The Reason

"Ah," he said, canting his head to the side. "I think I see. I have never required such a thing, but there are plenty who would call me a psycho."

Mathias then let his confused expression slip away and lifted his weapon in a salute. So now he had a minor grasp of how this woman worked, how her mind clicked and ticked.

"Well," he continued, "I thank you for fighting with me, even if you find it pointless." He twirled his jagged blade and knelt down before her, laying his weapon over his knee.

Alaria let her hands fall to her sides. For the first time in her well battled and very long life, a creature of darkness surprised her. His head was bowed, so she couldn't see his face or any of the signals of what was running through his mind. Not that she was completely sure she'd be able read those signals; he was an enigma to her now.

"If it pleases my mistress," Mathias said, keeping his head bowed through Alaria could still see the rictus grin slicing through the shadows with perfect white, "perhaps she could give me a reason to fight, and then we will both be very much satisfied."

"A creature of darkness would so quickly shed his convictions to fight for the light?" Alaria asked, a frown marring her lovely features.

"A long time ago," Mathias said, his voice somehow muted and restrained, "a young girl told me that there is no absolutes in darkness nor light. Perhaps it is time for me to prove her correct."

Ulrika's Defintion of "The End"

"That's it," Suke said, shaking her feathered hair back and forth and plucking out broken and ripped feathers.

"That's not it," Ulrika replied. She winced as Gisil and Sypha fretted over a wound still oozing crimson laced with ink on her side. It had been bleeding since the battle, despite Sypha's magicks and herbs.

"Have you gone mad?" Suke said, opening her black eyes wide. She spat out a bit a blood, then gestured around to all the wounded that surrounded them in this haven of a forest glade. Trees were shifting occasionally, walking on their roots in patrols. Bear stood stoic over Ulrika's injured form, watching every movement of the two trying to heal and stabilize her.

"Everyone is injured," Suke continued, "everyone is hurt. No one wants to fight anymore."

"If it's one thing I know--" Ulrika said. She interrupted her heated tone to let out sharp cry of pain. Sypha had just poured another herbal remedy into the wound. The inky color seemed to let out smoke, and there was a distinct hissing sound. "I-I know that good always wins."

Gisil paused, turning his head to gaze into Ulrika's pain filled face and eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but Suke beat him to it, laughing coldly.

"This is not some child's story! The good guys don't always win. Most of the time, it's the bad guys. This time, it's the bad guys. The bad guys win, Ulrika. There's nothing you can do about it. This is reality, and this is the end."

Ulrika grinned. It looked more like she was baring her blood-reddened teeth than an actual grin. The inky-blackness in her blood returned, and Sypha let out a wail of frustration.

"If the bad guys are winning, if they have won," Ulrika said. She inhaled deeply, and let her head rest back down against Gisil's thigh as he supported her on her side. "Then it's not the end yet."

Apothecary and Alchemist

Hoof-beats broke the forest's evening symphony, racing at a gallop's pace. Edolie lifted her head away from her work of digging up a rare, hardy herb. Her long, earth colored hair was tied at the back of her head with long leather chords, but that didn't keep long pieces from trailing along her cheeks and framing a pale, slender face. She placed the roots she had gathered into a leather pouch attached to her belt. As she rose to her feet, a collection of small, bottle-like charms jingled from her belt and bandolier.

The horse was approaching her location, and, being less naive than she used to be, Edolie side stepped into a bush. She tugged her leather corselette straight and then pulled a small hand crossbow out of her boot. The arms snapped into place as the weapon was freed from the confines of hardened leather. Edolie crouched, kicking the train of material attached to her corselette behind her so she didn't get tangled up in it.

It was a strange occurrence to find someone was so far away from a town on their lonesome. Unless they were a Hellion, creatures that were believed to once be human but had their bloodlines cursed into monstrosities. Edolie looked over her shoulder as her little companion - an oversized ferret with black ram's horns and long, hawk patterned wings - poked his face past her's to stare ahead. His dirt covered claws dug into her bandolier and crinkle cotton peasant top to remain stable.

