Chapter 2

Steve remained in the kitchen seated calmly even as Michael raced out the door to the aid of the robots. Steve tilted his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he concentrated on listening. He returned to sipping his cocoa after he heard nothing that was too terribly alarming, probably just another minor repair he thought. Matt looked at the door way that Michael had left through so suddenly, "Shouldn't we go after him?" he asked. Steve set down his mug and leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, "It's probably nothing, sometimes the bots need repair, happens all the time, they are 116 years old after all." The Spine 's voice rumbled through the kitchen again. "Michael!" Steve was suddenly roused from his chair, with Matt quick to follow, "I thought you said it was probably nothing…." Matt said confusedly. Steve whirled around to face him, and there was no hiding the fear in Steve's eyes as he spoke, "The Spine never yells twice.Never." No more words were needed as they worked their way through their halls to the wounded robot.

Hatchworth was alone in his room, but he knew exactly what was going on. He could feel Rabbit's fear and The Spine's worry being unconsciously transmitted across the Walter Wi-fi. Hatchworth watched over Rabbit through The Spine's photo receptors, a black tear rolled down the metal plates that assembled his face. He wiped it away carefully. "What is this leaking affecting my eye?" He wondered. Hatchworth hadn't cried in many years, the memories of tears had long since been cleared, and only now, did Hatchworth begin to cry once more.

Michael knelt down beside the fallen robot, and pried away the plates above Rabbit's shoulder. The red and black liquid that had been pooling behind them spilled over the edge, as the transmission fluid and oil mixed in the light, Michael couldn't help but notice how much it looked like blood. Michael reached into the open cavity, unconcerned by the fact that his fingers could be burned by the metal of Rabbit's boiler. As he reached back to find the broken lines his hand skimmed Rabbit's boiler. Where his hand had touched there was supposed to be a burning sensation and pain, but there was nothing but cold metal. "No," he muttered, "no no no no no, thats not good at all." he reached in further feeling the boiler, hoping for even an inch of heat. Rabbit's boiler had gone cold. The Spine started straight at Michael Reed, "What's wrong with my brother?" He asked, his tone cold and monotone. Michael was petrified by The Spine's demeanor but managed to stammer out. "I can fix the broken lines, that's the easy part". He stared straight back at The Spine, "We have a much bigger issue here," he said as Steve and Matt rounded the corner, "Rabbit's boiler has gone cold."

Steve came around the corner just in time to hear Michael say the fatal words. Rabbit was obviously still alive, but with a cold boiler that couldn't be the case for long. Michael look back at Steve and Matt for a moment before turning back to the badly damaged Rabbit. The Spine looked up before turning to Matt and saying in that same cold voice. "Go get Peter VI." For the first time since entering Walter Manor, Steve was genuinely scared, not just for Rabbit's life, but for his own as well. Rabbit's voice box crackled as he attempted to form words, oil sprung from his lips as he tried to speak, "Am-am I going to d-die Spine?" He asked somberly. The Spine looked down at His older brother, still holding him in his arms. "You're not going to die Rabbit, not if I have anything to do with it.

Matt had abandoned all thoughts of walking as he sprinted through the halls of the Walter manor. He narrowly missed knocking over Brianna as he made his way to Peter Walter VI's office. He came to the large wooden door at the end of a hall. A large gold sign adorned the door reading 'Office of Peter Walter VI'. He had been told when he first came to the manor he had been told, if you knock on this door, something is very wrong, and he is our final hope. Taking a deep breath Matt knocked on the door with a gentle rap.

Chapter 3


The sound of the knock ricocheted through the hall, Matt held his breath unconsciously, unsure of what to expect when the door would open, if it would open. After what felt like hours the door opened. A man in a wooden mask, with what appeared to be a keyhole cut out of the center. He stood there in silence for a few moments. "Well?" The man asked him. "It must be something rather important to interrupt my work with blue matter." Peter shifted his weight on his walking stick examining Matt. "It might help if you're breathing." Matt hadn't realized that he wasn't breathing until that point. Matt was only able to utter a single word, a word far more powerful than he could ever realize. "Rabbit…" he almost whispered. Peter straightened up, and stepped out of his office closing the door firmly behind him. "Where?" He responded calmly. Matt turned and walked down the hall, with Peter following.

The Spine was becoming aggravated. Michael had fixed Rabbits leaks and cleaned him up as best he could. He stepped away to speak with Steve about the situation. He wondered where Matt could possibly be. Rabbit grasped The Spine's hand tightly, sensing how tense he was, looking down at his battered older brother, it was hard not to let the tears he held back fall. "Please Spine. Please." That was all Rabbit said, but it was enough to keep The Spine anchored to the spot.

Hatchworth left his room, knowing he had to face it himself sooner or later. He nearly slammed into a confused Brianna. He mumbled an apology and made a motion to leave. Brianna placed a hand on his shoulder knowing that he could easily walk away if he wanted to, but she hoped he wouldn't. Hatchworth turned around, surprised by the sudden contact. "What's going on? Why is everyone acting so strangely?" she asked him. Hatchworth's eternal smile had faded away hours ago, he looked at her and said one word. "Rabbit." She reached for her phone. "I'm going to tell Paige, and then you're going to show me where he is." her fingers flew across the keys, knowing a phone would take far too long. She tucked her phone away and took Hatchworth's arm as he led her down the hall, she prepared herself for the worst.

Matt finally came back to the room with Peter Walter. When he walked in he heard a sound from The Spine that sounded almost like a growl. Rabbit looked towards Matt as the sound of the click of a walking stick on the hardwood floors. Peter Walter VI rounded the corner with a calm demeanor. He took a toll of the room before looking at Michael. "Well?"

Michael immediately brought Peter over to Rabbit, who was doing his best to smile for Peter. The appearance of Peter made him uneasy, all of the robots knew that Peter only came around on special occasions. "What am I supposed to be seeing?" He asked. Michael grasped Peter's hand and guided it down into the hole in Rabbit's shoulder. "it's not what you're supposed to be seeing," He felt the edge of the boiler, "it's what you're supposed to be feeling." Peter jumped a fraction of an inch when he touched the cold boiler. "It's cold…." He withdrew his hand and looked directly at Michael, "you were right to come and get me."

Hatchworth and Paige entered the room to see Peter kneeling by Rabbit. Brianna nearly gasped when she saw him, it worse than she could have imagined if Peter was here. Paige entered the room with a worried expression on her face, she flocked to Rabbit, stroking his face gently. She looked at The Spine, making eye contact with his photo receptors, they both knew there was little hope. Rabbit's head twitched again. "Wh-when did ev-ev-evryone get here?" he asked brokenly. Peter was too busy talking with Michael to notice Rabbit. Steve was getting Brianna and Hatchworth caught up on what had happened so far. Paige stroked Rabbit's face soothingly, "We all came as soon as we heard Rabbit, we're all worried about you." Rabbit smiled a little, and twitched, "You-you-you don't have to w-worry about me." He said trying to be brave.

