This is going to sound awkward.

  So, here we are again. It's been awhile, hasn't it? Visiting this blog I mean. Visiting it and actually finding something new on the feed. I'd like to say that I was busy with work, or school, but that isn't the truth, and I can't hide behind a lie like that. A strange thing to feel honest about but it's true. Because if I lie to you, then I'm also lying to myself. And I just can't swallow anymore of that nonsense. I've been lazy, working here and there on a few concepts and stories, but haven't really finished any of them. That changes today. I plan on posting a new short story by friday and to continue with something every one to two weeks following that one. Even if nobody ever reads them, I'll have to push myself, and to try.

  Not only that, but I've decided to start writing more than just short stories and poems. Essays on varying subjects will also be present from here on out on this blog. Maybe even some diary-esque entries from my day to day.... or maybe someone else's. Whatever I choose to do I promise you this, random viewer; more will come. And it will keep coming. All I can hope for is someone to read it.

   Thank you for stopping by.

The Affair.

Broken words move through the dead air, in dead silence; they sound hollow to my ears. Beads of sweat trickle down my face and neck, crawling on my skin as if they were insects. A lump of dread formed in my throat that I found impossible to swallow, my head was gripped with a tired heat, and it's three a.m. What she tells me isn't pleasant, but I suppose that was inevitable. I stared, not at her, but at the glass of water I had offered her when she came in from the rain. Lena should be down the fire escape now, I thought. I hoped. Isabelle was in tears, oh, I can't bare it! I'm caught. She knows. I can hardly hear what she's saying, my fear had muffled her words, my surprise at her very presence here sent me into shock. Oh God why did I do it? Why did I risk everything I had for this - other? I leaned back on the kitchen counter of my small apartment for support. It didn't matter if Lena is down the hall, in her car, or standing between the two of us in this very room; Isabelle was here now. And she knew. Of course she did, or why be here?

I thought I had been so careful, so discreet. Everything was through email, or skype. No day time contact, no visits at work. Isabelle was going to move in with me, into the place downtown. Down by the piers, where the night life pours out from the clubs and bars and into the streets. Where we met years ago, by chance trying to use one of the city's last payphones. I can never give her back this time we've wasted together. I can never give her the future she had planned. She grabs my hand and I look at her for the first time since seeing her at my door. She was crying, but only softly. A ball of wet cement seemed to nest in my stomach and expand against my innards. I felt sorry for her. Pity. But no guilt. I wasn't apologetic for what I had done to her, and strangely, I did not feel responsible for her pain. It dawned on me that I did not love her, and suddenly the cement cracked, and I felt relief at my realization. Despite myself, I smiled slightly, and she smiled too. The air came alive again, and her voice returned to her. She hugged me, resting her head on my chest, speaking through sobs as she said, "Thomas, I'm pregnant!"

The Black Castle: Part 1

I only wanted their lives. Just the five of them, no more than was necessary for my purposes. I am not a greedy man. A minimalist I suppose, and a merciful one at that, considering what they've done. The current hour was cast in an eerie light from where the high moon hung far into the deadened sky. I waited, sword in hand, concealing it's icy tip by only my cloak. The dark souls of this city are awake and restless. They are after me. But only because of what I plan to do. What I must do. I am already dead, they saw to that when they took her, the demons that dwell in the towers of the black castle. They had to be destroyed.

The Moment of Realization

Perfection always seems to be waiting for the right moment. It plays with the safety on and at the ready. They told me you could pull the trigger all you want, the conviction of the act has already been lost. You lack spontaneity. You lack a sense of belief in yourself and in what you are capable of. There's this thought wiggling around in my head somewhere that's partially hidden, flanked on all sides by dead space. I can't seem to figure out what to do with it. I turn the thought over, backwards and forwards; undecided, still waiting for the spark.

This is not a poetry blog, however....

Alright, so, my massive 'short story' has got me a little bit tired from writing. It's exhausting, mentally. So, the next one I crank out wont be even half as long. In the meantime I've really gotten into writing poetry, since it takes relatively quick to go through drafts and get to that final copy. It's also supposedly good at improving ones prose, a writers economy with words, and all important timing. So I think I'll just write a few more poems up before writing another short story.

The Hunt For the Enchantress Part 2

What is this darkness blurring my sight? Thought Guyal. Is this what death is or am I simply dreaming as I was so many times before? How strange to remember in such a vivid way as this. Before him materialized an abstract dreamscape wherein the present moment held no relevance to time - a place devoid of intensity in its stars or vibrancy to its colors. It was a world left empty of all preconceived ideas or notions of fact. It was a world of truth. Guyal was a stranger to it now, but it had once been his and his alone. He walked through the scenery with neither fear nor bravery, instead driven by a more primal feeling he could not quite place. Around him was as foreign a landscape as the moon, decorated with faces and structures he could only vaguely guess meaning at. Bram had not been his true brother. Ada couldn’t possibly have been his niece. Yet they were familiar. And the dog too, alien, strange, and yet recognized, but how could that be? Images flashed one after the other in strikes of lightning before his eyes. A valley of stone dry and decrepit, empty except for the tribals that grouped together around a meager meal. His people - his true people - as he had once known them. They’re faces were as blank as the slabs of stone surrounding them and yet he felt deeply connected to each. 

