyes, and his voice entered her mind and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

As they vanished, Renee fell to her knees, screaming.

*

To Doran it seemed he was standing in a grassy field. His clothes were still wet from the ship, and he could feel the blood caking on his neck and face. His broken sword hung loosely in his hand. Across the field stood the apparition.

A soft voice said next to him, “Are you ready?”

Doran turned. The huge man was there, dressed in rough hunter’s clothes and covered in swirling blue tattoos. His face was serious as he looked at the sea captain.

Doran asked, “What do I need do?”

“That creature is the twisted remnants of one of my brethren. He has turned not only from the path of the gods, but has opened his heart to true darkness, and has taken the lives of innocents. He is completely corrupt. He stole the body of your beloved to gather greater power, and sought to do nothing but kill. If he survives, he will continue to kill, to corrupt, and to destroy.”

“Then do I simply strike it down here?”

The man shrugged, “I cannot honestly say for certain. He is an anomaly, a creature like no other. However, there is one thing you must know.”

Doran raised an eyebrow.

“That creature is what brought you back after the sinking of the Tempest. He is responsible for you surviving.”

“Then he is also responsible for the ghosts. What of it?”

“Should you kill him, I cannot be certain you will not die with him.”

Doran faltered. Could he sacrifice himself like that? Could he lose Renee so willingly? His sword began to slip from his fingers. The man placed his hand on Doran’s shoulder, “I understand the turmoil you must feel.”

Doran wheeled on the man, “Do you? Do you really? Do you have any idea what it must be like to have to choose whether to lose the love of your life? How is that fair, or just? I never asked for any of this!”

The big man’s face became hard and he growled, “I do know that feeling. It is a decision I was forced to make many years ago. And it is a decision I will never cease regretting.”

Doran went pale, “What did you choose?”

“It does not matter,” said the man, “What you must do is make your own choice. Both decisions come with a price – one is certain, the other less so. I cannot help you decide what to do, but I can help you once you have chosen.”

“What will happen if I do not destroy this thing?”

The man’s eyes glowed blue and he touched a fingertip to Doran’s head, filling his mind with images.

Ships at sea blazed with fire, men screaming as they were cut down mercilessly. Forests burned, their smoky haze covering the world. The streets of Kormouth ran red with blood. Doran’s house stood gutted, its door smashed from its hinges. Inside lay Renee’s broken body, a small form in swaddling clothes clutched to her lifeless breast.

Doran pushed away from the man, tears filling his eyes. He looked up at the man, “Enough, I will do it.”

The man nodded and reached out to touch Doran’s sword. Blue light covered it, and stretched from the shattered edge, creating a new blade of light. He said, “This foe is devious. Do not for a moment lose your focus. No matter what is shows you, or pretends to be, it is evil and must be destroyed. Do not falter, Doran Colgan, do not fear. Strike it down.”

Doran stepped forward, then stopped and said without turning, “And Renee?”

“She will be safe.”

The captain nodded and strode across the field.

The apparition stood waiting, still wearing the face of Aldrid Shorthelm. He grinned broadly, “Ahh, Doran. Have you come to slay me?”

“Yes,” hissed Doran.

“The angel told you the cost, did he? That you will die?”

Doran’s eyes narrowed, “Yes. Better one man who has already died, than thousands more who are innocent.”

Aldrid’s face shifted and was replaced by Renee’s. Her green eyes were glistening with tears, her voice hoarse with grief as she said, “And me? Will you abandon me?”

Doran’s gaze was steely, “You are not Renee.” With a wordless yell, he struck out with the shining blade. As the blue energy passed through the apparition’s side, the illusion surrounding it shattered, and it fell back, formless and hideous.

The creature began to shift and grow before Doran’s eyes. Its skin turned an inky purple, like a deep bruise, and began to harden into scales. Its arms began to swell and lengthen, claws as long as daggers growing from its fingers. A tail exploded from its back, and ugly red spines ran down its back and along its tail. Two savage pairs of horns grew from its elongating face, which was beginning to look more and more like a muzzle. Two sickly yellow eyes glared down at Doran. Shadow covered him as it spread leathery wings that blocked out the sun.

Its voice was thunderous, and filled with bestial rage, “Cower before the might of Nihilus, last of the Seraph of Elmuthia!”

Doran took up a fighting stance, looked Nihilus steadily in the eyes, and said, “No.”