Peter and Michael had finished talking. Peter spoke once again, "We need to take him to his room. I'll need to fix that boiler." Within an instant The Spine was standing once again, holding his brother. He carried him to his room before laying him on the bed gently. He had gotten there before anyone else, using his inhuman speed to his advantage. "Sp-Spine?"

"Yes Rabbit?" listening closely for his brothers quiet speech."S-sing for me?" He asked. The pleading in his voice was unmistakable. The Spine was quiet for a moment thinking of the right song to sing, before sitting beside the bed. He opened his mouth and let the lyrics flow.

Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?

Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry

And everything, it will surely change

Even if I tell you I won't go away today
Will you think that you're all alone

When no one's there to hold your hand?

When all you know seems so far away

And everything is temporary, rest your head

I'm permanent

Chapter 4

The Spine was still singing when the rest walked in, he paused for a moment, giving them a nod to acknowledge that he knew they were there before continuing the song for Rabbit. Peter and Michael walked over to the bed, and began to remove the metal covering his chest. Rabbit was vaguely aware of their presence, but he was focused intently on his brother, he stared straight into the bright green of his brother's photo receptors.

When the song ended The Spine made a motion to get up to allow Michael and Peter more room to work. Rabbit grabbed The Spine's hand tightly, a dark tear slipped out and fell down onto his pillow, "Please….. Don't stop." Rabbit whispered. The Spine looked at his defenseless older brother before holding his hand tighter, and whispering back "Okay Rabbit…. I won't stop."

As the other stood by watching Peter and Michael operate on Rabbit, they gathered together finding strength in each other, truly a family. Paige was crying on Brianna's shoulder, terrified of what might happen, Brianna had already shed her own share of tears. Matt, Steve and Hatchworth tried to hold it together for Rabbit.

Peter spoke for the first time since they had entered the room. "You might want to go into stasis for this part Rabbit…" Rabbit shook his head violently, and spoke a word that stopped them all. "No."

For a minute the room was silent, they all felt ashamed of their weakness while Rabbit went through a pain more than any of them could every imagine. The Spine picked up the song, a slow and rumbling voice that filled the room with strength and warmth. Rabbit smiled at The Spine before clenching his teeth hard as Michael and Peter started into the boiler.

Minutes stretched into hours, and The Spine continued to sing for Rabbit. Brianna brought the Spine a bottle of water to fuel his boiler. As the hours stretched longer The Spine refused to go into stasis. Not while rabbit ay on what could be his death bed. Rabbit squeezed The Spine's hand to let him know he knew he was still there. The Spine wished he could take his brother's place.

Through all of it The Spine kept singing for Rabbit, hoping that maybe somehow it could keep the pain and nightmares away. Even as Rabbit finally slipped into stasis he continued to sing. He felt his own power levels beginning to sink as he sat by Rabbit's bedside, but he refused to leave his side. He was still awake and singing when Rabbit awoke. Rabbit saw that his brother was still awake. He reached up and touched The Spine's cheek. "Sleep Spine….. you n-need it." Rabbit rarely played the part of big brother, but right now, his little brother needed him. "I'll st-still be here when you w-w-wake up."

The Spine finally allowed himself to slip into much needed stasis, hoping that his brother's words would be true when he awoke.

So coldly amusing
The casual risk looming ominously
Why am I so out of touch
A thousand tiny pinpricks tormenting my psyche

To take that chance
A halfhearted leap of faith
My doubts weighing heavily upon me
Making progress so ponderously slow

The image within that polished surface
My face, my knowledge, my soul
Only the outermost layer of the armor I'd built up
A harsh carapace coated with sharp filaments of frost

I know I'm cold
A lazy defense against a passionate heat
The violent kind
What they'd see is only the clearest reflection

Out of my control
My own distorted image
A gentle visage reflected in a cracked mirror
But not even tangible

©A. DeMario 2012

Tales of the forest spoken from lips velvet soft
Lightly sensuous as they curve into a smile
A lady of expression, a bridge of hardship she'd crossed
If only to stay and talk awhile

Red hair a reflection of ideas burning within
A magnetic sickness that joyfully infects
Once again allowing an alluring madness to begin
Sharing secrets of which I fiercely protect

I feel like I've been tamed by the Muse
My fear and uncertainty stealing my energy
Because of her, my inspiration is new
A force that can't be restrained by gravity

©A. DeMario 2012

Projecting beauty within a single breath

Reveling within their rapture

Cascading notes caressing jaded souls

Amusement amid the standing applause

Even in life the joyful sound never leaves

Speaking; letting them forget the troubles in their lives

I understand the power of the voice


©A. DeMario 2012

It had been three days and, but for a few minor issues, things had actually been going well.

He'd talked to Mary about the Rabbit situation, and she'd taken the kids to her mother's place in Virginia, leaving him alone in the mansion with his problems. Now there he sat in one of the many studies in the Walter Mansion, reflecting on his progress thus far.

Keeping The Jon in the dark had not been an issue. Now that Peter III was here, if The Jon wasn't dragging his favorite human off on some adventure, they were down in the basement for hours at a time visiting HatchWorth, much of the time with Alex Reed in their company. This effectively kept the little golden automaton away from Rabbit; the copper bot had never really enjoyed the particular adventures of The Jon, and when he visited HatchWorth (which was nearly every day) her preferred to do so with Peter II (until now), The Spine, or simply by himself. The only concern Pete had about The Jon was, every now and then, he would drop everything he was doing, bend nearly in half at the waist, and hold completely still, bright blue photoreceptors staring into the floor as though looking for something. Of course, Pete realized that The Jon was in mourning; when The Jon was feeling sad, he let himself feel sad, and then he would move on. Whatever made it easier for him.

The Spine had kept his word and hadn't mentioned a thing to Rabbit or The Jon. He'd told HatchWorth, and the bronze bot had naturally been confused, but promised not to mention it to anyone. Since then, The Spine had been acting strangely toward Peter II. Though the two of them were usually very friendly and prone to chats whenever they crossed each other's paths, The Spine had of late said hardly two words to the son of his creator. He spent nearly all of his time in the Hall of Wires. When he did come out, Peter II would catch The Spine's green photoreceptors locked on him darkly before the silver automaton morphed his face into a smiling mask, similar to the one he wore when he was trying to laugh off a mistake made by The Jon or Rabbit. This was very unnerving to Pete, but as it wasn't causing him any more problems he tried to forget about it.