He saw his past self standing next to the hungry flames of the fire, starved and wild. Thunder crashed down from unseen storm clouds. Days passed, weeks, months, oblivion surrounded the tribe, whispering the incantations of famine upon them, and its arid breath smelt of death. He watched as his dream avatar left along the paths carved out by the dry winds, accompanied by a few others. Through the storm he could make out the two green eyes that were following behind him even then. They must have been friends he and these tribals, maybe even family. How deeply had he loved them? Where were they now? He tried to remember, to reach out to them, but his memories of who they were seemed to be locked in a small box and hidden among the reflections of broken glass. Each distorted image seemed as real as all the others. He felt each of the people slip away from him as his vision blurred once more. There was darkness for a time. Guyal didn't know if his eyes were open or shut. All he knew was the cool sensation running through his body. Perhaps he was in a lake somewhere, suspended by the water as it slowly lulled him to sleep, pulling him under...

A sound came from out in the distance, hollow and thin, reverberating towards him, blocked by the cold that had gripped his ears, the cold that had submerged all but his face. 

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Again the sound went off, this time louder, a voice. Yes, now it was clear; it was the voice of a young woman; and it was known to him. A fire lit in his chest as he heard the child speak these words, ""Help me."

Guyal opened his eyes. The dark forest surrounded him, staring back in opaque solitude. He was alone, and unencumbered by any sort of restraints or guard. He looked around but found no sign of the village, the dog, or the villagers. His clothes were torn and bloody, and covered in the ashes of a fire. The hand that had grasped the broken glass was wrapped in a bloodied cloth. Small cold tremors erupted sporadically over his body. He felt sick and weak, and tired. The rock that had plummeted into his stomach from before seemed to have expanded; cementing itself along the grooves of his organs. It was a part of him now. How long would it take to chisel away this nauseating feeling he wondered? He started walking forward, if for nothing else then to be given an excuse to carry him away from the forest. The quiet of the woods soothed him in a strange way. Was he happy? No, but he was at ease for the moment. The clutter of the village seemed oppressive to him now by comparison. Fallcrest had its own version of silence that was artificial, perhaps engineered. He was happy to be rid of it.

 In time he heard the bubbling of a stream, and finding himself quite parched, followed the sound. He entered a small clearing that had the stream running through its center. The water felt refreshing to him after having nothing but sweet wine for nights on end. All that he knew was a lie, the memories of his real childhood were reduced to mere fragments, and his life in Fallcrest had been put in its place. He wanted desperately to move on from here and never return, but how could he? Every relationship he had known was constructed by unknown forces, but they still felt as real today as they did the ones before it. Bram's death weighed heavy on him. His concrete innards shuddered at the thought. He must have been a conspirator to it all, the tattoo was evidence of that, but he was still a brother to him. Once when he was a child he had gotten his foot caught in the hollow of a tree stump and nothing he could do could tear it out. Bram left to get help and when he returned half an hour later, would not leave his side; even after he was free. Another time, on Guyals twelve birthday, he had made a treasure map that led him to a hidden pile of sweets. He remembered being very happy because mother had gotten sick that year and couldn’t get him any presents. Bram had been there to comfort him at her passing, telling those stupid jokes of his that never made any sense. Bram had always been there for him, and now he knew why. Tears built around his eyes for all he had lost; not just a single life, but two. A laugh escaped his lips that made him feel sad for himself. He would have to go back one day, a long time away from now when he could see more clearly. When he was ready to face what happened here. For Ada.

He looked up and noticed a tree sitting in the middle of a frozen puddle of rain water. The clearing seemed to center around this tree, which was bare of any foliage, with the exception of a hand sized fruit resting in the hollow of the bark. He stared at its red sheen for a while. He had never seen anything like it. The fruit seemed to twitch and shudder, but there was no wind to move it. Guyal got up and walked towards it. A sudden shift condensed in the space around him, as if the particles that inhabited the air were connected by stings and suddenly tightened by a shadowed hand; it was a feeling both as unnatural and unnerving as any Guyal had ever felt before. He spun his head around to see what had caused such a thing as fear took him out of his quiet moment of reflection. There was a piercing silence that steadily built in volume along with the rising wind. The ground around him looked like it had come alive; ripples ran across its once serene surface as if on water. He started running but easily lost his balance and fell, unable to get up. Bark stripped from the trees, colliding with scattered rocks and leaves, thrust together within a span of seconds, each adding to the anatomy of some 

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tall and feminine form. Dread formed as a clot in the middle of his throat he found impossible to swallow. 

When the winds stopped and the forest quieted the Enchantress issued a sweet and effortless laugh. The smell of pine and honeycomb wafted down to Guyal in wisps of perfume.

Her wooden face looked down at him amused and in good spirits. Her eyes of stone held a frighteningly warm gaze. Her long legs rooted themselves to the ground, and when they moved the soil around them seemed to stay suctioned to her invisible feet. 

 “You have come to the end sweet child,” She said. “No questions will burden your mind if you 

are willing to embrace will of the Goddess.”

“You’re no Goddess” He spat bringing himself up from off the ground, “You’re just a witch who made a pact with demons.” The Enchantress merely smiled in reply; a sickeningly beautiful smile.

“I  am humbled, but I was not referring to myself. For I am but a servant to her will. The Goddess I speak of is the forest around us.” She gestured in grand fashion around her with her leaf covered arms. “I act as guardian to her palace. My children join me in this task. It has always been this way.”

