Goodnight, Moons

[Judas D'arc]

Goodnight, Moons: One: Lie to Me

Something stirred in the corner of that house in Yew. A sudden gasp for air from the bard known as Judas D'arc. As his eyes slowly fluttered awake, he remembered.

The mad gargoyle Forbrak had returned, murdering poor Alana Wisperwind and destroying her home in order to restore some mystical imbalance. For reasons Judas did not comprehend, Jolicia, Faeryl, and Deraj were fated to suffer as a consequence. Renthar had offered Jolicia an escape from the pain that was already plaguing her body, a portal to another world far away from their Sosaria. The bard, his former love, Faeryl, Deraj, and Renna had all gathered at Zoe's home to discuss the matter further. But Jolicia had already chosen.

She was leaving and it was his fault. After she and Renthar had performed that unspeakable ritual to save them from the Camorra, Judas had turned his back on her. He had pushed her away and into Renthar's arms because he was selfish and guilty.  Because he was afraid.  Frightened by that four-letter word he had always struggled to understand.

A return to his home for their farewell, and the bard had finally reached her. "Tell me you will be happy there," he had dared her. "Lie to me." The bard had finally reached her when Renthar appeared.

The strange-eyed sorcerer had demanded her choice, and she turned to Judas to make it for her. "I can try to be better," he promised. It was not much given the circumstances, but it was enough for Jolicia.

"I'm staying," she informed Renthar.  Her body was still weak from Forbrak's revenge, yet at that moment she had found her strength.  "I love you, but I love him more."

"I understand, Jo Jo," the sorcerer replied. "I understand ... but I can't abide."

Words of power and pain and darkness followed. Then awareness returned and the bard looked around, his hopes relying upon impossible expectations that were swiftly destroyed.

Judas was alone.

[Renthar]

Goodnight, Moons: Two: Inevitable Forever Together

Deep within the hidden city of Wind, there was a smile that quickly spread across the lips of the tall, strange-eyed sorcerer Renthar, as he proudly beheld his creation. Utilizing the power of a hidden, purported Ninth Circle of magic he had recovered from the Camorra's hidden library, the sorcerer had constructed a gate to another world. A bright, shiny red portal that would allow him to leave these lands behind, this Sosaria and the nothing it had left to offer him. It was an escape for Renthar ...

... and for one other. He shifted his focus back to the semi-conscious form of Jolicia, propped up against the cavern wall behind him. She had been the inspiration for their hasty departure, so that he could protect her from the mad vengeance of a gargoyle that ravaged her body. The sorcerer was still uncertain as to the details, he only knew that in order to save her, they must immediately flee. This had all been for her, and yet she had nearly betrayed him by electing to remain behind with Judas.

"I love you," she had said during their confrontation at the bard's home. "But I love him more."

Fortunately, Renthar's spells had put an end to that notion. After being convinced that her former lover was dead, Jolicia had even come to accept their inevitable forever together. She had even committed a small act of murder to return to his good graces. While the sorcerer regretted the sacrifice of such a valued pawn, it had been more than worth the reward of Jolicia's loyalty. He was also hopeful that someone would find the body where they had left it; even pawns deserved a proper burial.

Carefully cradling Jolicia in his arms, Renthar slowly approached the shimmering gate. For a moment, he felt a loss for words as he grasped for something that might serve as his final statement about the world of his birth. All of that war and death and love and life he had experienced across his centuries of existence. But then again, he had never been all that sentimental.

Why start now?

[Judas D'arc]

Goodnight, Moons: Three: Quietly to Himself

It was north and east of Vesper that Judas found her, a corpse carelessly discarded along the shore. At the sight of her, his chest tightened and his mind instinctively conjured images of Claudia and Shelley and Aingeal, other women he had lost and cared for, which somehow seemed selfish and unfair to this one. Yet such thoughts could never be as loathsome as Renthar's actions, and the information that had led the bard to this place certainly indicated the sorcerer's complicity. The burn marks that covered her body and clothing were also strangely patterned in a way that only an unnatural or magickal flame could have caused. But why would Renthar do such a thing? He had once saved her life. He claimed to care for her. And most importantly, it was unnecessary. For he had already won.

"Another one gone," Judas whispered sadly, before kneeling to tend to the body.