Thankfully, he hadn't seen Rabbit too much in the past three days. Since he'd replaced the Colonel in Rabbit's mind, the copper bot no longer wanted to "play" with him; mostly he would show him drawings, talk about dinosaurs, or ask him questions such as, "what does your blue look like?" Though Peter II was an adult, he did miss playing with the automaton; he'd never really grown up, living in the mansion with his odd little family. Rabbit's adventures were still as real and wondrous as they were when he was five. Still, less time with Rabbit gave him more time to talk to Mr. Reed about the automaton's current malfunction and search for a way to fix it.

But in truth, Pete didn't want to fix Rabbit.

His mind kept returning to The Spine's words; soon, he would die, and so would his children, and their children would follow. Through all of this aging and death, always the robots would remain. Each and every human they met would die, and so long as they kept being repaired, all of the beloved automatons would stand by and watch it happen. They'll get used to it, thought Peter II, and immediately he tried to shake the thought from his head; he didn't WANT them to get used to it. Death was something you tried to cope with; it wasn't meant to be like an oil change or a rusty gear, something that you just dealt with routinely.

Then Peter II realized; the automatons couldn't get used to it, not really, not even if they wanted to.

He cursed his father for making them capable of love. The Colonel had many times marveled at how close to real human life he'd managed to bring his elaborate, steam powered creations.  The intelligence was artificial, the emotion synthetic, but to the bots it was the only reality they had. They'd all been shocked when, one by one, all the automatons had displayed the ability to leak oil from their photoreceptors when deeply saddened. Then there was the mystery of their personalities; they were all powered by the same source, the Blue Matter, but they'd all awoken with and developed personalities of their own, none of them being alike. These automatons were almost people, and more importantly, they were definitely family.

And this is why Peter Walter II had trepidations about Rabbit. All his life, Rabbit had been like a cousin, or a brother. He smiled, thinking of a story his father had liked to tell; Rabbit, becoming curious and attempting to change young Peter II's diaper, subsequently asking his creator if it were possible to turn off his ability to smell. When Peter was growing up, the copper automaton had done all he could to make him happy: when he'd hurt himself, Rabbit was there to mend him; when some girl had broken his teenage heart, Rabbit was there, refusing with his constant talking to let him bottle his feelings away. Whenever Pete had been in pain, any kind of pain, Rabbit had done his best to make the pain go away.

For this reason, Pete was fully prepared to let Rabbit continue believing that Peter II was in fact his Pappy. If Rabbit had the ability to shift his memories around, keeping the people whom he loved alive, why not let him? Why force the copper automaton to carry the burden of loss that infected The Spine, The Jon, and HatchWorth? He wouldn't do it.

So, he'd continue to let Alex Reed attempt to remedy the modifications to Rabbit memory, and when the time came, he simply wouldn't allow it to happen, let the chips fall where they may. Besides, so far, there weren't any problems with Rabbit's memories not matching the rest of the automatons around him.

That is, until –

A heavy knock woke him from his musings. Pete looked up at the previously empty doorway to see The Spine, his thin metallic hand on the frame of the archway; his lithe, sleek body seemed far more stiff and angular than normal, and he was only making a small attempt at a smile to disguise the obvious contempt on his face. His green photoreceptors locked almost threateningly on Peter out from under the wide brim of The Spine hat, sending a chill all through Peter's body.

"Hello Pete," rumbled the tall robot, his smile morphing into something maniacal it was so forced, "I think it's time that you and I had a little talk."

"HatchWorth?" called Peter II, knocking on the door to the vault.

He'd walked down to the basement, taking his time, preparing for what was to come. What are you going to do about this? Alex Reed had asked. He'd been talking about The Jon, but it had made Peter Walter II think of something else; what WAS he going to do? He was talented, yes, but he was not the inventor his father was. He'd never brought anything to life, created existence out of metal and gears. Once, he'd asked his father about the Blue Matter, the force that kept the mechanical creations alive, and his father had tried, truly tried to explain, but it might as well have been white noise.

And then there was HatchWorth.

The Colonel had been devising a way to mend the rip in Hatchworth's makings when he'd fallen ill. Peter II couldn't even understand what was wrong with the bespecked bot in the first place, much less how to repair him. He had realized, as he was making his way to the basement, that he was more or less sentencing HatchWorth to the vault for an indeterminable about of years. Indeed, it could be generations before someone came up with a way to mend the rip in HatchWorth's insides.

"HatchWorth, it's me, Pete," he called again, knocking harder. At long last, Peter II heard movement through the thick door of the vault.

"Oh, MIS-ter Walter the SECond, fan-CY hearing YOU here," answered HatchWorth, the fluctuations in his odd mechanical voice almost making Peter smile, "How ARE the re-PAIRS com-ing, old chum?"

Peter II found himself thanking his stars that he couldn't see the robot's face. With the Blue Matter leaking from HatchWorth like it was, the Colonel had explained to everyone that the vault door should always be kept shut; it simply wasn't safe to be exposed to. Still, he could imagine the expression on the robot's face well enough; the questions in HatchWorth's photoreceptors, questions that Peter could hardly bare to answer.

"Well, that's why I'm here, Hatchy. See," Peter cleared his throat, "something… something happened… with the Colonel…."

"Iz my PAPpy al-RIGHT?" asked HatchWorth.

Peter leaned against the vault door and let himself sink to the floor.

"HatchWorth… no. He's not. I'm sorry… he died. He died this morning," Peter choked out. There was silence from the vault, until-

"Dieeeed?"

"Yes, HatchWorth, he died. In his sleep. He stopped working, and we can't repair him."

"Yes, iiiiiiiii un-DER-stand," answered the automaton, his words slightly muffled as the oil rose to his receptors. The two sat in silence.

"AM I AL-so dead?"

Peter shook his head, startled. Like most of HatchWorth's questions, there was little emotion in his voice, but Peter thought he had heard a hint of fear.

"HatchWorth, no. What do you mean?"

"I am BRO-ken, like MY PAPpy was BRO-ken. You COULD not re-PAIR him. He IZ dead. AM I AL-so dead?"

"No," Peter heard himself say firmly, "No, HatchWorth, you are not dead. We will fix you, you haven't stopped working, you are alive. Do you understand?" Peter waited for the robot to answer, his hands clutching the giant wheel that kept the vault locked

"YEEEes," answered the automaton finally, and Peter II sighed in relief. The two sat in silence again.

"Walter the SECond?"

"Yes, HatchWorth?"

"I MISS my PAPpy."

Peter II blinked back his tears, once again rejecting them. The urge to open the heavy vault door nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to see his father's mustachioed creation, be near to him, let him know that even though his Pappy was gone, he wasn't alone in this world. Peter II stared at his hands which grasped the turn wheel, feeling his muscles tighten, prepared to swing the door wide open. But the the vault remained shut; Peter II knew what had to happen. He let his hands drop to the floor where he sat, his heart sinking for his dear friend on the other side of the door.

"I miss him too, Hatchy. Now, try to go into stasis, alright? I'm going to The Hall of Wires. I'll be back down tomorrow?"