“What is this nonsense you speak? Make sense damn you! You are a spirit of revenge brought on by powers from the Nether! You torture us by giving us false lives, and memories. You have kept us here when we have done nothing to harm this forest! I came seeking aid for my village! My people were dying, and you have doomed them by binding me here!” The enchantress laughed again that sweet fragrant giggle he could not help but be fond of despite himself, catching a hint of alder in her words.

“Your people are my people. The tribe you have seen in your dreamscapes, the ones that hail from the desert under the eastern sky, once had ancestors living here united under one symbol. The very symbol that marks your shoulder, it is my symbol. It holds no magic as you have believed; it is simply the identification from the tribe from which you come.” 

Guyal gasped, he was dumbfounded. “But – that can’t be true! You… it makes no sense! My people were natives of the desert for generations. I’ve only been here for six years!”

“You have come back yes. But I have watched over this place for hundreds of years before your arrival. Your people are descended from mine long before their migration to the desert lands. We lived in peace here, among the forest, living off the land, following her will.” She moved forward hesitantly, as if not wanting to scare him off. The words escaping her mouth seemed almost visible to him. Her scent bore down on him in soothing waves as she continued. “Then the world of civilized men came. They hurt The Goddess, burning down her children. They corrupted our youth with the promises of gold and easy living. Our traditions our families, our very identity as a people was being torn apart. In desperation I prayed to the Goddess to give me power enough to repel her murderers, to become her champion and drive them away from here. She saw my wish granted, and I became what you see before you now.”

Guyal struggled to form his words. “But why keep them here? Why do you let their structures stand if they hurt the forest?” The Enchantress began humming a reply.

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“I am still mortal Guyal, blessed though I am. In time the power granted to me would run out and fade, and I along with it. But the forest still needed its protector; and only I am worthy of taking up the burden. So I’ve kept them here. Some are my surrogate children, the remnants of the old tribe, and they carry out my orders. But most are the descendants of the outsiders. I allow them to live in peace, to be happy, but to also fear the Goddess, the forest, and in doing so prevent them from harming her any further. This comes at a price. Every new moon I must take a few of the villagers and absorb their life force to sustain my own.” Again she moved closer by a few inches, although it was hard for Guyal to tell given her legs fell into the ground. “It makes it easier to choose a sacrifice when one of them starts to remember.”

“So I’m not the only one then? I’m not the first? Did – did Ada remember before you took her?” 

“No more questions.” She whispered. “I am taking you home.” She committed to moving towards him now, outstretching her arms and placing her hands on his shoulders. A hymn left her mossy lips in rhythmic harmony. He did not resist, strangely. In fact he felt powerless in her grasp. A warm fluttering entered his stomach as she caressed his arms, slowly bringing him closer to her chest in a gentle embrace. The smell of alder overpowered his senses. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he had been thinking too hard all this time. He rested his head on her stern bosom, cradling himself in her arms. The forest was so peaceful, so full of warmth and kindness. The Enchantress sang in refrained song, words that seemed to float through the air like bubbles fresh from a foaming stream. Sleep gripped him now, and he could feel himself evaporate into the open air. Then something dark snaked its way into his mouth, something dry and coarse. He did not seem to mind as it climbed its way past his throat. Nor did he flinch when it entangled itself around his rib cage. The concrete in his gut was gone now he noticed. He didn’t feel nauseating or upset. He didn’t feel anything at all. The chant of the Enchantress was all he could concentrate on now, it was all that mattered to him. Such a beautiful voice, such a lovely tenor of verse and song. The dark thing latched around his heart, gently squeezing, tugging, pulling….

A needle injected into his head and he opened his eyes. Pain shot through his chest and he began flailing his arms around. A long branch was wriggling passed his mouth. He could not breath, he choked and gasped for air in vain. A tail! It was her tail! He didn’t see it before somehow. He beat weakly against her face but she seemed not to notice, still singing to him in cryptic words. A magic chant to lull him to sleep, of course! She had done it the moment she opened her mouth. But how did he wake up? He felt a needle but... that only happened when –

A figure jumped out from the corner of his eye, landing on The Enchantress. It was the hound, his hound, comes to save him. Guyal was dropped to the ground as the dog lashed out at the spirit, causing her to lose her balance. 

“NOOO!” she wailed. Her face contorted and became an amalgamation of lines bent in syncopated fury. Her features rearranged themselves, stripping away her eyes and nose, stretching her mouth wide, showing pointed teeth. “YOU WILL NOT STOP ME! HE WILL DIE SO I CAN LIVE!!”

Guyal felt the tail recede in his body, and so started pulling it out before it could regain its grip. As the tip of it slid out his mouth he took a series of deep gasps, than crawled a small distance away. The dog grew in size from before, his limbs and neck stretching farther than they naturally should have been able to. Guyal was shocked that it had found him here, that it 

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was even still alive, but knew also that it had been here for him. It was trying to protect him all this time. He wouldn’t let it be killed by this mad witch; he couldn’t let her take away the only thing still left from his old life. The Enchantress batted at it with thorned claws, pushing it back. To his left was a large thick branch, he took it and ran at The Enchantress. He lifted it high above his head and swung at her legs. It sailed through without making contact with anything. So he swung at her back, cracking the branch on her rocky spine. She swatted her tail at him in a powerful swing and pushed him aside. 