********

After Forbrak had destroyed himself inside the Marsh Hall Tavern in a final, twisted statement, Judas bid farewell to his friends in the Emerald Trading Company and began his search. Someone had suggested he seek a powerful mage, but the bard had already done so the moment Renthar had taken Jolicia. A few hours later in Buccaneer's Den, and he sat across the table from his old-friend-turned-bitter-enemy-turned-penitent-acquaintance, Garrott. Once, they were both members of Shelley's little group in Magincia, along with Claudia and Sokus and Stower and Lucas. Until Claudia's death drove Garrott to demons and madness, and years later his vengeance had almost destroyed Judas and Jolicia. Yet Shelley had found a way to reach him, and after her passing the old Garrott had begun to emerge. Nowadays, the mage was partnered with Sokus, leading what remained of Shelley's criminal enterprise, and not doing such a bad job of it either.

"I think I've found something," Garrott said, with a warm smile that seemed uncomfortably at odds with his past sins. "You were right, they've been staying at a house in Wind for the past couple of months."

"I know where they have been," Judas stated, a bit impatiently. "I want to know where they are now."

"I wasn't done, Judas," the mage countered, his friendly demeanor never skipping a beat. "Unfortunately, the house is now empty, and a quite a few of the more accomplished wizards I spoke to said they sensed powerful, unfamiliar magicks being used last night. He's probably already summoned this portal to another world."

The bard sighed, rubbing his face in frustration. "I thought you said you found something."

"I did," Garrott nodded. "Even if they're gone, it doesn't mean we can't find them. It might take time, but maybe I can find a way to recreate what Renthar did so we can follow."

"But why would you -- ?!"

"It's the least I could do, after --" the mage offered, a small crack in that pleasant mask he wore so well. "Two nights ago, someone saw a man and a woman that sounded like Renthar and Jolicia near the entrance to Wind, talking to another woman. No one recognized her, but I did get a good description."

And as soon as Garrott finished, Judas knew exactly who this woman was.

********

It was a small burial at the Vesper cemetery, with only one person in attendance. Judas struggled for something to say, something poignant and touching that could neatly summarize a life so needlessly taken, but there was only emptiness. Not only had the bard lost a friend, but his only lead to wherever Renthar had stolen away with Jolicia.

As the coffin was slowly lowered into the hole that would serve as her final resting place, the appropriate words finally occurred to him. Judas spoke them, quietly to himself, although he was aware that no one else listened. "Goodbye, Dezera."

[Julian Randall]

Goodnight, Moons: Four: The Torment of Today

The first rays of dawn's brilliantly painful light announced their presence, marking the start of another cycle of torment. Rising from his bed of broken bones that permitted only the briefest of slumbers, the prisoner took in his surroundings, content in the knowledge that no change had come to that jagged, desolate wasteland. Almost carelessly, he stumbled down the hill, barely attempting to avoid the sharpened thorns that sliced at his flesh and pools of acid that burned at his feet. More often than not, trying led to failure, while a lack of effort never defied expectations. As the man finally reached his destination, there was only one certainty. This day could only be worse than its predecessor.

"Lord Randall Reich," greeted the amorphous blob of putrid flesh that awaited him. "Julian Randall."

"That's my name, fiend," the prisoner responded, a hint of resistance in an otherwise hoarse and broken voice.

"Fiend am I?" The creature's tone reflected the amusment its lack of features were incapable of. "It is with I that you will spend this cycle. Already insults, and we have yet to begin."

"I care not for your threats or tortures," the man once known as Randall stated. "Whatever it is you have in mind, let's be on with it. I've tasted your whips and worn your chains, they hold no fear for me."

"No fear in what is to come," spoke his tormentor. "But perhaps in what was?" Then, that which was before him crackled with energy, its non-form shifting into one more human and familiar. Recognizable, even.

"Lorne Cardont," the accused man smirked. "My old rival, it's been some time."

"Eleven years," hissed the other man. "Eleven years since you destroyed family's legacy. You had my only daughter seduced and raped, stole away our gem concerns, drove me to my death."

"You should have agreed to my proposal," the prisoner retorted. "My son was a worthy match for your daughter. I feel no guilt."

"Indeed," Cardont calmly noted, and then suddenly he was Cardont no longer. In his place stood a young woman, dirty blonde hair, deep blue eyes, with a beauty and poise that indicated her noble birth. "And what of me, Reich?"

"You earned your fate, Claudia D'estaing." He remembered that dark night, his hands around her neck in the shadows of his old Magincia home. "With your foolish attempt to murder me."