"Okay, I will TALK to you LATE-er, my friend," said HatchWorth, and Peter II listened to the sounds of the automaton shutting himself down.

Peter II slowly stood from the floor, using the vault door for support. With a heavy sigh he began making his way up the long, winding steps to ground level of the Walter Mansion, thinking of his next challenge. When he'd made it halfway up the stairs he stopped. After a moment, Peter turned around and looked down the stairs, gazing at the vault that held one of his father's living mechanical creations.

"I'm sorry, Hatchy," he said quietly, and once again he made his way up the steps.

"You and I need to have a little talk, Jon," said Peter, hoisting himself up on the bench next to his father's creation.

"I didn't do it," said The Jon, his eyes frantic and full of innocence. Peter sighed, closing his eyes for a moment; perhaps he shouldn't have started with The Jon. The golden bot wasn't stupid, so comprehension wouldn't be a problem; he was, however, fragile. It wasn't going to be easy.

"No, no one's in trouble, don't worry," said Peter. He took a deep breath, "It's about the Colonel –"

"What, Pappy? Oh yeah, how's he doin'?"

Peter II's heart froze. He looked down, forcing the lump in his throat to disperse. Finally, he made himself look up at The Jon; the automaton's bright blue photo-receptors were locked oh him expectantly, eagerly. Taking another deep breath, Peter II forced the words out of his mouth.

"The Jon… do you know what death is?"

The Jon's faceplates morphed into a frown, "Yeah, but I don't like it."

Neither do I, thought Peter, but he said, "So you know that, when someone or something dies, they go away, and even though we remember them and think about them, we can't see them or talk to them or touch them anymore."

"Yeah, and they can't see or touch or talk to us, neither. It's sorta like sleepin', only they don't ever ever wake up, eh Mr. the Two? Like they stop workin', eh?"

"Yeah, The Jon, it's very much like that," Peter urged himself to go on, "And, uh, this morning, that's what happened to the Colonel. He was in his bed, and he stopped working."

Peter II watched as his words worked their way through The Jon's programming. The blue eyes seemed vacant, as though looking inside of the gold automaton's head or off to some distant place, and the mouth was slightly agape. His arm that was still attached went slack, legs no longer kicking with energy. It was the stillest Peter II had ever seen The Jon. The boiler was still hard at work, and the systems were all firing correctly, but the automaton seemed hallow.

At long last, the photoreceptors flickered as The Jon blinked.

"So…" began The Jon, looking searchingly at Peter II, "Does this mean Pappy won't be takin' us for ice-cream anymore?"

"Yes, The Jon."

"And… he won't be singin' with us or drawin' pictures or making any more brothers and sisters for us to play with?"

"That's right, The Jon. He stopped working."

The Jon looked at the hard metallic floor of the workshop, his left leg swaying slowly and heavily.

"Hey Mr. Pappy the Two?" said The Jon. Peter could see black oil beginning to collect around the edge of his receptors.

"Yes?"

"Please could I please have a hug, please?" asked the robot, holding his thin, metallic arm out to Peter II.

"Yes, The Jon," said Peter, and the little golden bot threw himself into Peter II's lap, oil streaming freely. Peter II pulled The Jon close to him, feeling the warm boiler shudder as the robot in his arms wept. He fought back his own tears still, allowing The Jon to cry. You're not the only one who lost a father today, Pete, he told himself, stroking the mechanical man's synthetic hair, slowly rocking him back and forth on the workbench.

Finally The Jon loosened his grip on the son of his Pappy, smiling through the oil that smeared his faceplates.

"At least I still have you to play with, eh? You and me, we can still play," he said, his legs beginning to swing again.

"That's right, The Jon. You and I can still play," said Peter II, smiling with relief; The Jon would be okay. He would miss his father, but he would definitely be okay.

Alex Reed came back into the workshop, holding a pair of ice-creams for himself and The Jon. Peter II took this as his window.

"The Jon, you stay here with Alex, alright? I'm gonna go talk to HatchWorth now."

"Well, okay! I'll see you later! You still owe me three watermelons!"

Peter II walked out of the workshop, shaking his head and not bothering to correct the whimsical automaton; he'd be okay.

The Very Secret Diary Evil Journal of Evil-ness of Lord Garmadon

Ninja Diaries: #6

---

SERIES ONE

---

Day 1:

Got into a fight with Wu. Had no idea he was so protective over his teddy bear. Was only sacreficing it to the dark gods, sheesh! And he goes and banishes me to The Underworld?!

Day 2:

Took over The Underworld. Ha ha! Skeletons now my own personal army. Go me!

Day 3:

Getting kind of boring, down here.

Day 4:

Nothing to do...

Day 5:

Got bored, so I put on a dress and danced like a lunatic. Caught Skullkins laughing at me. Asked Chopov if the dress made my butt look big. He said yes, then offered to cut it off for me. My butt, not the dress.

Reminder: Stay away from Chopov. He is dang scary.

Day 6:

What do you mean pizza doesn't deliver to The Underworld?! I will sue!!!

Day 7:

Found a deck of cards.

Day 1168:

Well, well, well! Finally, something to do! Scavanger hunt for the Golden Weapons of Spinjitzu? Count me in!

Day 1169:

Stalking Wu and his little entourage of brightly-colored ninja. Shall execute plan 'Candy-bar' once they have the Scythe of Quakes.

Later...

Dang! The roof collapsed.

Day 1170:

Told Samukai to leave the ninja the heck alone. Want to keep the dang cute things as pets. Allowed them to get the Shurikens.

Day 1171:

And the Nunchucks.

Later...

Putting plan 'Candy-bar' into action. Retarded red ninja was the only one awake, so had to use it on him. Came out of bushes and asked, ''Hey, little girl, do you want some candy? >:3" Dumb ninja actually followed me. Didn't their mommies teach them never to take candy from strangers?

Muahaha! Made the idiot get the Sword of Fire for me!

Too bad Wu showed up, and made a fluffy sacrificial speech. Idiot.

Later...

Followed him, and made Samukai prove his loyalty by fighting Wu.

Wu lost, Samukai failed. Sure, he won, but he betrayed me and the Weapons kicked his sorry butt into a bajillion pieces. Stupid idiot.

Used the Weapons to make a portal into another dimension. Told Wu what I always wanted to tell him since I was eight. ''DADDY ALWAYS LIKED YOU BEST, B'AWWW!''

I shall return, stupid idiots!

The Very Secret Diary of Kai: Ninja of Fire
Ninja Diaries #3


DAY ONE


Annoyed. Sensei made me do training course four weeks in a row. Finally did it. Stole his sugars - those things taste good! Had some of his cookies, too.

Sister was kidnapped. Gotta save her. But have to learn Spinjitzu first, apparently.

More ticked off, now. Sensei never told me he had other students! All complete weirdos. Attacked me while I was pooping!