“ENOUGH!” She roared. No longer was her voice fragrant; no longer was it in step to an invisible rhythm of song. It was guttural and fierce. She put her hands upon the earth, speaking ancient words. The air particles moved once more, carried by the strings came more rocks and twigs and branches, tunneled in a cyclone around her, forcing Guyal and the dog back. She rose from its epicenter as it twirled around her. The dog whimpered slightly. It looked at Guyal, presenting its back. What was it trying to say? The Enchantress chanted from the whirring tornado, adding more and more resources to feed its intensity. The wind whistled in sharp pitches, picking up a massive momentum that threatened to knock Guyal off his legs. The dog ran to him now, stopping next to him, presenting its back once more. Did it want him to climb on? A shriek issued from the enchantress, and Guyal decided to mount his former enemy. As he did the hound expanded itself, growing to the size of a horse before tearing through the forest and away from the witch as soon as Guyal had grasped its fur. 

Behind him he could hear her approach. He looked back and saw she had dissipated her human form to become nothing but the individual pieces of a raging storm. It carried itself forward, uprooting trees and plants as it did, absorbing and growing from all around it.

“YOU HAD EVERY CHANCE TO LIVE! EVERY CHANCE TO FORGET, BUT INSTEAD YOU HAVE INVOKED MY WRATH!”

The hound darted through the trees as she approached them, staying only a little ahead of her reach. The hounds back was covered in blood, and being right on top of it Guyal noticed it also smelled like burnt fur. 

“You saved me from the fire didn’t you? You dragged me out even when I tried to kill you.”  It looked up at him through the corner of its eye as if to say ‘yes’. The needle was him, it had always been him. This dog was what made him remember. It had started it all. Looking ahead of them Guyal saw that the silhouette of the village not too far off. Why were they going there? A tree uprooted itself in front of them, but the hound nimbly dodged its advance. The forest was coming alive around them, with bushes and trees and vines and grass converging on the pair of the two intruders foolish enough to venture into their home. The Enchantress swept through it all, right on their heels, inching closer every time they evaded a branch, a stone, a pit of mud. Guyal realized that he could not leave this place without first killing his jailor. Even if he was able to escape, he would likely never find his way back alive, not with her waiting for him, not with the entire forest after him like this. He had surprised her before, more than once, and if he wanted to break this cycle he would just have to continue to do so. 

The dogs paws hit the dirt road leading into Fallcrest just as the miners had gotten up for a day of work. Morning stew had been caught up in the strong winds as the aroma left their window sills and chimneys alike. Behind Guyal and his hound the Enchantress began funneling the storm into a tight spear, condensing the girth of her fury infinitely. She was catching up. The dog ran passed the houses as frightened villagers screamed at the spectacle of 

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their flight. 

To the mines!” Shouted one of them. “To the mines for safety of the storm!”

“Dog, where are you taking me? What are we doing here?” Guyal asked, but the hound did not answer. It ran on expanded limbs, cutting between houses, leading the Enchantress along his predestined path. She nicked the sides of the homes, taking apart the stones of their construction. She blew open thatched rooftops and shattered windows, speaking curses and venom as she closed in on her prey. Another quick turn, another daring leap, another villager left running and screaming bloody death. Guyal felt the torrent of wind behind him, he could taste the upheavals of dirt being kicked up by the storm. Rainclouds formed above them releasing water drops like acid tears. They stung his face and skin. They were moving towards the edge of the northern border, and from the direction from which they approached Guyal could see the smoldering ruins of his old house. Of all the structures laying in burnt ash, only the fireplace remained untouched. “Is that where we’re going dog? To an old ruin? To an empty fireplace?” but it wasn’t empty he realized, the cudgel was still there! Fire couldn’t harm it, in fact, fire probably kept it safe from probing eyes after Brams death! The dog was leading him there to reclaim it. Guyal leaned his body forward now eager to approach his former home. 

Just as they were upon its border Guyal was suddenly thrown forward, falling into the ash. He looked back and saw that roots had sprung from the ground and entangled the hounds front leg. It struggled, but got wrapped up in more and more of the tentacles as it did. The ground opened up and began to sink the dog inwards.

“NO!” Guyal cried, the hound whimpered loudly and was silenced by dirt as it overtook him. It was buried. Now the wind had caught up to Guyal, and the Enchantress advanced towards him with only a mere foot or so between them. Guyal was swept up in her being; picked off the ground as easily as a piece of grass being plucked from fresh soil. Laughter swelled from all around him as he turned within the writhing storm. Rocks and twigs and mounds of earth pounded him from all sides, tossing him from one pain to the next in rapid succession. 

“I WILL NOT KILL YOU JUST YET. NO, I WILL ENJOY MAKING YOU SUFFER FOR YOUR INDISCRETION.” The body of his torment expanded itself, and although he was but an amoeba moving along the bloodstreams of a giant, he could feel her grow. From here he couldn’t even hear himself scream. The only sounds were of escalating winds and manic laughter. Still, the Enchantress seemed to know his thoughts and answered tauntingly. 

“YOU HAVE CAUSED FAR TOO MUCH DAMAGE FOR ME TO EASILY FIX. NOW I AM FORCED TO START OVER. I WILL DESTROY THIS VILLAGE.” 

Guyal was struck in his face by a large stone and held his broken face in his hands. His back landed against something solid and rather large then. He was stuck to it for a moment as she continued.