"You dishonored our agreement!" Claudia's expression flashed with anger. "My friends were nearly killed!" Then her mouth twisted into an almost seductive smile. "But perhaps it is not my death that troubles you, but the fact you were never able to fuck me. Certainly, that dried up cunt of a wife never brought you any pleasure."

"Whore!" Randall screamed, but she was already gone.

In her place stood his wife, Mary. His son, Randall. His daughter, Julia. Once more, he could smell their burning flesh as Magincia turned to ashes around them. "Why did you let us die?!" Their haunted family chorus wanted to know of him.

"Demon," the accused man scowled, "I know my failures. You will never harm me with this."

"Then what of me?" The three had become one, his old friend, Lord Trent Rutherford. "After you were attacked, I saved you from that bed in Vesper. I brought you to Nujel'm and into the Camorra. Yet how did you repay me?"

"You chose your own death," the prisoner argued. "Impaled yourself on that gypsy witch's blade."

"Only after you arranged for the Emerald Trading Company to think me guilty of your crimes."

"The path to power sometimes requires sacrifice," Randall replied. "You taught me that."

"An' ye did a shit job o' sendin' tha' lesson on." His former hireling Johnson now stood there. "Always gambled on ye fer a winner, but yer schemes went an' got us both dead."

"Victory was never guaranteed," countered the accused man. "As to your service, I have no complaints."

"Fook me arse an' call me Bri'ish." The wolf-like mercenary was replaced by the fat, balding merchant Cubbins. "Ain' go' much ta' comp'ain 'bout, always knew 'ow it'd en' fer me. Bu' ye 'ad ta do it like tha'?"

"You knew where I could find Shelley," the prisoner explained. "My war hammer was the means to that end."

"Already had her when you killed me," his next visitor, the scout Kendsdrick, observed. "It really necessary to fire trap my body and burn me up like that?"

"The Emerald Trading Company was coming," Randall's resolved wavered, but not by much. "I needed the advantage."

The next face was that of Aingeal, who only stared at him with that same look of defiance she had died with.

"Tavern bitch," The accused man growled. "Show yourself! I know you'll be next!"

And in that he was correct, for the next to appear was his final victim, the rogue Shelley. "It's almost funny, Reich. In many ways, you and I, we weren't so different after all, were we?"

"Spare me your philosophizing," said the prisoner. "Just get on with whatever you're planning.

"But my death wasn't one you witnessed personally," she reminded him. "Are you certain you don't want to hear all the bloody details? You left me to starve to death at the bottom of Hythloth, without even a hope of escape --"

"If the bard had only surrendered himself."

"And you'd like me to believe and would've let me live?" Shelley inquired.

"Yes." But as he spoke, even Randall himself was not so convinced.

"I'd wager it's fortunate then, we're not here about your past or your future. It's the now that concerns us," the rogue then paused a moment, before continuing. "Another victim of Randall Reich's pride, but one that still lives."

"If you're referring to my treacherous nephew," he snarled at her "Chanticleer's earned his fate."

"No, not Chanticleer," she declared. "Although he's probably suffered the most at your hands, Chanticleer's actually found a better place now. You can no longer hurt nor help him."

"Then who?" The somewhat confused man asked of his tormentor.

Her response did not come as words, but flickering image conjured from nothing. A dark-haired, bearded man, of average height and thin build, seated inside of a tavern and sadly indulging himself.

"The bard?!" At the sight of one of those responsible for his death, an incredulous Randall did not know whether to laugh or curse. "This was his fault! After you and D'estaing, he is the most to blame!"

The rogue shook her head disapprovingly. "Maybe you really did believe that while you still lived, Reich. But in death, there are no secrets. Will you continue to lie to yourself, or will you finally accept the truth of it? There was no conspiracy against you, it was an unfortunate series of events and our pride -- mine and yours -- was to blame. And look at what Judas lost as a result. Claudia D'estaing. Some of his closest friends. And now Jolicia as well, and it's all because neither of us were willing to back down. You owe him."

"Even if -- even if you're correct," he grudgingly conceded, "what does it matter now? I'm a dead man, as you've repeatedly reminded me. What more can I give him?"

"His life," she clarified. "Something bad is coming for him, and without assistance, he will die. But he doesn't many friends left, and those that remain are still recovering from their most recent plight. He needs you, Randall, or else he'll end up just like you. A pointless death and an eternity of torment."