A purple fist smashed down, forcing Doran to dive aside, landing painfully on his arm. He grunted as he got back to his feet. Before Nihilus could react, Doran plunged his sword into the beast’s thigh, the blade punching cleanly through both sides of the leg. Nihilus bellowed in pain and swatted Doran away, sending him sailing across the grass. He did not relinquish his hold on the sword, and Nihilus cried out once more as the blade was torn savagely from him. Rather than blood, golden light spilled from his wound, swirling about his body as it drained from him.

He flapped his wings and lifted himself from the ground, rising high above Doran. The captain was prepared, however, as the beast dropped on him, and he dove between its legs as it landed. Skidding across the grass on his back, Doran swung his sword hard at his foe, separating its tail from its body. Nihilus screamed even louder at that, and whirled about faster than Doran anticipated, gripping him in one hand and lifting him up to eye height.

Doran struggled to breathe as the beast’s fist squeezed tighter. He struggled, and his locket slipped out of his coat. It flashed red as it caught the sunlight, and then brushed against Nihilus’ hand. The beast cried out as his flesh burnt at the touch of the locket. His other hand came up and a talon tore the locket from Doran’s neck, flinging it away in the grass. As it spun away, Doran saw it pop open, and saw the painting inside. His heart pounded as he looked once more at Renee’s face, and he felt power filling him.

“Clever, Jonathan!” cried Nihilus, “But even such ancient bonding magic as that has no power over me!”

Jonathan, standing where Doran had left him, called out, “Maybe not you. But who said I had forged that spell for you?”

Nihilus’ bestial face looked puzzled, “Wha-“

Doran roared in fury, and with a grunt broke free of Nihilus’ grip. As he dropped to the ground, Doran braced for his landing, and as soon as he struck the ground he surged forward. In his surprise, Nihilus did not react quickly, and fell back shrieking as Doran’s sword crossed his chest; once, twice, thrice.

Nihilus fell onto his back and Doran rammed his sword home, pushing it up under the beast’s chin and through its head. The beast screamed and exploded into golden light, leaving a burned outline of itself on the grass.

Jonathan made his way to Doran’s side and placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Well done,” he said, “It is over.”

“What now?” asked Doran as the field began to fade from view.

“Now,” said Jonathan, “We find out what price you must pay.”

*

Doran blinked as the ship came into focus. The deck was quiet now, the ghosts and their ship were gone. His chest burned, and felt damper by the second. He reached down and felt a wooden spar protruding from him, his blood oozing out around it.

“Oh,” he said as his shattered leg gave way, sending him crashing to the deck. He reached up to his throat, panic filling him as he fumbled for his locket. It was gone, left in the field where he had slain Nihilus. As his vision began to swim and darken he sobbed. This was the price then. He would die for saving others. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem fair.

Renee fell to her knees next to him, taking his hand in both of hers. She looked at his wounds, remembering when she had first seen them at the promontory. She looked up at Jonathan, who was standing by impassively, and cried, “Can you not do anything?”

“No,” said the Bealdor¸ “The natural order must reassert itself.”

Renee’s body was racked by sobs as she watched Doran drifting away, his hazel eyes locked on her face, a slight smile on his bloody face. He whispered to her, his voice choked by the blood filling his lungs, “I love you, Renee. I always loved you.”

The light faded from his eyes, and Renee screamed, her face to the skies, her hands still cradling the head of her beloved. Her scream went on, passing from rage to something more. Lightning flashed, and the deck around her began to shake. The sea about them leapt up, but no water fell upon her or Doran. This time no new power filled her, but she continued to shriek her furious grief to the heavens. Then, drained, she collapsed, resting her head on his chest as though he was simply asleep and she was lying with him.

Jonathan’s voice broke through her sorrow, “He died a hero.”

Renee looked up at him with reddened eyes, “He didn’t need to die to be a hero. I didn’t love him because he was a hero, or even because he could be one. I loved him because he was a kind man, a good man, who did what was right no matter what it cost him.”

Jonathan’s eyes were downcast, “That is what he did this time too.”

“I know,” whispered Renee, “I’ve always known that I would lose him to his own stupid nobility.” She pounded her fists on Doran’s still chest, “Why couldn’t you be selfish just once, you bastard!”

It was Jonathan who supplied the answer, “Because if he had been selfish, he wouldn’t have been the man you loved.”

Renee, numbed by that, nodded.

