CantareinCminor

Kidnapped "CUT!" "Ow!" A hiss of air passed between his teeth as her heel dug into his foot. She was already fuming mid-whirl and paid him no mind. He didn't try to get in her way. "What is it this time?" Jasmine demanded as the smoke machine sputtered to a halt in the background.  The gray fog smelled oddly of clown makeup, no doubt aggravating her pissy mood past the Scourge threshold. Mozenrath was usually a patient man, but even he was starting to gravitate toward his TV persona. "Don't get smart with me," the new director snapped. "We've been over this a dozen times! You have to look terrified. You're getting kidnapped by your worst

Drown You want to feel the cost of power that badly? Have patience, Princess. You will learn. It was a little surprising just how effective the ploy with the gauntlet had been. He'd succeeded in upturning a slew of her arrogant preconceptions of him in one conversation, and despite the petty insults she continued to throw at him, he had seen the new respect in her eyes. Soon, fear would no longer be the dominant force driving her to meet his challenge. He'd checked in on her a few times during her recent stretch of silence. She'd apparently gotten it into her head to negotiate with the sultan of Desrial over some triviality or another, sti

Near Horizon She breathed out against the meandering wind, tasting salt and a phantom of rain. The pull of the low, emptying tide was a drain on her strength, leaving her heart to channel its burden alone tonight. The moon was a pale sliver overhead, a half-closed eye adrift in mist. She spied his thin silhouette on the sand from a windswept distance, curved angles of shoulders leaned forward, arms draped over knees. The dark film of the sea reached for him with indifference, advancing and receding in gentle routine. She stopped and watched him for the span of seven coats of water upon the beach, soft sand caving in a cocoon around her feet

Gray "Alright. So." He glanced at his friend now that they'd finally arrived at their destination. "How exactly do you catch a wraith hawk? With wraith mice?" Mozenrath hardly spared him a glance as he continued ahead, eyes trained on the looming wall before them. The stone was webbed with cracks and some portions had already crumbled, leaving sizable hills of rubble. Over the fallen slabs of rock they could see the center of the ruins, the once magnificent Archive of Haroul. "Forget about that for now. We're going inside." The abrupt change in plans came as no surprise. It was happening more frequently now, where Mozenrath would add his

Dark He drummed his fingers over the faded map, staring at the outline of the city and the alien script surrounding it. The directions were either a lie, or he had lost his linguistic touch. The frown on his face deepened as he finally pushed the parchment away and let it flutter carelessly to the floor. Xerxes floated near with hesitation, wearing a dumb look of sympathy. Mozenrath paid it no mind and started on a late dinner, though he had no appetite. The search for the ancient mukhtar settlement had led him across two deserts over the course of a week, and he had found nothing. A minute later his dinner was interrupted by a familiar fla

Spit Next time, know who you're up against. That infernal voice would not fade from his head. Sweet with scorn, annoyingly high-pitched, complete with a self-righteous smirk, delicate wrist settled smugly against the curve of her hip. The scene replayed itself in his mind ad infinitum and he cursed inwardly, unable even to move his lips in the airtight trap of the Crystal. For the past hour he had focused all his energy in his right hand, trying to break the Crystal's containment spell with the threads of his own power. His gauntlet was glowing feebly, radiating power to melt away the hundred-layered barrier around him with painstaking slo

Introduction He cast a casual glance at his surroundings as he approached the appointed place. It was a pity this little alcove was not a part of his desert. The jagged black formations looming around him were like wind-swept sculptures of black sand, towers he might have drawn up himself if he had the luxury of spare time. They appeared as frozen claws of massive creatures briefly woken from their slumber beneath the earth. Or perhaps a graveyard of their bones. Bared ribcages, coated in dried black blood, curving toward an impartial sky in haphazard warning. The elegance of it was a thing to admire. He shielded his eyes for a moment from

Rain As he stood in the downpour, he imagined diagonals and perpendicular vectors. He had seen it in a movie once, where rain could fall sideways and even upward from the ground. In hateful spite toward man, rain could defy gravity. The movie had been a comedic, hopeful tragedy. Or perhaps a tragic, hopeful comedy. What was the difference? Did it matter, if hope was the common factor? It was raining up tonight, droplets hitting hard against his legs, trickling inside his boots. For some reason he kept his umbrella raised over his head. Rain The cobblestones reeked of it. Damp moss, he imagined. Though he had never seen moss, it sickened h

Last Meetings III. Scarecrow The call came just as she took the potatoes from the oven. He was sorry; he wouldn't be coming to dinner. She smiled even though he wasn't there, because she needed courage to ask. What about tomorrow? The pause told her what she needed to know. Her smile slipped as he said no, and the silence implied more, diminishing her courage. The baked potatoes sat on the counter as she ate half of the dinner she had prepared, not bothering to sit down. She used a spoon for the bowtie pasta, and drank the soup through a straw once it had cooled enough. After the meal she bent down to wipe the floor of small bits that had