"Why would I even consider this?"

"A chance for redemption," Shelley told him. "An opportunity, perhaps, to someday reunite with your wife and children. But that day will never come until you show repentance for your many crimes. And this is your first step."

"How would this even work? How I know this isn't more demon trickery?!" The prisoner demanded.

"It's no trick," she plainly. "You'd return to Sosaria, one final time, in order to save him. After you'll return here, but with hope in your heart."

The man once known as Lord Randall Reich of Magincia and Julian Randall of Vesper, slowly closed his dead eyes. In his mind, he could see them clearly. His wife, Mary. His son, Randall. His daughter, Julia. He remembered, once long ago, the happiness they shared together. He had always been a prideful man, this was not a notion he could fairly dispute. Yet where had that truly led him? Randall had lost everything, condemned to suffer eternal torment. Was it so wrong to demonstrate a kindness to a former enemy, to confess his sins, and find his way back to his family? For once in his existence, could he finally compromise himself for the promise of something better?

"Never," his voice was proud as his eyes slowly opened. "Demon, I refuse your bargain. I am Lord Randall Reich of Magincia, not some fool who would deign to consort with abominations. My family survived for centuries, and I will not be the one to corrupt that legacy. We do not show weakness to our foes. If I am to be with my wife and children again, it will be because I have earned it by my own hand, not due to anything you or your kind have offered."

An obscene smile formed on Shelley's lips, as her form began to shimmer and lose it shape, returning to the creature that it was at the beginning of the conversation. "The offer was no deceit, but knew the great Randall Reich would refuse. Yesterday, whips and chains and memories, tomorrow something else. The torment of today, it was hope."

"Hah!" The prisoner scoffed, before proudly raising his chin to meet what he presumed to be the demon's gaze. "I am Lord Randall Reich of Magincia --

-- I make my own hope."

[Judas D'arc]

Goodnight, Moons: Five: Back and Forth and Back Again

Hours passed like days and days seemed like weeks, as Judas and Garrott attempted to recreate Renthar's portal to another world. The bard had not slept since Jolicia's abduction, but he refused to surrender himself to rest as the two diligently sorted through scroll after text after tome. When he first arrived at the farmhouse in Moonglow, Judas immediately noticed the similarity to another residence on that same island where, not very long ago at all, his companion had afflicted him with a deadly curse. The once-mad mage had blamed the bard for failing to avenge the death of their associate Claudia, whom Lord Randall Reich of Magincia had killed many years prior. Garrott had loved Claudia, but Judas had been her lover, and the former's spell had transformed the latter into a woman infected with their dead friend's memories and consciousness, compelling the male-turned-female into seeking a near-fatal confrontation with her murderer. But his gambit had failed, and now the bard and the mage worked together, united in purpose for the first time in almost a decade.

"What are those?" Judas had asked upon his arrival, pointing to the strange mystical markings that adorned the house's doors and windows.

"Wards of protection," Garrott had responded apprehensively, obviously disconcerted by the topic of conversation. "To keep safe from the demons." During his lost years, the mage had pledged himself to a particularly loathsome demon lord whose followers had caused no insignificant amount of trouble for the bard and his friends. Garrott might have eventually betrayed his former master, but such promises were not so easily forgotten. "I know Celestia destroyed the temptress, and you and your friends dealt with Khal Ankur's manifestation, but they're not all defeated. Before she died, Shelley helped me find a way to hide from them."

It was on their third day together at the house, or perhaps their fifth, when the mage finally looked up from the chaos of information spread out on the table before him and proclaimed, "I've figured it out -- I know what Renthar did!"

"Huh?" An exhausted, red-eyed Judas turned his attention away from his own bed reading.

"The ritual he used against the Camorra, my conversations with those of Wind that Renthar bartered with, everything they left behind in that house. It all makes sense now!" Garrott explained, the excitement barely contained in his voice causing it to raise an octave. "There are old stories about a hidden circle of magic, one that exists beyond the traditional eight. One of untold power. Renthar's somehow recovered it!"

"But -- how does that help us find Jolicia?"

"Because I know how he did it," the mage continued as he hastily organized a pile of scrolls, "and I'll be able to find them, I just need ... need to ... "

The bard appeared concerned for his companion as he asked, "What is it, Garrott? What is the matter?"