Gotta find some weapons. Then I've gotta save Nya with said weirdos. Ninja in blue seems very interested in her. Freak. Not letting him anywhere near her.

In other news: am so great, ninja of fire!


DAY TWO


Arms hurt; had to drag the sensei around in the carriage all day. Tried to make conversation with quiet guy in the white. Didn't work out so well, but got to Caves of Despair and found Scythe.

Am totally awesome - used Spinjitzu! Pretty upset that blue guy got to use it first, but whatever.

Used Scythe, and got yelled at by Sensei. He was all, ''OMG LYK I TLD U NT 2 YUSE TEH SCYTHE!!11!1 MYBE NXT TYME U KAN GET ET RITE''

Am so great nonetheless!


DAY THREE


Now arms are freezing off. Zane not helping at all.

Got yelled at again by Sensei but then boat crashed.

Got Shurikens. Zane turned into a ice cube. Had to carry him. Needs to lose weight. _srsly.

Am the greatest.


DAY FOUR


Got Nunchucks, then made a little campfire in forest beside the Fire Temple. Danced with weird blue ninja - not so weird after all, actually. Might let him near my sister once we save her - might. Don't know if I will, really. Still not so sure about him.

Then while sleeping I saw Nya and woke up and chased her. Turned out to be Garmadon in a dress.

Saved Nya, tried to get out. Epic failed. Sensei saved me and took the Sword of Fire to the Underworld - the crazy kook. Had some tea on the way down, too.

Went all Darth Vader and was all ''NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!''. Always wanted to try that.


DAY FIVE


Got to freak Cole out! Hahaha! Appeared on dragon and he screamed like a little girl!

Passed over to Underworld, did Tornado of Creation, found Sensei and Garmadon. Brother battle! Woohoo!

But Garmadon won. Oops. Did this whole portal thing and left promising to return.


Later...


Flew back to my village and sounded all awesome when I told people that the evil guy will return.

Decided to allow blue ninja to hug Nya. Don't really care anymore.

Still the greatest.

The Very Secret Diary of Sensei Wu
Ninja Diaries: #5

DAY ONE



Recruited a new ninja today. Very ambitious, fiery, rude, and impatient. He must work on that.

Am betting he couldn't do the training course even if he tried!



Later...

Fail.

Later...

Fail.

Later...

FAIL!

Later...

Oh, so fail.

Later...

AND...
fail.

Later...

I... I  was mistaken.

Nevertheless! He needs to gain patience before he can truly master Spinjitzu.



DAY TWO



Sent students to find Scythe of Quakes. Brother's army got in the way, but in the end ninja and I got it. Go me! Take that, Garmadon!


DAY THREE


Balancing on ship mast very good exercise. Caught Zane and Kai staring at me, though probably for different reasons. Kept on eying my beard, I think. Or at least Zane was. Kai was complaining.


Got Shurikens. Am so awesome.


DAY FOUR


Got Nunchucks. While students were up at Edge of the World, was reading Ninja Weekly's Sensei article.


Later...


Was suspicious of Kai, so followed him. When he went into bushes, thought he needed to pee so did not continue to do so. Found him later - was not peeing, took the Sword of Fire when I said not to.


Made epic speech and went to Underworld. Was truthfully scared of dragon right behind Kai, not for amazing sacrificial reasons. Beard a little singed from magma, however. Very upsetting.


DAY FIVE


Fought with Samukai and Garmadon. Brother left. Went home.


Need to order new teaset.

Scootaloo stared down at herself silently. Regret flooded her as thoroughly as the tears that slid down her face. "There was so much I was gonna do…I never found my special talent in life and earned my cutie mark…I never thought it would end like this. Applebloom, Sweetie Belle, and I were all going to do it together. This is a nightmare…" The thought quieted her. This was a nightmare and that was all that it could be. She rounded on the mare, eyes narrowed. "This is messed up, ya know that?! What gives you the right?! Why?!"

It had been countless centuries of the same question. The mare closed her eyes and thought for a moment, wondering how she still never quite had a good answer. After a moment her eyes opened and extended one of her wings as if to beckon the filly near. "I wish I had a better answer, but this isn't a nightmare, Scootaloo. You…you fell asleep and the temperature dropped so suddenly.  There was nothing anypony could have done…" As she spoke she slowly came closer, the heartache in her eyes deepening as, as countless times before, the filly began to beg.

"NO!" she screeched, rearing and striking the mare with her front hooves. "No, please! Please, I'll be anything you want. I'll never break any of Rarity's form models, I'll never sneak cupcakes at Sugarcube Corner, I'll even go back to the orphanage…Please…" The momentum in her voice waned into sobs as she felt her front legs collide with the old mare's body. The mare didn't cry out in pain or try to defend herself. What she did was much worse, and Scootaloo broke into fresh sobs as the mare tucked her wing over her broken body and lowered her head to gently nuzzle her muzzle. "I'll do anything…please…I don't want to die…"

Quiet dominated the small room. The only sounds were that of Scootaloo, quietly crying into the coat of the mare. Occasionally the mare would softly shh or soothe her, but otherwise said nothing. The filly was right in that it was not fair. To have lived alone for so long and to perish alone without purpose to life was cruel. It was also why she was here.

It was a long time before Scootaloo found her voice again. Turning to look at her body, she addressed the mare. "What happens now?" She turned her gaze up at the ancient Alicorn and tried to quell the tremor in her voice, "Am I going to hell? I never…I never found my special purpose…I never did anything with my life…The last thing I did…" She bit her lip and took a moment to collect herself again, fresh tears breaking. "I told Applebloom I was going to be first to find it and we got in an argument. That's the last thing I ever said to one of my best friends…"

"Scootaloo?"

The filly looked up at the mare, but it hadn't been she that had spoken. Her eyes widened as the sickening realization sunk in and she turned to face the door. Applebloom stood there and she could hear Sweetie Belle following not far behind. They had only just bounded in and hadn't spotted her yet, but the yellow filly persisted unaware of what had happened. "Scootaloo, ya sleepy slowpoke - didja forget about the meetin' today?" Sweetie Belle squeezed in and shot Applebloom a reproaching look before looking around the room. It was still only just morning, but finally she found her friend in the corner. "There you are! Why're you still asleep? That's unusual for you, Scoot, usually you're the first one up!"

Applebloom rolled her eyes and smiled. "Guess Ah`m gonna be the first tah get mah cutie mark than, huh Scootaloo?" She tossed her scarlet mane and grinned wider and approached her still sleeping friend. "But seriously - yah gotta get up now Sc-…" Only once she got close did she go quiet.