 “THE VILLAGERS ALREADY IN THE MINES WILL BE PUT TO SLEEP AS I REBUILD FROM THE ASHES. ANY LINGERING SURVIVORS WILL SYPHON THEIR LIFE ENERGIES TO ME.”

 Guyal forced himself to grab onto the object he collided with, ignoring the pain spreading throughout his body. It was a tree. A large crooked tree without any leaves on it. Guyal began scaling its surface to get to the hollow at its center.

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“I WILL HAVE TO BE HARSHER IN THE TIMES AHEAD. BUT SOON IT WILL BE AS IT ONCE WAS, AND YOUR MEMORY WILL FADE FROM EVEN MY MIND.”

The winds focused themselves on Guyal now, hitting him with the wreckage of the village. Shards of glass embedded themselves in his leg, and he screamed into the wind swept void. Iron pots and assorted objects crashed like waves into his back, trying to break his spine and loosen his grip, but he continued to climb. One hand after the other he climbed. There was nothing else for him to lose. His family was dead, the dog had been suffocated, and the villagers would once again be under her control. He climbed until he reached the open hollow, the hollow from the clearing in the forest, and stared once more at the twitching heart of the witch. Using what little strength was left to him, Guyal reached for the strange fruit, and with both hands, pulled.

A scream sounded from the tree, and from where the fruit once was Guyal could see only a womans face now. She glared at him with a confused look, her beautiful features beginning to fade and mesh with gray hairs and wrinkled skin. Her eyes dulled and she could hardly utter a sound before reverting into dust. Slowly, the storm wound down, easing it’s furies into a gentle breeze. Guyal was placed gingerly on the ground. When all had become quiet he looked up, even though it ached him to do so. Only a fraction of the village was destroyed. Beyond the immediate destruction he saw villagers hurrying towards him. He looked at the unnatural heart he held in his hand and saw it had soured into a fleshy pulp. Bruises covering the entirety of his body, he got up and limped to meet his former friends. Torbin was the first to reach him.

“Ay stranger, are you alright? What in the name of the Godess was that that took you? I’m amazed to even be alive!” Guyal stumbled but was caught by Torbin. “Don’t you worry we’ll help you back on your feet once we make sure everyone is accounted for. This blighted forest, it might be time for me to move away from here.”

“My dog.” Guyal whispered. “He’s hurt. He’s – ahhgg! He’s by – the  house on the – northern border. Please….” Torbin shushed him, dragging him to the mines where the survivors had gathered. 

There he was reintroduced to most of the villagers he had already known for six years. He was bandaged and fed. They would not allow him to get up from bed despite his attempts. A few hours after the battle the dog was found, alive. Torbin said that they would have missed it had they not followed the whimpering that led to the spot its snout stuck out of the ground. Guyal had cried when they reunited, and held it close to him, more relieved than he thought was possible. In the weeks following his recovery he was able to walk freely among the town. He helped them rebuild what was lost, and to bury the dead. The villagers had offered Guyal a place among them, but he kindly refused. There was nothing left for him here now. He had moved on. He saw the place differently than before, and try as he might could not bear to live with all the haunting memories. He still dreamed of the place to the east; the desert of his birth. The missing faces and forgotten culture. When the time came he said farewell to his foster life in Fallcrest. As much as it hurt to leave them behind, as much as he wanted to find a way to make it work, he knew it would only torture him. Taking his faithful hound to which he owed his life and so much more, he set off to find his heritage, his people, and his future.

The Hunt for the Enchantress Part 1

Outside the window of the tavern fell a harsh rain, hitting the glass in a steady beating pulse, making a sound like padded footsteps. It stood out there as well, a pair of bright green orbs staring through edges of the forest, like polished stones suspended in the air. Lidless eyes connected to an unmoving form - unblinking and eternal. Guyal stared back at them from the safety of his stool, wedged between the merriment of the patrons around him, lightly sipping the mug of warm liquid in his quivering hands. Torbin looked at Guyal across from where he sat, following his eyes to the window, then back to Guyal. 

“You spot that mutt again?” He asked in the disapproving tone of his deep northern accent.

“Aye,” Guyal said distractedly. “It’s still out there. I think it followed us here from the mine entrance. It’s always following me.” His gaze still held to the window.

“How do you know for sure that it even is a dog? You’ve only ever seen its eyes’ haven’t you? What sort of dog has green eyes?”

“I don’t know. It’s so strange really, I just sort of feel that it’s a dog, like I know it somehow, almost intimately.”

Torbin chuckled at this, raising his mug to his great bearded face. “In another life’ maybe, the only dog you know intimately is old Sharla. And that’s because you had meat sticking out of your pockets that one time.” Guyal let out a laugh - the first one in days. The cackling of the fireplace roared from a distance behind the two, playing rhythm amidst the sound of the bards’ harp; it’s vibrating strings crying out through the backdrop of the tavern at every chord. Slightly relaxed, Guyal moved his gaze away from the window and looked instead to Leliana, the barmaid. Her skin had aged like a grape, no longer smooth and taut but wrinkled and slightly loose. Her face still held the glow of former beauty, now entrenched with deep lines and dark features brought about through the passage of many years. She smiled at him briefly before returning her attention to her work. He thought about what it must be like for her here, alone as he was, but older. For him at least there was the chance of finding someone, but her? She was soon approaching the age when she could no longer bear children. 

At that moment a low hum had crept into the room, just barely noticed by Guyal. Leliana had children before, hadn’t she? He thought. The humming had now made its way into his head, adding with it a slightly buzzing quality that made it sound almost concave.