"If the portal spell exists," the mage responded, his tone and body language growing more manic as he sifted through more documents, "then the others might too. Including the restoration spell. Yes, the restoration spell -- !!!"

"Garrott," an increasingly hesitant Judas interrupted. "What are you on about?!"

"Claudia!" Garrott proclaimed very matter-of-fact, as if the other man was an idiot. "We can return her to life. I can save Claudia."

"Please, Garrott," the bard calmly entreated. "Claudia is dead. We are here to rescue Jolicia."

"No, no, no," the mage argued, his eyes beginning to manifest that old, familiar insanity. "Not Jolicia. Claudia! Claudia!! Claudia!!!"

"Garrott!" Judas shouted irritably. "Focus. You are beginning to worry me. You know I wish it otherwise, but Claudia is long dead."

"I --" Garrott suddenly paused, as if struggling with something that no one else could see, his expression softening. "I tried, Judas. I really, really did want to help you, but ... it's Claudia." Then came the red-hot glare of rage. "And if you're not part of the solution, you're the problem. Problem, problem, problem. Always the problem. It's all your fault. Yours and Reich's!"

As the bard ran for his quiver and bow that lay in a pile not far away at all, he heard the angry scream that overwhelmed the sound of his heart beating heavily in his chest. "You let him kill her!" It was followed by a magical incantation, "An Ex Por!"

A few moments later, the mad mage stood in front of his magically-incapacitated prisoner, grinning and ranting as he paced back and forth and back again. "It requires an offering, you see. A sacrifice, the life force of another. And with Reich dead, there's none better -- "

"Garrott, please," the bard begged, not only for himself but for the memory of Claudia and the hope of Jolicia.

"-- than you," Garrott cackled, before chanting, "In Zu."

And finally since Jolicia's abduction, Judas slept.

[Chanticleer]

Goodnight, Moons: Six: A Reluctant Smile

For Chanticleer Reich, the summer had been a pleasant one, the autumn productive and fulfilling, and the winter long and tedious, but such was the farmer's lot in life. There were times, of course, when he secretly hoped that mainland Skara Brae would be attacked by brigands or orcs or some other threat, that he would have an excuse to reach for the enchanted blade he kept underneath his bed, but those times never came. Instead, he toiled and toiled.

"Tag, you're it!" A high-pitched voice cried as the once-warrior felt a small, pudgy hand brush against the back of his knee, and a child-like form hurried past the periphery of his vision. His instinct was to hurl a stone in retaliation and watch it spill young blood across the floor of the barn. Instead, he permitted himself a reluctant smile and continued at his work.

Following the death of his uncle, Lord Randall Reich, and recovery from the injuries inflicted by Camorra assassins, Chanticleer had wandered, without purpose or limitations, for the first time in his twenty-odd years. He remained in Trinsic for at least a few weeks, but was then reminded of his stint as a guardsman under the Countess Isabella de Mor, which in turn reminded him of his service as a Knight of Ashencrosse. Both periods, like his relationship with his uncle, had bitterly failed all expectations, which is why the once-warrior eventually returned to a place that he never held any expectations for.

He was oddly unsurprised at what awaited him in Skara Brae. When last he encountered his fat cousin Larenya, her idiot husband, and their five unnecessary children, Chanticleer had been excessively unkind. Yet they warmly welcomed him in a manner that defied any pride or self-interest. "Why?" He asked her, gazing into those big brown eyes that so enticed him as a child. "Because you're family," she replied, with the look of a confused animal.

Word traveled, as it often did, and eventually reached that insignificant farm located in nowhere of importance. It began with news of Lord Sebastian Elias, the father of his former betrothed and the one responsible for his injuries. The once-warrior was filled with rage and had almost departed for Nujel'm that very instant, until he heard that Lord Elias was already dead and no fight awaited him there. As other pieces relevant to his old life arrived, he was less and less tempted to intervene. When he finally learned of the deaths of Alana Wisperwind and Dezera Blackwell -- two women he had cared for greatly, each in their own way -- Chanticleer did not even need to pretend. They had befriended a warrior, and he was just a farmer now.

Besides, it was appallingly obvious that his fat cousin, her idiot husband, and their five unnecessary children needed him more than the dead. They could not do without Chanticleer; not even for a day.

[Judas D'arc]

Goodnight, Moons: Seven: Not a Typical Slumber

"In Zu," chanted Garrott, and the bard known as Judas D'arc had been asleep ever since.