That was  enough to worry Sweetie Belle. Neither of her friends was ever this quiet normally. "Applebloom?" she queried, taking a step toward her. Her friend didn't say a word, but sank to her haunches, eyes still transfixed on Scootaloo. The beginnings of panic started to sneak in, but she forced herself to move to her friend's sleeping form and gently place a hoof on it. "Scootaloo…it's time to get up…" Ice met her touch. The velvety coat was now rigid and cold and her frame hard from the onset of rigor mortis. "Scootaloo…this isn't funny…Scootaloo…please get up…wake up! Wake up! Please!" Her voice rose in volume and pitch as she began to shake her friend, screaming louder and louder to arouse deaf ears that could not hear her. Finally there were no words, just a wordless wail of horror and grief as she began to choke on her own tears.

Then pain. Pain erupted in her jaw and she reeled, stunned into silence. Applebloom stood over her, tears steaming down her face as she fought to regulate her breathing. She looked up at her silently, but the question was almost audible in her face. Why? Applebloom took a deep breath before helping her to her feet and gently sitting her down. The emotions still ran too high for her to form words, but Applebloom had somehow found them.

"Stay here with Scootaloo. I'm gonna go get mah sister. Stay here…j-just in case…in case she…" No. She couldn't lie to her only remaining friend. She couldn't paint a pretty picture with Scootaloo's blood to make it all better. She took a step back and then turned and ran, yelling back, "Stay here!"

Sweetie didn't need to be told that now, not once or twice more. Turned back to look down at Scootaloo and lay down beside her, trying to warm her with the heat from her body. "H-hush now….q-q-quiet now…it's time…t-to lay your sleepy head…" she softly sang, before breaking into tears anew.

And all the while Scootaloo hid her face in the mare's chest, unable to stand as her body convulsed with sobs. Far off she could still hear Applebloom calling for help. She could still hear Sweetie Belle trying to wake her. Only then did she know they could not…for she could never wake up again.

The funeral was a modest affair. The town gathered up a collection and the mortician was even kind enough to donate a simple black coffin for the sake of holding her. It almost didn't seem real as Scootaloo stared down into the open casket and examined the tiny bundle within. They had done a good job, she admitted. She still only looked asleep, a small smile permanently hovering on her face from her final dream. Scootaloo turned away and cast her gaze to the sky, a sigh causing her to shudder. The weather team hadn't been able to clear the skies. Why, she didn't know, but the day was somber in its muted gray sky that occasionally rumbled with the softest rumbles of thunder.

"It's time, Scootaloo…we should take our places." It was the mare who spoke, beckoning the filly away from the casket to stand beside it instead. She had positioned them to watch the approaching procession of friends and loved ones that heavily trod to the filly's final resting place. Upon seeing Applebloom and Sweetie Belle, accompanied by their sisters and their friends, Scootaloo turned to look up at the mare. "You never did answer me in the clubhouse. What happens to me now? Is this it?" The mare didn't speak for a moment, but instead gestured to the procession before explaining. "When a life is lost before its time, and while it's still innocent of crime, judgment cannot be passed. There was never enough time to decide who you would have grown up to be or the choices you would have made, and death doesn't believe in punishing the innocent." She lowered her gaze to meet the filly and smiled sadly. "Your life wasn't without purpose though. You lived and you touched ponies lives through simply being there."

Time did not stand to wait for the pair. As the mare spoke, ponies came and went. Each had their own words, but only a precious few being heard. As Applebloom approached the coffin, the mare paused in her explanation. Applejack stood beside her younger sister and gently pulled her close, doing her best to offer comfort that would never be enough to fill the hurt. The little filly spoke with a seriousness that Scootaloo had never before heard her friend take upon any matter before, even her own heart's desire in obtaining her cutie mark. "You were never supposed tah die, Scootaloo. Ya were one of mah best friends, and I…you were like another sister tah me. We were gonna grow up together and find our special talent, an now I don't know if ah can without you. I miss you, and I loved you; so even if ah can't find mah special talent, I'll keep lookin fer yours. You were so special, and I hope, if ya can hear me, that ya know I admired ya. Ahm sorry about the argument, so please forgive me, cause I…I…" then the tears took her again and she was led away by her sister to piece back together a broken heart.

As Applebloom was led away from the coffin, Scootaloo felt her composure beginning to slip. She bit down hard on her lip and willed herself to keep what little she had together. The mare noticed the filly struggling to handle the scene and allowed her to compose herself again before continuing her explanation. "What happens now is this. Your death - much like life - is what you decide it is. It is your choice to make what happens now. Yours to decide what your heaven will be. But please…" her voice faltered as she lowed her head, as though weighted down by the sorrows of the world. "Once you choose…you can never go back. Your heaven can change, but you have to do it on your own. I can only help you the first time. So please…make your decision wisely."

It was by that time that Sweetie Belle and Rarity had approached. The young filly looked up with a lost sort of heartache, unsure of what to do. Rarity only stroked back her sister's mane and turned to reach into a saddlebag she had brought to the procession. From within, she pulled out a garment designed for a young mare. It was a long, flowing cape lined with the shimmering gold of Celestia's sun. The rest was comprised of a rich, heavy scarlet velvet. In the middle was a much more intricate design, three mares of all creeds joining in the center. The earth pony and the unicorn were mere silhouettes, but between them they held the magnificent wings of a Pegasus. Carefully, she draped it over the coffin and nodded to Sweetie Belle. Soft at first, the little filly began in low trembling tones, but as she closed her eyes and turned her head to the heavens her voice grew louder and louder as she sang.

"I have not wings to follow you, and I know not where you go.
I cannot fly to heaven far to ever let you know,
But your wings were made for angels, irreplaceable in their worth,
So goddesses have now taken…an angel…back from earth…"

The song dissolved in bitter tears, and as the former had - she was led away to recover in the company of her only surviving friend.

"I-it's not fair…" she choked, furious at herself for collapsing back into the grief of her own death again. She scrubbed at her eyes and  cursed herself before taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm back down. Even after the touching words, she felt at a loss. Did they not understand? "You were the best friends a girl could have…Sweetie Belle is more of an angel t-than I am…and Applebloom is just trying to be strong for her. It isn't fair…"

The crowd slowly dispersed as the hours ticked by. Scootaloo watched as many of the adults she had known spoke in low soft tones of their regret and sorrow. She watched as some lay down gifts and letters to a filly that most of them had never known. Was it guilt that drove them to do this? She didn't know. She only watched as familiar and unfamiliar alike gathered to say their goodbyes, and then she was all alone.