“Come,” said the angel, “let us take him home.”

*

Renee stood atop the promontory, her skirts flapping around her as the wind blew back her ponytail. Around her neck hung a locket, which her fingers caressed absently, lovingly. She watched the procession of sailors make their way along the pebbled shore, carrying the casket that held her beloved. She held back her tears as the lowered the casket into a small boat, and bit her lip as they pushed it off from the shore, and began to row out to the small island of Captain’s Grief.

The tears didn’t come until she saw their boat leave the island, this time without Doran’s casket.

She ignored them as they saluted her from the beach.

After many hours had passed, she reached into her pocket as the sun began to set and looked at the gilded jewel that she now held in her hand. Perhaps this had the power to bring him back.

Then, she thought of his smile as he looked at her. His dying words. He died with love in his heart, and his conscience clear.

She smiled sadly and cast the stone out into the waters below the promontory.

Jonathan had been right, dwelling on the past would do nothing but drag her back.

Fine

Vengeance (Pt. 11)

Vengeance (Pt. 11)

Jonathan led Renee out of the forest, at times having to half-carry her, so exhausted was she from her ordeal. They followed an old, rutted path that slowly rose out of the woods and onto a cliff top. Right on the edge of the cliff stood a small log cabin. He reached the door of the cabin and opened it, gesturing for the young woman to enter. She did so hesitantly, still not entirely sure she could trust this strange being.

Inside, the cabin was simple. In one corner was a rough wooden table with two stools under it; a low bed was against one wall, and at the opposite end of the room was a small stone fireplace, its embers still glowing. A few animal hides were spread out across the packed earth floor of the cabin. Jonathan pulled out the two stools and indicated that Renee should sit. Then, he walked over to the hide in the centre of the room, pulling it aside. Beneath it was a wooden trapdoor, which he hauled open. He reached inside the cavity created and produced an earthenware flask, and two small cups of the same make.

He sat down at the table with Renee and set down the two cups. He unstoppered the flask and poured a deep amber liquid into both the cups. He gently slid one cup towards her and said softly, “Drink.”

Renee took the cup but did not drink, “What is it?”

“Uisce,” replied Jonathan, “It is a drink made by the men of the north. It is strong, but it helps warm you inside.”

With that he lifted his own cup and drained it quickly, following his sup with a satisfied sigh. Renee mimicked him, but nearly choked. The drink, while aromatic, was bitter on the tongue, and burned her throat. However, to Jonathan’s credit, it did warm her belly.

She spluttered and coughed for a while before saying, “How do you drink that without choking?”

Jonathan laughed, pouring himself a second, and said, “Practice. I have been drinking Uisce for a few decades now. The Erelisians used to make a similar type of drink which they called Aqua Vitae, which I drank for over a century.”

“How old are you?”

The man drained his second cup and then said, “Older than I look. I am afflicted by a most terrible curse.”

Renee waved him away as he gestured to her cup with the flask, and asked, “What is this curse?”

Jonathan knocked back his third cup and said, “I am immortal. Age will never come for me, nor any natural sickness. I have walked Doranath for nearly three centuries. Why, or how, is not important.” He paused, narrowing his eyes at the young woman, taking her in for the first time.

Despite her exhaustion, she was beautiful. Thin brows rested above green eyes that sparkled in the afternoon light, taking everything in. Her delicate nose was slightly red from the cold outside, as were her slender lips. When she spoke, her lips turned up at the corners, revealing her slightly uneven teeth, and hinting at the radiant smile that hid beneath. Her long brown hair hung halfway down her back, and was tucked behind small ears that protruded just enough to be uniquely attractive. Her skin was pale, and dusted with freckles. Jonathan had had little to do with women in his long life, at least when it came to romance, but he could see that Renee was a rare beauty.

He asked her, “How did you come to encounter Nihilus?”

Renee took a deep breath, and then told her story from when she first saw Doran’s ship in battle from the Promontory.

*

Doran was uneasy. Whilst he knew that the Elven ships were nearby, that he could not see them gave him little comfort. Heavy fog had settled over the still waters, and there was no breeze to speak of. That did not bode well for him and his crew. The plan had been for Doran’s small vessel to lure the ghost ship into the jaws of the waiting Elven fleet. With no wind to fill the sails, and not enough crew to row with any meaningful speed, they were now an easy mark for any attacker.