Yet this was not a typical slumber, at least not for Judas; the burst of imagery flooding his tired mind was almost tangible. A recollection of moments, both significant and meaningless, that possessed an occasional coherence only he could comprehend. Strangely, it began with Forbrak, that twisted and vicious creature responsible for too many offenses to recite, including the murder of poor Alana Wisperwind. The bard's dreaming conjured the lunatic gargoyle's death, his self-explosion that left parts and fluids spread across the Marsh Hall Tavern, and that brief, unfamiliar sensation that filled him as pieces of Forbrak splashed against his skin and clothing.

That unfamiliar sensation had returned, and this time it could hardly be described as brief.

And then it was twelve years ago and the City of Britain, a memory that Judas recognized almost immediately, much to his dismay. It was the night he had enabled the capture of the fugitive Nicholas Cornigan, a Trinsic nobleman unjustly accused of murder. The true culprit, a rival by the name of Anton D'arc, had offered a reward for Cornigan's capture, and the bard had conspired with that pig-faced merchant Cubbins to claim it. With his percentage of gold and a letter of introduction in hand, Judas would soon travel to Magincia, where he would join Shelley and her not-so-merry band of rogues and malcontents. A simple act of betrayal that had come to define his entire life, and one that he had regretted ever since. "If only I could do it again," the bard had often told himself on those cold and lonely nights when his mood was particularly maudlin and self-obsessed. Except at that moment, that sentiment was more than just fancy. Somehow, almost instinctively, he knew that the outcome of that encounter was no longer predetermined. If he willed it, then change was indeed possible.

"No," a voice suddenly urged him. "Not this." It was a woman's voice, one that he almost recognized as comforting. Trustworthy. Claudia? Jolicia? Shelley? All three at once and yet none at all? "Everything you have done and the lives you have touched, for good or bad, would never come to pass." With a heavy twinge of guilt pressing at his gut, Judas acquiesced.

And then it was nearly a decade ago and the streets of Magincia at night. "You're no good!" Claudia Destaing shouted at him, before turning her back on him forever. This was the night she lost her life seeking petty vengeance against Lord Randall Reich. But this time it could be different. The bard could pursue her, overpower her, and force her far and away from the island until he was able to persuade her back to her senses.

"No," the voice repeated. "Even now, you still don't understand. Claudia wanted an end. Would you really take that away from her?" With tears in his eyes and unwanted comprehension, Judas relented.

And then it was last year and the City of Britain once again. Julian Randall, once Lord Randall Reich, offered to reveal the location of the captive Shelley if the bard agreed to surrender his life. His friends had prevented his sacrifice, but here the alternative was within reach. Judas missed Shelley more than he could express; nothing was the same since they recovered her starved, frozen corpse from the depths of Hythloth. But now, the bard was able to save her.

"No," the voice stated again. "Was Randall Reich a man to be trusted? He spoke constantly of honor, but how many times did he twist a promise to his own benefit? Are you convinced that this will result in anything but two deaths instead of only Shelley?" With a deep sigh filled with pain and acceptance, Judas yielded.

And then it was a few weeks ago and the City of Yew. Inside his house on the outskirts of the Deep Forest, the bard had persuaded Jolicia not to depart this world at Renthar's side. Until the strange-eyed sorcerer interrupted, striking down Judas and absconding with the woman they both loved. Yet it did not have to be that way, if the bard loosed his arrows before Renthar cast his spell.

"No," the voice echoed again. "She loves him, but loves you more. What kind of woman could love that monster at all? Is it Jolicia you want, or are you afraid of losing her?" With silent hesitation, Judas surrendered.

And then it was a few days ago and a farmhouse on Verity Isle. The bard and Garrott were there to recreate the spell that Renthar had used to escape with Jolicia to another world. It was the afternoon of the evening that his old friend had double-crossed him, an obsession with resurrecting Claudia unraveling whatever threads of sanity remained. In hindsight, it was obvious how closely Garrott watched him; his treachery was equal parts premeditation and impulse. But defeating the mad mage in this state would not merely be difficult, it would be nearly impossible. Judas was weak from exhaustion, his hands incapable of reaching his bow and wielding it with any true skill. His frantic eyes and panicked breath searched the room for even the smallest advantage, but none was in the sight. At least not until his gaze wandered back towards the farmhouse entrance.