Scootaloo could feel a dull ache in her chest as she sat there, waiting. Out of many faces - there had been one missing. "I-I guess I wasn't…I wasn't really important to her." she began, looking up at the mare who moved to sit beside her, offering only what she had to give, if only an ear to listen. Scootaloo continued as she looked up at the sky. "I wanted to grow up to be just like her. She was the most amazing flyer in all of Equestria…she could break the sound barrier. She could move the world if she wanted to…but…she didn't…"

A creak of protest interrupted her. The origin came from a rusted hinge at the funeral's gate, and two figures seemed to move at the edge of the haze that had begun to enshroud the grave site. They seemed to speak to each other for a few minutes. One turned away only to be shoved by the other, gently but firm in its resolution. As one ushered her companion nearer, their voices began to materialize. "I-I c-can't…oh Celestia…please, I can't d-do this…" "Yes you can…I know this is hard, and it's going to be hard for a little while longer, but if you don't do this than you'll never get another chance. Please…" The silhouettes began to become clearer outlines, and Scootaloo's eyes widened as, finally, they stepped into visibility and approached the coffin.

"H-Hey kiddo…I-it…it's me. I just…Oh Scootaloo, I'm so sorry!" the mare choked, a cry of anguish ripping itself from her heaving chest. Tears blinded her as she bowed her head and rest it against the coffin. "I'm so sorry! I-If…If I had known…I should have…I'm so stupid, Scoots. I should have seen w-what was going on. You w-were the first filly to believe in me. You looked up to me. You d-depended on me and I was so blind…It should have been me!" She cried, beating the earth below her with her front hoof. "I-it shoulda been me…I'm so sorry…I loved you, Scootaloo…and I n-never t-told you that…it didn't have to be this way…and it's my fault. I'm sorry…please forgive me…Scootaloo…"

It was then Fluttershy tucked her wing around her friend and held her close. It was disturbing in its way. Scootaloo could find no words for what she saw before her. The strongest flier in Equestria now bowed before her, broken and inconsolable by even her closest friend. She had never seen Rainbow cry before. She had never even known if the confident mare was capable of allowing herself that relief; that didn't matter to her anymore. Scootaloo had mattered. Now it was too late.

Yet, at the same time, Scootaloo couldn't bring herself to anger. She had been angry at times, yes. Why had no one ever looked for her? Why had her parents failed to take care of her? Why had Rainbow never once asked if everything was ok with her home life - or known there had never been a home for her to go back to? In life those things had made her angry. Now they only made a deep sigh well within her as she wished she could tell Rainbow her true feelings.

She had never blamed any of them for what had happened and she never would. They never needed to ask for forgiveness - because they were never blamed…but how could they know? How could they hear a voice come from a mouth that would never move again?


Fluttershy did her best to console Rainbow for the time that passed so slowly. Finally, after a moment in eternity that lasted what seemed forever, Rainbow got up. The mare silently pulled out something she had tucked beneath her wings, placing it on the coffin and whispering a final, "Goodbye…" before turning to leave with Fluttershy at her side.

Once they had finally gone, Scootaloo brought herself to look at it. It wasn't a second longer before she couldn't look at it anymore and turned away. The crown of Equestria's Best Young Flyer had been placed over the cape Rarity had left behind.

It had been Rainbow's pride and joy. It had been her happiness and inspiration. Now, it was only a memory they would never share, and a broken dream. She would never get to see her fly - so there was no reason to wait for the next best flyer, her flyer, that had never gotten to soar. As they reached the gate to the funeral, Rainbow stopped one last time to cast a glance back at what could have been. She couldn't see Scootaloo staring back at her, nor could she see anything more through the tears that blinded her.

Now truly alone, the air was silent. The filly and the mare sat together there for a long time, the filly staring off into a nothingness that stretched endlessly before her. There were endless possibilities now to fill the void of all that she would never grow up to realize. The destination of heaven now loomed to replace the journey of life to reach it. There was no hurry to get there. She had all the time in the world now. The mare knew this just as well as she did, and did not move to disturb the filly's thoughts.

Days passed in the course of those thoughts, and Scootaloo uttered not a word. She sat there, perfectly still, staring sadly into forever that merely stared back. Tears would occasionally brim and flow down her features, but even those waned and ended as time passed. Finally, on the first morning of winter, she spoke.

"I've decided." the words came from absolute silence. The mare started at the sudden resolution is such a young filly's voice, but listened to hear what she had deemed worthy of heaven. Over thousands of years she had heard and seen many different heavens. Sometimes, the heaven would be of one who chose to become a god and rule forever in their own domain. Sometimes, the heaven would be a fantasy they had never gotten to fulfill. Then, sometimes, it would simply be to never want or need for anything again and to simply join their loved ones when their time came; living in paradise for all eternity. Scootaloo continued, pushing herself up and bracing for whatever was going to come next. "I know what I want, so now what?"

While the mare found it odd she did not simply speak it and let it be, she nodded and turned to stare into forever once more. "Will it to be, but be sure…there isn't any going back after this. Do you understand?"

Scootaloo only nodded and closed her eyes. This was her heaven. This was her final wish.

The world felt like it had exploded around her. Suddenly, needles of ice punctured her lungs. The metallic taste of blood tinged her lips and for some reason she was burning alive. In the distance she could hear sirens wailing and terse, anxious voices barking out orders and choppy directions. None of them made any sense and she was being eaten from the inside out with fear. Scootaloo struggled to even remember what had happened that had led to this, but her thoughts were sluggish and she couldn't seem to collect them.

Only once the world came to a shuddering halt did she realize that she was in an ambulance. Before she could invest in the thought, she felt herself slip from consciousness and she was plunged into complete darkness. It didn't last long - or it didn't seem to. What felt like seconds later she opened her eyes and tried to sit up with a start. Her entire body was convulsing and trembling, but she could feel her heartbeat raging away within her frail chest.

A strong set of hooves pushed her gently back down, and as she tossed her head wildly to see who was confining her, the will to fight disappeared. "R-rainbow…d-d-dash…" she managed, her teeth clattering so hard she quickly gave up on attempting more than that. The mare looked down at her with tears in her eyes, but was smiling despite being just as scared as the filly. "Calm down kiddo, take it easy for me…that's right, that's my girl…"

A nurse entered the room, followed by other familiar faces. "Scootaloo!" "Oh Scoot! Are you ok?!" Both of them were pulled away by their older sisters as the rest of the visitors filed in slowly. "Applebloom, she's gotta rest now. Yer friend had a pretty close call…" For once, Rarity agreed, pulling Sweetie Belle close to her. "I should say so. Why did you girls never tell us she had been living in that tiny little clubhouse?" Both of the filly's lowered their heads, guilt surging within their voices. "We never knew…" "Ah…ah never asked…"

As the nurse administered the vital warmth the young Pegasus needed, the trembling began to subside. Slowly she found her voice and used it now to say the hardest thing she had ever brought herself to. "It wasn't their fault. I-it's mine…I was ashamed. I was scared of being taken back to the orphanage if anypony knew…so I…I lied to everypony. I was scared of saying goodbye…"

The room went quiet as it sunk in. She could see on each of their faces that they could not bring themselves to simply accept that answer. "I should have known." "I should have done something." Although unspoken, Scootaloo could see it in their faces. Only one of them spoke aloud, but it was not what she had expected to hear. "I'm leaving. This is something I shoulda done a long time ago."