 The sounds of the bar began to drain out of the room now, and he could hear only an occasional muffle break through the surface as his mind slid further away from his surroundings. A small prick inserted itself in his brain, like a thin needle being pushed in from the back of his skull. The spell had been cast again, he realized, a trap he kept stumbling into, but how? Was it his thoughts? The small details he had been finding that were out of place over these past few days? As the needle sank deeper, it released a sensation similar to the unraveling of a thread, leaving a gap in his contemplation, inducing a moment where his mind was wiped clean of himself and all others; his brother, his niece, Torbin, Leliana, the dog with prismatic green eyes, all being carried out on a single strand making up a piece of the fabric of his memories. Yes, that was it, he thought. The spell was meant to undo that - to erase what he had seen - and replace it with what he had known before such discoveries. How many times had he figured this out before this moment? How many times would he forget again? The needle stayed firmly lodged in place for a time as it stopped digging; Guyal felt nothing but its cold presence probing his brain. He was then struck with a great and sudden ache. A strange warmth driving out the needle with overwhelming force, breaking the spell, coming from a place unknown and separate from himself, pouring out of the gap he had fallen into, as he was consumed by a torrent of over flowing images - he remembered. He hadn’t recovered everything, but the initial thought that had triggered the spell was saved at least. Guyal looked out the window. The green eyes stared back. 

“How did Lelianas daughter die?” He asked abruptly, with no one particular person in mind to answer. Torbin stirred, thinking it directed at him, only half listening.

“Eh? What’s that then?”

Guyal fixed on his voice, as if he was noticing him for the first time. “Lelianas daughter, how did she die?” He asked again. Torbin turned to Guyal with a blank stare.

“What in the name of the Goddess are you on about? Leliana never had a daughter.”

“But...but I remember seeing her with a child. She was pregnant just a few days ago… no… was it days - or months?” 

Torbin grabbed hold of his friends shoulder now. “What has gotten you so unnerved? What’s the matter with you?” Guyal held his face in his hands and rubbed it against them.

“I just… saw something. I think they’re – memories. My memories, but they’re so intense! It’s just too much all at once like this!”

“You’re talking crazy! Keep your voice down or you’re going to cause a scene! I can’t believe that after only a few pints of ale you’re already a mess!”

“Torbin you don’t understand, I felt…”

A figure had moved up to the side of the two, and Guyal looked up to see Leliana looking down on him.

“Did one of you boys call me? I thought I heard my name.” She offered, smiling. She must have thought a fight was going to break out between the two, because she hardly ever went out from behind the bar unless it was to disperse a fight.

Guyal wasted no time, he asked “Leliana, I’m sorry to ask, but...”

“Guyal, stop with this nonsense!,” Torbin said, his voice carried by a hushed sort of urgency. Leliana looked at them both, frowning slightly in confusion. Her face was tense. She looked over at Burdock, the bar muscle, as if signaling for him to prepare himself.  “All I want to know is how she died! Leliana, tell him, tell him about your daughter.” At this she did not look curious, or amused.

“Guyal, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it seems obvious to me that you have drunk enough! Taunting an older woman like that, you should be ashamed!”

“But your daughter…”

“I’ve never had a daughter, or a husband for that matter! And I’ve enough of you throwing it in my face. Now get out! Get out of here!”

 Guyal fell in silence, searching his head for any clues. The images were smeared and unfocused, like looking at a distant object through a dirty window. He could see her standing next to a man, under an archway in an open field, she dressed in white, her belly bulging, and another man stood between them. He was wild looking, wearing dead animal skins, obviously a tribal, but despite carrying a wicked looking club he did not seem malevolent. In fact he wore a lavish smile, and he smiled at… Guyal! And there on the ground next to him, a great big dog with big green eyes! Guyal stood up and ran for the door in a panic, leaving both Torbin and Leliana behind him. The rain had been coming down for hours, soaking him in seconds, pelting the soil in fevered volleys. He went up to the edge of the forest to where he saw the eyes, but was surprised at what he found - nothing. The dog had vanished.

        -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

More rain. More memories. It was a few weeks since the incident at the tavern, but Guyal remembered every detail. People were starting to go missing now, without a trace, and leaving no clues to anyone but himself. No one else had realized that the missing ever existed. No... they still walked around going about their daily routines undeterred, as if caught on the currents of a dream, drifting along the subconscious realms of sleep, unable to remember their loved ones, the people once so vivid and real and important, now sinking beneath the waves. His mind was an all-encompassing shore, and they had found a home washed upon its ever expanding reach. He thought of Leliana… she was gone now too. Guyal touched the mark he had found just above his right shoulder. It was a tattoo, a weird looking triangle with an eye centered at its middle. He had never noticed it until a few days ago. He had started noticing a lot of things as of late. The dog kept showing up. More often now, and not just at night, it had become active during the daytime as well. Lurking around the corners of the houses Guyal passed, leaving elongated shadows on the walls before him. Then disappearing, a faded image seared into the backs of his eyelids. He couldn't even take respite in his work anymore, nothing was as it had been, and he feared it never would be again.