Edolie waved him back, then paused when she heard the horse dig its hooves into the ground and come to a sharp stop, swiftly followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. It was still out of sight, so she moved through the brush toward it, with slight caution but mostly curiosity. What she found was a tall, mechanical horse of a tarnished silver color. It's cog-work joints had plates of armor protecting them. Most fancies who could afford a metallic colored horse preferred to have all the mechanisms stylized and artistically -more like expensively - put on display. The horse was standing guard over what Edolie assumed to have been its rider. A man, wearing mostly black with a large cloak was lying face down in the dirt, not moving.

Any Reason, He Just Needs One

Alaria frowned, her eyes sliding closed and her brow twitching faintly. She remained standing straight, her arms folded over her chest. Suddenly, the shield morphed into lances and blades of light, rotated around her body once to force a back step out of the dark man, and pierced into his body. He looked like a voodoo pin cushion come to life, with how his back arched unnaturally and his black hair obscured his face into shadows.

Mathias chuckled, up-righting himself with a sickening series of cracks as the weapons of light started to become corrupt with an inky blackness. They started to fall to pieces, one by one, each piece shattering as it struck the ground and was no more.

"Oh, what fun," he said. The ragged holes throughout his form made him appear as if he was made of nothing more than a fabric of shadow, but it had been far too long since Alaria was surprised by this. They started to mend themselves, threads of black reattaching themselves together. "You truly are quite a magnificent woman, Alaria."

"Some way of showing it," she replied, "attempting to rend me in two every moment that you are awake. You are worse than the Order that I am forced to be a part of."

"You do not find this enjoyable?" Mathias asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned forward. "I find the sensation one gets when battling a challenging foe to be utterly...incomparable." His red tinted glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he peered at her, waiting for an answer that he knew he would not be able to comprehend.

"When there is nothing to be fighting for? There is no such sensation. Fighting for the thrill of a fight is not something I find enjoyable in the least."

Mathias paused.

Any Reason Will Do

Alaria leaned against a sheer cliff face, listening to falling water that was just out of sight through the forest to her right. It wasn't loud enough to drown out all other sound, but was still predominate. Her navy suit of plate mail glistened in the shafts of sunlight pouring in through the canopy, sparks of light racing along the silver embellishments and accents. She wore no helmet, so thick curls of brunette hair rippled over her shoulders, bouncing against the metal of her breastplate.

In a moment, arms clad in grey cloth reached out of her shadow against the cliff face and wrapped around her neck.

"Hello, beautiful," said a deep voice, before the arms tightened into a choke hold.

Alaria's reaction was fluid as it was instant; a dagger sprang from her high, armored boot and she jammed it between the second and third ribs of the one who seized her. She sprang away from the rock wall, spinning at the same time, and threw her arms out - one to sweep her heavy, midnight blue cloak behind her, the other to press her palm flat out toward him and focus her light into a shield around her. It glistened with her power - appearing as a golden mist encasing her body - cast a gold sheen over her, and made her hair and eyes appear to have gold flecks within them.

"Don't you get bored of this?" she asked, lowering her hand now that the shield was completed.

"Does a wolf ever tire of the hunt?" Mathias laughed as he pulled the dagger out of his ribs and tossed it aside nonchalantly. His messy black hair fell over his face, not obscuring the ruby of his eyes, and his smile was rictus. He drew his sword - a wicked item with a jagged edge made of blackened metal - and stepped toward her shining figure. His grey trench coat fluttered around his feet: it's movements were exaggerated as if the man was moving faster than he appeared. Today he had left it unbuttoned, exposing the black leather pants, silvered greaves, and the fact that he wore no shirt.

"Well, then aren't you just boring," Alaria replied, not going for the claymore sheathed on her back, passing under the cloak. "Only interested in spilling blood."

"Oh but there's such a thrill in it," he groaned, tilting his head back. A mild expression of pleasing memory flickered over his face. "The sound of life leaving the body, and the smell of fresh meat. It is exquisite."

Alaria sighed; all men were the same, even the inhuman ones. It was disheartening. Mathias' sword clashed against her mist, halting and sending a burst of sparks to the ground. Alaria didn't flinch, even as she felt heat against her stomach, where the blow should have landed.

