His name means mountain lion, and they say he killed people with fangs and claws, with a feral thirst for blood.

Some say his mother left him in the wilds to be eaten by wolves, and the mother of evil, Caoránach, found him.  They say she raised him with wild wargs and, on his tenth name-day, he razed his home village to the ground.

Others say his father owed a debt to the Devil, and because his own life had little worth, he paid with the life of his firstborn son.  They say the Devil trained him to trick the pious and defile innocent souls.

Of course, we now know much of these details are distorted fabrications woven together overtime.  With thorough research, we, the Department of Historic Legends and Folklore, have determined fact from fiction and are prepared to share our findings with the Academy of New Sian concerning the life and legend of Beinn Puma, née Ekfolt von Faust agus Gretchen in 1261 Si.  Our publication, titled King of the Mountain, details the life of the infamous late-13th century debt-collector, the man directly responsible for the death of over one thousand men, indirectly associated with the destruction of the Siani empire, and mysteriously tied to Sudice's prophesied Child of Blessings, the 2000 year-old prophesy that accurately predicted the return of beasts and monsters.

Professor Andrej W. Martin

Lectures of Historic Sian; Popular Pagan Legends and Folktales

1322 Si

Between two trees exploded into boulder stumps, Elemmírë raised a fist. Behind him, ten figures, barely visible above the gloom and bloom, dropped to their knees and scanned the street. They relied solely on the ghostly green readouts from their face masks, as their actual sights would have been distracted by the feral tapestry of flowers, the result not only of civilization gone wild but the biodegradable ammunition being used in the War. Inside each bullet was a gene seed which, when struck by fire, would sprout by day’s end into a single flower. It'd been the only agreed-upon convention between the elf factions—a way of turning war zones into gardens, of reducing the carbon imprint from endless shelling.

For a heartbeat, Elemmírë's Sight picked up a cracked skull, lilac seeping out like purple brain. Then he was Focused on the lights of armored cars bouncing across perforated rock-wake. A set of hand signals and the Ten disappeared, their gaudy red-and-gold camouflage blending with laceleaf and marigold. What Elemmírë's scouts were about to do was an ugly thing; an undignified ambush of a supply convoy. But in another way, a way beyond the soulless tactical hell of battle, they'd be returning motorized death-cannons and plated mercs wearing the ears of enemies around their necks to the serenity of nature.

Durman wrapped his long fingers around the ball, feeling its weight and its power. He had within him the ability to change one thing in the world, and he gazed into the ball's smooth surface for guidance. There were dragons plaguing the mountain people to the north, but the dragons also scorched the land so it could become fertile again. There were wars on the southern peninsula, but if he stopped them, he had no doubt that they would simply break out somewhere else. He dearly wanted Ismelda's love, but a love forced is not true love at all. The ball showed him many things, but it was inward he had to look to find his answer. He pondered his dilemma for many days before he arrived at an answer, and it was one that surprised him greatly when it came. He would give himself the gift of the wordsmith, creating words that could be written for anyone or spoken anywhere. They could be powerful words that would sway a mighty planet and change the course of its future. But they must also be words that, when reflected back, would keep him humble. Contented with his decision, he grasped the ball tightly, gazed inside its infinite depths, and changed his life forever.

          Will and Kate sat on the back porch, sipping wine, like two deciduous trees in the middle of winter.

          "What's on your mind, gorgeous?"

          Kate woke from her trance, prying her eyes away from the glowing amber and smouldering white ash, centered in the middle of the backyard. "Oh," she said, "just thinking back to a time when I couldn't drink."

          “Ah,” he said, “when we were aiming for the stars.”

          “Just the one,” she said. “I—”

          A hole had appeared right before their eyes, swallowing the fire pit in one mouthful, and in its place, a child no older than two or three appeared with piercing blue eyes, disheveled hair, and soot-stained cheeks mired in tears.

          “It’s…” Will said, already on his feet, unable to tear his eyes away from the illusion. “A boy?”

He untangled himself from the blankets and her embrace, reluctant to leave the warm covers and the one in them. Lifting a hand, he traced it down her cheek, smiling as she murmured in her sleep; he gazed at her, wanting to memorize every curve, every feature, every freckle.

Slowly he forced himself to turn away, standing up from the bed and striding over to the balcony. He looked over his shoulder to catch one last glimpse of her, before throwing open the doors and stepping out into the cool night air; blending into the shadows like a whisper in the darkness.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, a melodious voice like chimes in the wind whispered, "Must you leave?" 

His heart twisted as he turned, gazing at her as she tugged the white blankets tightly around her frame, black hair wisps in the wind as she stared after him, head cocked to one side in a melancholy expression of question. 

"I must, my love," He said hoarsely, closing the distance between them, gazing into her soft brown eyes brimming with tears.

His lips met hers, then trailed down her neck, her shoulders, skin velvet beneath him; she sighed at his touch, her hands tangling themselves in his hair.