His home of the past six years sat quietly along the perimeter of the village. In it Guyal also sat, staring intently at the thing that was placed next to his unlit fireplace. The inside of the house was freezing, but the cold did not bother him. A warm feeling burned like hot coals in his gut from all the wine he had gorged himself on. The chill running down his spine was caused by something else entirely. Leaned up against the stone fireplace was the cudgel Guyal had recovered from the burning embers just hours before. He had hoped that it was just a bad dream induced by his heavy night of drinking, but there it was. Ash and soot covered its menacing frame, but could not hide the wide tooth-like dagger placed at the apex of its arched design. How it ended up in his fireplace was a mystery to him. How it hadn’t burned along with the other logs was another mystery altogether. It seemed impossible for him to have done it himself and forgotten, but if he had been forced to forget than how could he truly know? An intruder could likely have placed it there, but for what purpose? And how could they have done so without breaking the locks on his doors, or smashing a window? He hadn't touched the club since his discovery, afraid that something evil lie within it, waiting to be released. Everything that was once familiar had become changed and threatening and different; and he felt it was only appropriate to show equal distrust of even the most mundane of occurrences. He thought of throwing it into the woods and forgetting about it, but found that he could not bring himself to do it. People were missing, and the missing had been forgotten, and here he was with yet another strange unknowable thing thrust upon him that might help him find out why it was all happening. He had to know. Slowly, he began applying the wet cloth he had intended to use for his forehead to instead wipe clean the weapon, exposing a set of runic symbols across the surface of the wood. All were strange to him but one repeated symbol – a triangle centered with an eye. Magic symbols perhaps? It would explain how the wood didn't burn, as well as his resistance to whatever magic had been set upon his mind. 

There came a knock at the door that made Guyals heart jolt. He hadn’t heard it right away as the rain was quite loud and Guyal was still recovering from a night spent face down in pools of alcohol. He tried to look at the window next to his front door but forgot that he had closed the blinds weeks ago - The dog creature was always watching. Again came the knocking, a bit more forceful this time. Guyal placed the cudgel once more into the fireplace and began covering it with wood. Whoever or whatever was at the door shouldn’t find him with it. The room seemed to shift in step with the throbbing pulse that kept repeating in his head. He would need another drink soon if he wished for it to stop. He lit the fire from a small flame into a bustling roar as the knocking eventually evolved into a series of bangs before taking a short pause. With a fit of apprehension cementing his limbs he was able to open the door a just crack enough to see his brother Bram standing impatiently in the rain. 

“Guyal!” He said as he withdrew his fist. “Hurry and let me in before death catches me out here!” Guyal opened the door with slight hesitation, and once Bram had moved past him he looked out towards the forest for the familiar green eyes before being satisfied enough to shut the door and lock it. Bram stood close to the entrance of the small house, his eyes surveying the cluttered room before him. “Oh how I wish those empty bottles were for model ships. How did you manage to afford so great a volume of wine?”

“If you stop paying for food dear brother, then wine becomes very cheap indeed.”

“Ah, well I suppose I’ll have to talk to Burdock over at the tavern after I finish talking with you.”

“What about Leliana?” Guyal asked. It was a mistake of course, but the wine was still running through him and he could not help but ask.

“Who? Did Burdock bring on a new barmaid?” 

“No just…. never mind. Where is Ada? I can’t imagine she’d be sleeping alone in that empty house of your.”

Bram smiled at the sound of his daughters name. “Of course not, I left her with Marjorie for the night. She’s still playing with that wooden doll you got her the other day. It doesn’t leave her side, be it sleeping, bathing, eating, whenever I turn to her it is always right there with her.” He looked at Guyal and smiled brightly. Guyal smiled back and for a moment, brief though it was, found happiness in his niece’s own simple joys. Bram’s smile faded a bit when he spoke next.

“Ada’s been asking about you. Ever since she heard you talk about this dog you’ve seen, she says that she has seen it too. You’ve created a boogeyman and it keeps her up at night.” 

Guyal was shocked by this, but could hardly control his own mouth, and before he could ask further details he answered with the anger fueled by a liquored tongue. “It should keep her up; it should keep all of you up, like it does to me!”

“Please Guyal, I’m only worried for you! The villagers all say you’re touched, that the spirits of the forest whisper in your ear. Did you know that? I want to help you get passed this.” His voice was lined with pleading, and Guyal could not help but feel guilt for causing him such pain. He wished he could forget. But he could not.

“Not that old myth again. The forest is inhabited by all manner of beast, but holds no evidence of spirits.” He said at last.

“The Enchantress is no mere myth. She – it – has been proof enough for years, though you weren’t born yet to know it yourself. Men have gone mad before – I’ve seen it. The others don’t like to talk about it because it still scares them, that something so powerful can take hold of one of our strongest. Nolan was one of the founders of Fallcrest after all. He was the one who set up trade routes for the village that we use to get supplies.But before us there were once tribals that lived here you see. Violent animals that were no different than a pack of wolves.” Guyal tried hard to suppress his surprise at what he had just heard. Tribals? Here once before and now again, but how? Was the tribal he saw in his memories with Leliana a spirit? Was the dog as well? Bram seemed to have noticed the affect his words were having, and continued in a hushed, almost soothing tone.