Doran glanced over at Mr Dask, who was shivering in the cold fog, rubbing his arms with his hands in a vain effort to keep warm. Doran felt sorry for the old man; he had finished his time in the navy long ago, and had spent the past seven years occasionally fishing the shallow waters around Kormouth. He didn’t deserve to be out here, serving a disgraced captain on a fool-hardy, and probably fatal, mission.

He was about to call out to the man when the slap of wet sails made him turn and peer into the mists. No matter which way he turned, all he could see were the dense, swirling mists. The sound of the wet sails came again, but seemingly from everywhere. The crew were deathly silent, all gazing around, fear on their faces. Doran took a deep breath and went to call out an order to Mr Dask. However, as he turned to where the man stood there was a splash, and Mr Dask was going.

Looming out of the fog past where the first mate had stood, a huge vessel slid quietly by, seaweed trailing from her gilded bow.

*

Jonathan looked sadly at Renee, listening to her finish her story by describing the feeling of freedom as the being that she knew as Vengeance leaving her body. He gulped down his twelfth cup of Uisce and scratched his stubbly chin. After a few moments of silence, he said, “I am sorry you had to suffer at the hands of one of my brothers. What Nihilus did to you was horrific, and I am sorry you had to endure his presence for so long.”

Renee bit her lip, “Will his magic be undone?”

Jonathan’s brow knotted with thought, “I honestly can’t say. Spells cast that required constant attention and reinforcement certainly will have been dispelled. I know you are concerned for Doran – I do not know how Nihilus brought him back, it should not be possible, not with the powers possessed by we Seraph – in fact, I suspect he utilised something within you. You are not a mage though, so I am truly uncertain. I am sorry.”

“Can we find him then?”

“Doran?” said Jonathan, “Possibly – due to his contact with Nihilus, his presence should act as a lodestone on the world. He will draw things, dark things, unnatural things, to himself without realising. I should be able to sense him.”

Renee looked up at the tattooed man with hope.

He raised a finger, “Give me a moment.”

His eyes changed from dark brown to a deep, swirling blue; all traces of pupil and white vanishing. His tattoos began to pulsate with light, and Renee swore that some of the moved, crawling about his skin to form new, alien patterns.

Jonathan gasped, and the light vanished, “He is close, but we must hurry.”

Without a further word, he grabbed Renee and dragged her out of the cabin.

Wrapping his huge arms around her, he cried, “Hold on!” and with that launched himself into the  air, huge brown wings spreading wide.

Sagrannus Gaming: Emily is Away

Have you ever wanted to be reminded in a strange way of your teenage years? Relive all those horribly angst-y and awkward conversations you had with your friends on MSN Messenger? No? Well, apparently someone has decided you should - so, deal with it.

The worst bit, is - and I can't say that I like this game - but I can respect how and what was done, and its execution.

(Note, the screenshots do contain SOME spoilers)

Emily is Away

Developer: Kyle Seeley
Publisher: Kyle Seeley
Genre: Indie Interactive Story
Released: November 21, 2015 

I have a tendency to be cautious around games recommended by friends, or friends of friends, or even friends of a friend of a friend of mine: In case my opinion offends them. But this time was a little different. This game wasn't recommended to me - I was vented at across a dinner table about this game. I can't recall the exact words, but there was an implication that half an hour of the speaker's life had been stolen away. I admit I was intrigued - and a little dubious. I've played bad games - and to be clear, Emily is Away isn't bad - so I decided to act the sacrificial lamb and try it out.

Gameplay

The gameplay is very simple. You are in a messenger program akin to AOL or MSN Messenger, and you progress through 6 chapters  - 1 per year - which each feature one conversation with the titular Emily. In these conversations you choose your responses from 3 options, which can have varying impacts on the plot and your relationship with Emily. To make sure that you haven't fallen asleep, you have to type randomly on the keyboard so that your virtual self writes and sends the message. This is an interesting idea, and works. Beyond that, there is no real gameplay - this is an interactive story after all

Graphics

Again, this is an interactive story - don't expect soaring vistas (it's set on an XP computer - hear the audience groan at that one) or smooth combat animations, cos there ain't none. That said, the pixel art for the profile pictures is fairly well done, and what they are supposed to be is clear. I'm not sure how the designs stand with copyright, but the game is free so I'm sure it's fine....