"Yes," her voice finally agreed. "You know what you must do."

[Arturos]

Goodnight, Moons: Eight: These Secrets We Share

"My father died last night," the woman spoke in a tone that mixed relief with sadness. "It was in his sleep, after a long winter's illness, but at least he no longer suffers."

"Your loss and my sincerest condolences," the man replied, although his expression did not indicate much sorrow. "I must admit, however, that I've never understood the need to qualify the loss of life in such a way. Is there ever suffering following death? Maybe, for a tormented spirit. But death, by its very definition, is an ending. Final. Painless. I'm thinking I'd be more surprised to learn the dead still suffered yet." Then he smiled at her, in a contrived attempt to be charming. "Forgive me, you've only just lost your father. His suffering, it may be over, but I'm thinking yours has only begun. A more accurate way to describe it?"

A minute of silence followed in that small wooden hunting cabin outside of Trinsic, as each stared from across the table. He was a warrior, dark-haired and armored; she was a middle-aged and clothed in nobility. Unlikely conspirators with a shared agenda that had reached its conclusion.

"With my father's passing," the woman broke the silence, "our arrangement is at an end. I see no reason for our paths to ever cross again."

"I hope, at least, you've kept this business between us?" The man inquired. "Your husband, your children, your fellows in the Camorra, none are the wiser?"

"Does your sister?" She countered. "Do your friends in the Emerald Trading Company?"

"Aye," he nodded. "I'm thinking they would have difficulty in the understanding."

"Coin in exchange for information is a common enough occurrence," the woman continued. "As I have explained, this Judas D'arc that once employed you misappropriated my family name as his own. It was a cause enough for concern and keeping an eye upon him was warranted. Especially after all that trouble with Randall Reich. But this was a private affair, no others are involved."

"Indeed," the man agreed. "Still, how is your father's death connected?"

"I suppose it no longer matters if you know," she sighed. "Years ago, my father, Anton D'arc, feuded with one Nicholas Cornigan, also of Trinsic. Cornigan murdered my uncle and fled justice. Years later, this Judas was one of the men that claimed the reward for his eventual capture. Soon enough, he was in Magincia pretending to be of my family. Why? I do not know. I am hardly capable of insight into a petty criminal's thoughts, but it was most suspicious. In the event he plotted against my father, I needed to be aware. My father deserved his last years to be peaceful."

"Aye," he stated. "This, it's also our secret?"

"I was certainly not going to tell Elias or the others," the woman scowled. "They would have turned on me at the smallest sign of weakness. That is how we are."

"Speaking of Sebastian Elias," the man shifted subjects, "I'm thinking you influenced the Camorra in refusing to support his son's desire for my head?"

"Jonathan Elias is a fool," she shrugged slightly, "and you were still useful to me. Besides, it is not as if I did not gain from it. One less rival for Camorra leadership."

"The Camorra, is it even worth leading?" He asked her. "After all that's happened?"

"A small mind that considers only the present," she shook her head in a manner that indicated disapproval, "but a strong one looks to the future. We will rebuild, and if is not me that benefits, then it will be my children or their own. But our agreement is done," the woman told him as she rose from the table, "and I have little desire to instruct an ignorant thug in the ways of the world."

"A moment still," the man stood and took an eager step towards her.

"What is it?" As she turned towards him, he kissed her, a violent yet passionate embrace that caught her entirely off-guard. "What in the name of the Abyss do you think you're doing?!" The woman angrily demanded as she ripped herself from his grasp. "I will have your head for this, fool!" Without a word, he reached for her again, his hands tearing at her clothing. She continued to struggle as he threw her roughly against the wall. Their eyes then clashed, anger against a strange calm, and the woman prepared to defend herself further.

"Fair lady, I have some concerns, these secrets we share."

"You dare to question my honor?!" Her rage was palpable. "You dare, after this?!"

"It's not your honor that worries me," the man explained, "but the movement of your lips. You're a woman of noble birth, educated and skilled at words, with allegiances that are constantly shifting. My upbringing, however, did not instruct me in the ways of your world. The Library of Scars, which forged me into the ignorant thug before you, taught me one way to keep a secret." His face then visibly darkened. "My sister and the others, they can never know. I'm thinking it would be too much for even me to explain." And then he reached for his dagger and she screamed.