“We were easy prey for them, and attacked soon after the building the village was completed. Nolan was with the group that put an end to the fighting. He killed their shaman, a witch if ever there was such a thing, and dragged her body into town when he did. That sent the rest running scattered through the forest. We hunted them down to the very last. I doubt any got away. Nolan and his men were honored; the only three that lived through that assault. But it was a brief victory. The witch was dead but her spirit was stuck here. Her influence grew each day, spreading throughout the woods like shadows at dawn. The forest came alive in those days Guyal, really came to life; moving and growing in a most unnatural way. It was still relatively harmless though, the trees would grow towards the village and we would cut them down. But her hate for us was growing too, and soon she had attracted demons to help her. As the story goes, she made a pact with a demon of malice, and together they were able to manifest into a single physical form. Nolan and his men went mad raving her return, promising revenge. They said to ‘embrace the will of the Goddess’, which I guess is what she fancies herself. But she’s no divine, just a demon enchantress. She got them to carry it out, by killing our children. I was one of the lucky ones, as were you. It took a long time before they caught and killed those men, and so we put it behind us. We haven’t forgotten, but to talk about it scares everybody so we don’t do it anymore. Now you’ve got them talking about all the old horrors again. They say that the forest is cursed Guyal, and you with it.” 

There was some truth to what he said, but something else was hiding behind the words. His memories showed a tribal, but not a killer, not an animal. Even the mutt seemed calm in his minds past. What could it mean?

“And what about Ada then? Is she cursed as well? She’s seen the dog just as I have; shouldn’t she be going crazed too? He asked. Bram looked up at him inquisitively, then, his face turned blank. He shook his head and glimpsed at the fire, smacking his tongue against his lips as if suddenly dry.

“Who is Ada?” Guyal could only stare at his brother in silence. He felt a rock drop into his guts and nest there. What could he do? Just then there was a crash that came through the window that made them both jump out of their seats. Bram moved over towards the center of the broken glass and knelt down. He reached for something that lay there and rose slowly. Guyal moved over to him and violently grabbed at what was in his hands. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what he held – Ada’s doll, with its face carved off and left smooth and bare. Erased like the others. He fell on top of the shards of glass and wept for her. He felt broken, and on hand and knee crawled to the window to look out towards the forest. She was out there somewhere. Bram stood behind him unmoving, speaking with words that could not reach him. It was only when the screaming began that he turned to face his brother.

The dog was inside the house. The rock in his gut grew stone tendrils that wrapped around his heart, causing it to beat erratically. The hound stood on legs that seemed too tall, too lean, for a dog of its size. A golden yellow coat of fur covered its form, spotted with dirt and twigs from the forest. It bared its teeth. Bram ran for the door but the beast was upon him with an unnatural speed. Its limbs seemed to wobble at every motion, as if its body had no bones and was held only by an elastic sort of muscle. It sank into the soft flesh of his arm, clawed at his face, and brought him forcefully to the ground. The movements were nearly mesmerizing; savage but graceful, familiar and yet somehow strangely unique.

 Guyal looked at the fire still raging and knew he would not be able to extinguish the fire and retrieve the cudgel in time to save his brother. Bram wailed in screeching agony as the dog chewed at his shoulder, only inches from his neck. Color faded from his face and he thrashed about less each moment that Guyal stood idle. Quickly Guyal snatched a piece of glass and lunged at the beast, stabbing it squarely in the back. A howl escaped its lips as it let go of Bram. Again he stabbed it, this time closer to the neck, his hands slipping on the rigid piece as it cut into his hand. He sweat profusely and feared he’d lose his grip.The dog whelped in pain. Then it turned and knocked Guyal over with the weight of its body and took off through the open window. Guyal brought himself to the windows shattered mouth to see where it had gone but it was already out of sight. The sound of panicked voices could be heard beyond Guyals small dark house. The villagers would be here soon. Guyal pulled the shades closed before turning to Bram. He moaned something that sounded like “Help me” and Guyal rushed to his side. 

The blood was pouring out of him at a fantastic rate. Guyal looked on in horror as his last of kin slowly died before him. He didn’t know what to think anymore, he stood there dazed by all that had happened. Guyals hands started to move, against his consent, and began tearing off Brams shirt. We could stop the bleeding; they said to him, we could save him if we hurry. He watched them go to work, as an observer, a person looking down from some tower far above the bleeding man. There were people yelling outside his house now, calling out his name. They sounded distant and afraid. What would they make of the scene that awaited them inside Guyals house? He figured it was best not to think of it. The shirt was half soaked already, and Brams eyes flickered open and shut with beating intensity. He mouthed words but only let out whispers. The door shuddered under the weight of many bodies thrust onto it in heaving, swayed rhythms. Brams hand clutched around Guyals wrist weakly, and that’s when he saw it. On his chest, smeared by his own blood, a triangle and an eye! His hands stopped working and Bram fell limp. Guyal put the pieces together. Bram was working against him. Bram had been sent to stop him. Bram was not his brother. He felt cold despite the roaring fire. His jaw hung slack and took in deep breathes that were meant to calm him. They did not. A new thought struck him, a grim thought. He began carrying it out without hesitation. Guyal got up and started dragging the rug, along with Brams body on top of it, to the mouth of the fireplace. It caught on fire instantly, spreading across the floor and the walls, and he knew that soon the entire house would be up in flames. If it had all been a lie, if his life was nothing more than a set of decisions made by some unseen unknowable being, he would rather end it than be taken prisoner. Guyal sat back in his chair by the fire as the heat intensified, clutching Adas doll to his chest; looking pallidly at the burning corpse of a stranger. The needle sank into the back of Guyals head, and he saw only black just before the door caved in by the forced of those waiting outside.

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