Sound

There is no soundtrack - just clicks, clacks, and nostalgic XP sounds. That's fine, just have your media player playing in the background. For that extra nostalgia, if you have the music library to do this, see if you can listen to music specifically from the year that your are currently in in-game. And...you know...if you are old enough to have nostalgia for 2004...

Plot and (Re)Playability

The plot is what this game is all about. What it does, is create a basic idea of a relationship between two individuals, starting from the end of their final year at high school. The two characters communicate once per year (that you know of) but you can influence some of the other yearly events through the conversations in-game. Much of the narrative is left to be fleshed out by you, mentally, and by vague allusions during conversations. What fascinates me, as someone who actually did use MSN Messenger quite frequently around the time that this game is set, is how well Kyle Seeley captured the way teens communicated. The execution is excellent - the awkwardness, the deleting of what you wanted to say to be replaced by inane questions about the weather, and the slight adrenaline rush when you are waiting for the replay to something you think you shouldn't have asked.

The ending(s) that I experienced certainly left me wanting to replay the game differently, though a playthrough takes roughly half an hour, so the overall replayability is definitely limited.

Conclusion

As I said at the beginning, I can't like Emily is Away - what it is, to me, is a game making a point; not  a game trying to be fun. But I can respect it. The developer set out with a clear goal in mind, and as far as I am concerned, achieved it. The writing, such as it is, is solid and well presented, with some interesting character development. The game, unsurprisingly, runs smoothly on my system. Beyond that, there isn't much to say. Lots of nostalgia for people who are old enough to remember AOL and MSN Messenger, lots of nostalgia for those who want (though I don't know why) to relive their angst-y teenage years. A solid indie presentation.

Sagrannus Rating – 6/10 (It's free and short, try it)

Oh, and just as an aside - F*** that ending. Seriously, what the S***!?

Vengeance (Pt. 10)

Vengeance (Pt. 10)

Doran was forced to his knees, falling to the cold stone floor with a grunt. He risked a glance upwards, and saw slender arms of shimmering stone that rose from the floor and walls to support the golden dome above. At the top of the dome hung a large glittering stone, which filled the entire chamber with a cool white light. The dome itself was made up of large tapering panels, each apparently inscribed with historic scenes, heavily stylised. The elven soldier who had forced Doran to his knees grabbed him by the hair and roughly dragged his head back down to stare at the floor, hissing something in Elven.

A calm voice from directly ahead of Doran said, “What brings a human sea captain to the territories of Illeth Moran?”

Doran raised his eyes. The speaker was seated in a tall, slender throne. The seat itself had high armrests, and the back rose high above the occupant’s head, and was carved to look like the spreading branches of a tree, with small emeralds hanging from the branches, glittering in the light. The occupant himself was a slender elf in pale blue robes with a tall collar. His hair was a lustrous auburn and cascaded down to his waist, which was cinched with a slender cord of silver.

The elf intertwined his fingers and said, “Well, speak.”

Doran replied, “I come for the aid of the mighty elven fleet.”

The elf looked genuinely intrigued, and leant forward in his throne, “Is that so? I have always considered yours an arrogant race, yet here you are, asking for my aid.” He chuckled, “Begging on your knees in fact.”

“Not by choice, you might note.”

“Hmph,” said the elf, “Very true. Guard, untie him and let him come forward.”

The guard froze, “Your highness, he is Kormouthian, an enemy of Illeth Moran.”

The elf on the throne chuckled once more, “I think I can handle myself with one mortal. Do as I instruct.”

Begrudgingly, the guard untied Doran’s hands and helped him to his feet. Doran made his way slowly across the floor, looking down at it as he rubbed life back into his hands. The floor was pitch black, and apparently seamless. It had been so well polished that it was like a mirror. The light from above refracted in such a way that it seemed to Doran that he was walking across a sea of stars. He halted before the throne, and looked the elf in the eyes steadily.

“I,” said the elf, “Am King Estaleth of Illeth Moran, fifteenth High King of the Elves since the Cataclysm. And you are?”

“I am Doran Highpeak, formerly of the Kormouthian Navy.”

“Ah,” said Estaleth with a smile, “I have heard of you. A frequent thorn in the side of my southern fleets, I am given to understand. Yet you say you are no longer a servant of Kormouth.”

Doran nodded.

“How interesting. So what brings you here with such a strange request?”

“I believe I am being haunted by a ghost vessel, and I think that only your kind would have a chance of fending it off, let along destroying it.”