Soon after, the man returned to Vesper and resumed his life of adventure and profit-seeking, the events of that day never troubling him again. The woman's fate remained a mystery, even to her family, who inevitably spent too much coin and effort investigating her strange disappearance.

[Judas D'arc]

Goodnight, Moons: Nine: No Longer Feels the Same

When the bard known as Judas D'arc awoke he was naked, covered only by the corpse of a red-robed, shaven-headed woman as he lay upon the cold, cold ground of Verity Isle. Nearby, Garrott's farmhouse burned, the flames and the smoke and the smells disturbing the peace of that late winter morning. With some effort, Judas was able to move the offending body off his own, and a loud groan followed his almost unsuccessful attempt to stand. The shivering of his body, the chattering of his teeth, and the temperature's unflattering effect on the size of his manhood motivated him to strip the dead woman of her robes and boots, and in the first stroke of good fortune he had experienced in some time, her height and feet were both considerable enough for a nearly comfortable fit.

A few moments later, the bard noticed the other three lifeless forms spread across the grass, all of them easily recognizable. The first two were bald and dressed in a manner similar to his former corpse-blanket, and Judas realized where he had encountered their kind before. They were followers of the Demon, that dark lord of prophecy Garrott had once been enslaved to, and they were responsible for the final remains that caught his eye, those of the mad mage himself. The dead man's relaxed expression and slight smile were contrasted by the multiple stab wounds that covered his torso; he had finally discovered the peace that his insanity had always prevented him from holding onto. For a moment, the bard felt a twinge of guilt for the loss of his old-friend-turned-enemy-turned-ally-turned-betrayer. But only a small twinge, because for all his recent losses and defeats, it had been him or Garrott, and Judas was not ready to die.

At least not yet.

*******

"Seems we're a dying breed," Sokus remarked in his usual gruff tone as the bard and the testicless, crossbow-wielding rogue gathered that night in a small glade north of the Serpent's Spine mountains. They stood above the hidden trap door that led to Sokus' underground dwelling. "Claudia. Stower. Cubbins. Shelley. Now Garrott. We're all that's left, and Lucas too, wherever he is."

"Indeed," was the only response a subdued-looking Judas could conjure.

"There should've been a reward for the last of us standing -- maybe the others would've tried harder," the testicless rogue joked as he patted the small crossbow hanging from his belt. "As good as I am with this, I'm willing to gamble it'll be you."

"Me?" The bard's expression turned curious with the question.

"Never were the strongest or the most clever of us," Sokus continued, "but always a survivor. Or maybe just lucky cause it always ends in your favor."

"I am hardly feeling fortunate at the moment," Judas scowled at the suggestion.

"How'd you survive, while Garrott's a dead man?" The testicless rogue countered.

"There was a dream. No, a voice, and I --," the bard struggled with his explanation. "Garrott had been using these runes of protection to conceal him from the Demon and its servants. I am no mage, but I suspected that altering them might leave him vulnerable once more."

"Why'd you do it? How'd you know?" Sokus pushed further. "I've been working with that bastard for months and had no idea he still wanted to kill you. I'm sorry for that, I should've. What I don't understand is how you acted before you knew you had to. Seems like luck to me."

"I ..." Judas mumbled, his loss for words apparent. "I just did." Then his lips curled into a frown. "Besides, my good luck certainly did not hold. I was unable to save any of our research from the flames. Everything that we pieced together about Renthar's spell was destroyed."

"Guess it's up to you to start again."

The bard shrugged slightly. "Yes? No? I do not know. There is a part of me that wants to find Jolicia, and another that believes she is better off without me. But regardless, finding her is now an impossible task and wanting is simply not enough."

"Until you figure it out," the testicless rogue offered, "you're welcome here. Overseeing what's left of Shelley's isn't easy, but it keeps me busy."

"As you said not too long ago," Judas reminded him, "your profession is not for me."

"Then back to the Emerald Trading Company?" Sokus questioned.

"No," the bard shook his head. "They are still my friends, but everything has changed. When I am with them, all I think about is what we have lost. It no longer feels the same."

"Then what do you plan for now?" The testicless rogue asked of him.

"What now?" Judas slowly repeated the question, mostly for his own benefit. Then he considered again about Jolicia. His home in Yew. Sokus' offer. His friends in Vesper. And then he recalled, almost fondly, those years following Claudia's death, when he wandered the lands of Sosaria alone. "Truly -- "

" --I do not know."

The End