Mathias' grin was homicidally gleeful now, and he pulled back only to assault her and her shield again and again. He searched for any weak spot, an exposed flank, but he knew he wouldn't find it. This woman's defensive abilities were more potent than her offensive ones. Something he couldn't understand, but he wanted to, so badly it hurt. He wanted to understand this strange woman.

She Broke the Door, and It Broke Her Nerves

Lucia's limbs went slack, it was a miracle she remained on her feet, and the Sapere Aude fell from her hands to the floor with a distinct thump that went unheard. Her eyes widened, unbelieving of the scene before her eyes, staged in what was once the master bedroom of the mansion.

Hektor was strung to the ceiling, not by chains or rope, but by wild rose vines. The same type that had sealed the door shut, only these flowers were a vibrant gold instead of baleful black. His clothing was torn through where the vines were lashed, thorns digging into his skin and letting blood drip to the floor. He looked unconscious, and Lucia had no idea how long he had been hanging there, with the vines twisting around every articulated joint, his throat, his mouth, and over his eyes. Did they do this to him as soon as they parted ways for the evening?

"H-Hektor!" she squeaked, and rushed into the room. She flinched at the pool of blood under his body and the black markings on the walls. "Oh my... shit! Shit shit shit shit! Hektor don't be dead you jerk!"

He twitched. Lucia sank to the floor in relief, her hands landing in the blood but she was too distracted to even notice anymore. He wasn't dead. It took her a moment to regain her senses, and after she struggled to her feet and over to a heavy chair. He was too high into the air for her to reach, but she needed to get him down. She couldn't tell how injured he was - if he had been human she'd have been screaming her head off since there was no way he'd still be alive.

"Hang on," she said. She climbed onto the chair and grabbed the vines, sucking in her breath sharply as they dug into her palms.

They were sturdier than the ones on the door. Casting a frantic gaze around, knowing that each moment she took Hektor had to be in excruciating pain, Lucia spotted a silver letter opener on the bureau in the room. It gave her pause, since she hadn't noticed it when she first came in and she didn't think his captors would leave a possible weapon just lying there. Unless they were using it on him?

The Very Beginning

Lucia tripped, falling to her knees on the wet stone of the sidewalk and dropping her only camera – a 5D Mark II – so it ended up crashing into the edge of the curb. It came apart into a hundred bits of technology, as if it had been made of spun sugar. The memory card glared up at her from a shallow puddle in the street gutter. Any hope of salvaging at least her most recent work to sell vanished, but she plucked the card out of the water with an expression of quiet reservation to Murphy's Law on her lean, doll-like face. 

“Damnit,” she mumbled, too introverted to curse, even when no one was around her. It's not like her employer would think she was lying, or would be angry, but Lucia could already see the disappointment drawing lines in his sharp eyes and on angular features that reminded her of a condor.

She grimaced, trying to keep herself from breaking into tears right there as she rose to her feet. Gathering the broken camera, Lucia wondered where the money would come from to buy a new one – there was no way this mess of plastic and metal could be repaired. Could she get an advance on work she wasn't sure she'd even get? It was hard being in a pool of photographers, all eager to take any job dangled above the proverbial pit, and all with working cameras – except her.

A heavy, passive aggressive sigh escaped her lips as Lucia dropped the broken camera into her worn out messenger bag. She idly traced her finger around the Celtic tree of life that was silk-screened onto the front. She couldn't just throw out the camera – her brother bought it for her after breaking into his college fund he knew he'd never use. Lucia didn't know where Gregor was, or what he did to survive, but she liked to think he got a stable job using his hands. He had always been good with his hands.

The city street was deserted around her, and Lucia paused to admire the effect that the cast iron streetlights had on making the scene appear darker rather than brighter. It scared her, no doubt, there was an unease churning her empty stomach, but it was beautiful. Even after living in the city for five years, Lucia never ran into any muggers or been assaulted – she'd admit, though, that probably had to do more with her only going to out work and grocery shop, and less with the relative safety of the area.

It began to drizzle and Lucia shook herself out of her absentminded trance. She shivered and yanked the high collar of her raspberry pea coat up around her chin. Walking the rest of the way to her apartment was going to suck, but she set out, focusing on the click of her heels rather than the chill leaking into her extremities.