“And why should I help you with this?” mused the King.

“Because, my lord, half of that ship and its crew are made up of the Acdrenc Stefna.”

The King frowned, “How is this possible?”

“I sank her,” said Doran, “At the cost of my own ship. Now, both crews seek me out, for I should have died with them, yet did not.”

“While terrible, I am sure, I do not see what I would gain from helping you, Doran of Kormouth.”

A woman’s voice spoke from behind the throne, “Is it not obvious, my liege?”

Estaleth turned his head and said, “Speak, Ellandra, what is your thought?”

A thin elven woman made her way around the throne. She wore robes of green, and her raven hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail that emphasised her pointed ears and high cheekbones. When she spoke, delicate white teeth flashed, “Beyond the matter of Elven dead being bound to this world, there is another concern that comes to mind. While the ghost ship may haunt this man, surely it is a danger to all on the sea – is that a risk we are willing to take?”

“Are you sure, Ellandra?” the King looked concerned.

“Certain? No,” she gave a Doran a long look, “But I do not think that taking a risk in the hope that the ship will not be a problem would be unwise. Best that we nip such a potential threat in the bud.”

The King sat back in his throne, a thoughtful look on his face, “It would surely not hurt to send the fleet out for an exercise anyway, would it?”

“No, it would not.”

“Very well, we shall assemble our captains, and see what we can plan.”

*

The nine captains of the Illeth Moran navy stood around the table. Doran recognised only their leader – Ildrin, captain of the Brimclifer – who had spent the last few minutes watching Doran with cold hatred in his eyes. Doran could sympathise, not only was the death of Ildrin’s brother Aldrid on Doran’s hands, but so too was his spirit’s entrapment on the ghost ship. Hell, if Doran was in Ildrin’s place, he would have killed Doran already. Doran couldn’t help but admire the elf’s icy resolve.

“So,” said Ildrin, tearing his eyes from Doran, “This haunted vessel was last sighted far to the south, tearing through one of the finest vessels in the Kormouthian navy.” Doran noted that the elf smirked at that remark.

Ellandra spoke from outside the circle, “Given what Doran has told us, the ship is likely to pursue him. Therefore it would be reasonable to expect that the ghost vessel is now significantly closer to Illeth Moran.”

Ildrin leaned over the charts on the table, and said, “Given the supposed size of this vessel, it would be best if we could engage it on our terms. I doubt that ghost ships are all that open to such a situation though.”

Doran cleared his throat, “Actually, there might be a way.”

“It speaks,” snarled Ildrin, “Well, human, what is your solution?”

“The ghost ship hunts me, so if I were to act as bait in a location that was tactically desirable, then once it appeared you could attack it.”

Another captain, shorter than the others, with plain features said, “It could work. If we could encircle it, surely even a vessel of such a mysterious nature would be eager pickings.”

“It is possible,” said Ildrin, “Ellandra?”

“I cannot think of a better way to turn this to your advantage,” replied the woman.

“Very well,” said Ildrin, “Then all we need now is to choose a location, one that will allow us to remain concealed until the enemy appears, and then to be able to trap them.”

He looked down at the charts once more and placed a black gloved finger on a circle of small islands, “That should do nicely,” he said with a grim smile.

Vengeance (Pt. 9)

Vengeance (Pt. 9)

The stranger stood at the edge of the clearing, his grey eyes watching Vengeance carefully. Vengeance was still filled with rage, her eyes fixed on the stranger. Very slowly, the stranger lowered his hand and spoke once more, “Who are you?”

Using Renee’s mouth, Vengeance hissed, “Who I am is of no import.”

“On the contrary,” said the man, “It is perhaps the most important thing of all. You should not have been able to enter this place.”

He paused, and fixed Vengeance with a sidelong glance and said softly, “Neither of you.”

Renee felt Vengeance blanch at that, and take a step back.

The stranger stepped forward, his eyes narrowing, “It is no possession; that is different. No, this is something stranger – older.”

“You know nothing,” snapped Vengeance.

The stranger smirked, “Is that so? Then have you told your host what you really are?”

Renee was intrigued. She could feel the heat of Vengeance’s rage cool, and felt a new emotion rise in the being – a feeling far more familiar to Renee: fear. Something about the stranger made Vengeance very uncomfortable, and Renee sensed that Vengeance had encountered him before.