As the first tears escaped her eyes, he raised his head and his eyes bored into hers; a fierce fire burning in them as he murmured, "One day, I will see you again, I swear it."

He withdrew quickly, unfurling his ink-black wings and leaping off the edge of the balcony, she watched as he disappeared, turning back to gaze at her once, twice, three times, she watched until he was a speck on the horizon, until he was gone, then closed her eyes and breathed, 

"Goodbye, my Black Knight."

❋❋❋

Notice a curious little person—out of time, out of place—despite being ten, and at home. Nondescript in every other way: average build, average height, average brown, average brown, average tan. Nevertheless, Odd; in tune with some parallel Universe that manifested itself through a seemingly meaningless hole in the downstairs bedroom wall.

Both parents had noticed the opening during the family move (agreeing amongst themselves that it needed “spackling”), but when it became conveniently obscured by a nightstand the two adults were grateful to forget about this among other odd jobs. Yet it was, by a little someone, still remembered, and inspected closely—the peephole had apparently been dug from the other side!

It was clear that peering into the darkness would reveal nothing, though conversely, one could see everything fairly well in the space within… All that could be done, then, was to put an ear to the wall. At first noticeable only was that internal suction that one perceives when clamping both hands over one’s ears and sticking out one’s tongue.

Then slowly, on concentration outside of one’s self, it was possible to discern an ever changing, yet singular voice. The voice of infinite faces spoke always, telling of many things, related, unrelated to which the listener-in added another partial narrative; and so they lived, side by side, unknown and unknowable—unafraid—like monsters on opposite sides of a grown-up’s bed, but with a recognized infinite Respect.

Johan pushed himself up from the blood-spattered ground. He saw his friend flailing helplessly, trying to escape the terrible grip of the giant wood-scorpion. The pincers squeezed tighter, blood spurted from Gurnd's mouth as his ribs began to buckle. It was now or never. Johan, fueled by adrenaline, disregarded his own injuries and leapt to his feet. The beast's massive tail raised high into the air, it's venom-laden stinger pulsed in rhythm with Johan's heartbeat; fast and frantic. He was nearly within striking-distance when the scorpion plunged it's hideous barb down at Gurnd. Johan's sword flashed, crunching through exoskeleton and thick slime, severing the tail. He was too late; the stinger had hit it's mark and Gurnd was already dead before the beast disappeared into the forest. Never again would Johan laugh with his friend, never again would he walk that road, never again would he long for adventure.

Azari and Zane were as different as night and day-- she had blonde hair and sky blue eyes that went well with her paler complexion, while he had black hair, olive skin, and eyes so dark you couldn't see the pupils. 

Azari and Zane's parents were both Mindcasters, so of course, they were expected to have powers, too. 

Azari was afraid that if Zane had powers, then she wouldn't, because they were polar opposites. 

However, the Elder Mindcaster assured her that they both had equally strong powers flowing through their veins.

Now, there comes a day when every Mindcaster or anyone else who shows a manifestation of power must come before the Elder Mindcaster. 

Even though Azari and Zane's powers were not the power of the mindcasting and they had not manifested anything, everyone still knew the power was in them; so they came.

The Elder Mindcaster kindly and carefully instructed them on how to concentrate on manifesting their powers for the first time.

Since Zane, was oldest he went first; his powers were so overwhelming that the Elder Mindcaster drew back in utter fear and reverence.

Only Zane didn't stop there, and Azari knew he would destroy all the Mindcasters if she didn't do something--which meant using her abilities against her own brother.

I would not dare to travel far from home, and never beyond to the forest where the trees consume the sun. It is the home of their people. An unusual, unnatural civilization that take the form of both man and goat. Our village has told nightmarish stories of how these creatures would proud warriors, defending their home and nature, raiding the strongest of strongholds and becoming victorious. 

I would not dare enter their territory; but if the stories of how they are not just warriors but skilled medicine people, it his their aid I seek to heal the sick in my village. My presence could end in death, but it is worth the risk.

Their enclosure is not far now. As I walk down the pathway of this dark forest, I feel their presence around me, watching within the trees. I reach the wooden walls of their home where they wait for me. Their spears at the ready, body and face armored, it is time to see if they will act as friend or foe.

He never saw it coming. The bolt of lighting exploded with a force so powerful that it knocked him to the earth. He held his burning chest with one hand and yanked at the grass with the other as if he could somehow transfer his own pain into their innocent green blades. The wizard knew his bolt had done some damage, but was it enough? He couldn't be sure. With the stroke of his wand he decided he didn't want to write about fantasy anymore and completely changed the subject, continuing to abide by the 10 sentence limit of the challenge of course. With only a few sentences left, there wasn't much else to say. How could he create a story in only 2 sentences? It seemed impossible, unlikely, and absolutely mental. It was.