Vengeance screamed and once more unleashed light from her hands. This time, the stranger did not raise his hand, and instead simply walked into the light, allowing it to sink into his body, burning through his clothes, but not even marking his tattooed skin.

He smiled at Vengeance and said, “I honestly expected more of you. I expected that the only one to escape would have been something…better.”

The way he uttered the final word triggered a new wave of burning hate to rise in Vengeance, making Renee feel ill and forcing her to retreat. Vengeance hissed, “It is impossible. You should not be here. You left.”

The stranger smirked again, flashing his perfect teeth, “Did I? Why would I have done that? You, of all the beings in the universe, should best know the duty I was charged with. Your very existence is why I could not have left. Though I confess, I did think the hunt for you a waste.”

“Then why not move on?” snapped Vengeance, “What threat do I pose?”

“You ask me that,” said the stranger accusingly, “While standing there in the body of another, and hunting for the Furies of the dead Seraph?”

Vengeance froze, but Renee could feel the being’s mind working, reaching out for something. Suddenly, a wave as cold as ice filled her as Vengeance found what she sought – Octavius’ Fury – and tapped its power. With a grin, Vengeance launched herself at the stranger, gathering the power of the Fury about herself, preparing to unleash it on him.

She halted in mid-air, the stranger’s huge hand around her neck. His other hand already held his sword, drawn so swiftly that Renee had not even seen him move. He hissed at Vengeance, “Release the woman.”

“No.”

“You would disobey your Bealdor?”

Renee’s mind boggled. If the stranger was the Bealdor that Vengeance had spoken of, then that could only mean that Vengeance was…

“You are no master to me. You hunted all of us like animals.”

The Bealdor did not relinquish his grip, “I hunted you because you betrayed the gods, you fell into darkness and besmirched your honour. Our fathers bade me deal out justice as was fitting. I did as I saw fit.”

Vengeance’s voice was shaking, “You killed your brothers and sisters.”

“Only because they chose to try to kill me. They could have returned to the fold.”

Vengeance snorted, “Is that what you are going to do here? Offer me a chance at redemption?”

The Bealdor laughed, “No, Nihilus, you are beyond redemption. You have touched a mortal soul, and you have desecrated the bones of your kin. There will be no redemption for you.”

Ice began to crystallise on the Bealdor’s gloves, spreading down from Vengeance’s throat. It crackled as it passed from his heavy gloves onto his skin. It seemed unable to form on the man’s tattoos, instead tracing its way around them, freezing his skin. Still, he did not release her, unperturbed by the frost.

As the ice reached his shoulder he sighed, “Do you really think this will work, Nihilus?”

Vengeance grunted, unable to break the grip of the huge man. The Bealdor’s eyes begin to glow, filled with a swirling blue light. The light seemed to spread outwards from his eyes, his tattoos beginning to glow softly in the night, the light spreading to cover his whole body, the shapes of the tattoos gleaming through his clothes. Where the glow touched the ice from Vengeance, it bloomed in violent flashes, melting away the frost.

The light finally reached his hands, and as it did, Renee felt Vengeance begin to squirm, as though trying to avoid the touch of the Bealdor. The energy spread from Bealdor’s hand and into Renee’s body. Her eyes shone white and she felt as though something was been torn from her. There was an ear splitting shriek of intense agony and then the man released her, letting her crumple to the ground. Above her, a glowing figure of white light floated, long ethereal wings on its back reaching across the clearing.

Nihilus’ true voice echoed strangely, and was deeper than that of vengeance, but lacking any intonation that suggested gender. It was accompanied by a celestial humming, “So, Bealdor, shall you strike the last of your kin down?”

The Bealdor lowered his gaze and then said softly, “I do not need to strike you down. You are so far fallen, so depraved, that I would need only wait for you to burn away. However, should you ask it of me, I shall grant you a merciful death.”

Nihilus’ body tinged red with rage and he hissed, “Damn you and your mercy. I do not need nor want your pity.”

Shrugging, the Bealdor said, “As you wish”

With that, he waved his hand dismissively and Nihilus began to scream, fading into the night. Once he vanished and the wailing ceased the Bealdor knelt down by Renee and placed his huge hand gently on her forehead.

Softly he said, “Girl, are you alright?”

She opened her eyes blearily, in control of her body for the first time in what seemed an eternity. She struggled to speak, but croaked out, “Bealdor?”

He smiled and shook his head, “Please, call me Jonathan.”