Her eyes widened as she turned to face the voice of her mentor. "R-rainbow Dash, no, please!" The sudden distress caused her breathing to hitch, and she was taken by a fit of coughing. Without being able to say another word, she could only watch as the pony she looked up to the most got up and left the room.

The action had taken even her friends aback, and Fluttershy rushed after her to see what was the meaning of the outburst. The others merely talked amongst themselves, frightened of further upsetting the delicate health of the filly. They took it gradually outside, leaving Scootaloo alone with the nurse. Even her closest friends had been dragged away to leave her. This had to be a nightmare.


Nurse Redheart frowned, her eyes filled with a quiet sympathy. She tried to lift her patient's spirits as she continued to work on gradually reintroducing warmth back into her tiny body. "I'm sure there's just a misunderstanding, dear. Your friends are just outside discussing important things right now - but I'm sure they'll be back to visit once you're stable." The word caused Scootaloo to break from her sad reverie and realize that her body still felt as though it was overly warm. "W-what happened?" Nurse Redheart stopped and considered whether it was a wise idea telling the filly of how close a call she had had. Delicately, she tried to make it so she would understand.

"Sweetheart, they couldn't wake you up. After your friends went home, I think one of them got worried and said something to their sister about not having seen you outside of that little clubhouse for some time. It was enough to call a search party, and about an hour ago - Rainbow Dash found you curled up on the floor. She couldn't wake you, so she flew for help. If she hadn't found you - you wouldn't be here right now." She then moved close and tucked in the thick blanket close around the tiny Pegasus's wings. "They call it hypothermia. The temperature dropped so suddenly, and you were only wrapped in a thin blanket. You got too cold too quickly and it's very dangerous. I can honestly say that I'm grateful that you're alive and awake to be here right now."

Scootaloo said nothing, but rolled over. It was so much to take in. It was so much to handle and she was so exhausted. The nurse didn't disturb her anymore with the rest of the details, but the mare did lean down to gently kiss the top of her head. "Get some sleep…goodnight, Scootaloo." The nurse walked to the door and gave one look back before turning off the lights and shutting it quietly, leaving the little filly to fall into fitful slumber.

Morning brought with it a new world. Scootaloo slowly opened her eyes and took a deep breath, grateful her lungs had stopped burning. The room came into focus gradually and she found herself staring at something foreign. Rainbow Dash had come in sometime during the night and fallen asleep. The mare was curled up on a small sofa in the corner of the room, surrounded by flowers and gifts her friends had asked her to bring. The morning light caused her to stir, and a soft groan drifted from her as she opened her wings and stretched. It was then she noticed Scootaloo watching, and she moved to the bedside. "Good morning."

Scootaloo lowered her gaze and braced herself for the lecture she was sure was coming. Rainbow Dash had been woken up in the middle of the night to go look for her in the cold. She had had to deal with her stupidity at not knowing better, for not being more careful. She could hear her fears as loudly as if they had already been spoken, and dreaded the stark reality she had woken up to. The world was about to change.

The words never came though. Rainbow didn't launch into a long winded lecture, or start yelling at the filly. She did not scream at her at how stupid and useless she had been, nor how the unloved should be shut away. Instead, a gentle hoof took her own and Rainbow spoke quietly. "I'm sorry…about last night. I was angry at myself. I've done a lot of stupid things. I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm going to try to start fixing them though, starting right now. Scootaloo," she gently took the filly's chin and made her look up at her. Rainbow smiled and took a deep breath before finishing what she had begun. "How would you feel…about…about moving in with me? About me adopting you? Last night made me think about a lot of things long and hard. I was so scared of losing you, we all were. So if you want to…if you can forgive me for being so slow, you never have to be alone again. You can come home."

It took a few seconds before it sank in, but the filly answered without words. Tears brimmed, hot and unbidden with joy as a relieved sob broke from her and she hugged Rainbow as tightly as she could. The mare didn't push her away. She would never push her away, and she would never wake up alone. "This is the beginning of the rest of your life, kiddo. I promise to make it an adventure as long as I can."

Through the tears, she opened her eyes. She could see Applebloom and Sweetie Belle standing there, both of them just as overwhelmed as she was with emotion. Behind them their sisters and the other mares stood, all relieved and thankful that the nightmare had ended. All of them were there, and for a moment someone she didn't recognize. It had been an old gray mare passing by with a smile on her face. She was there and gone, leaving the filly to the happy moment.

Later that day, the adoption papers were signed and officiated. Scootaloo was released from the hospital a few days later. As she walked out with her new guardian by her side, an old gray mare watched from the hospital window. Sad brown eyes closed, and a tear slid down her cheek to meet her smile. The filly would never again see her, but she would remember her. She would be the one who chose all the pains and sorrows of life so that every moment of happiness and joy was her own little piece of heaven that she would never have to wake up from again.

I watched an ant crawl across the surface of a car today.

Tiny legs trailing across the dull metallic shell, moving slowly on the skin of the machine as it sped down a dusty highway. The creature took pauses between every few steps, as it made its way from the front of the car, passively searching for a path to the underearth haven.

I observed in curious silence as it took its first exploratory step on the windshield.

The man in the car seemed oblivious to this tiny creature crawling across the vast field of neoplastic-glass.Just as ignorant, the ant continued to venture onwards. Towards the center. And then, the man noticed.

A faint shadow of annoyance. As swiftly as that expression came, it was replaced by a browed look of apathy.
Stubby fingers reach for one of the numerous levers on the wheel, digits sprawling outwards in a searching manner, similar to the antennae of the offending creature. Fingers curl around a certain lever; the one marked with a white-traced droplet. As if it knew, the ant hesitated a step forward. The hand turns.

An explosion of water sprang over the glass, a sudden torrent of air-driven droplets arced in awkward angles across the dusty screen. I managed to glimpse a sight of the ant, its body pressed tightly against the windshield, legs erratically splayed and twitching under. Then, in a flicker of an eyelid, the ant was gone. With a sound no louder than a whisper.

A lightly-colored stain curved across the windshield glass, its path still drawn by one of the Twins. The wipers returned to their original posts; with a high- pitched trill that served as a short announcement to the sterility of the screen.

But still, beneath the grim, dark shades of rubber, I could see a slowly moving leg, reaching out for the sky.

-


I got out of the cab and watched it drive out of sight. At the back of my head I began to visualize the car drive across the hot tarmac of the open road,and wondered what would happen if,
at that exact moment,
a watery death came cascading down in pure, unbridled fury,
with the same amount mercy the man has shown to the ant.

I began to wonder if the Man of the car we are crawling on would do the same thing to us

one day.

As Evening pulls the obsidian cloth from the land;
foolishly. A thousand lanterns extinguished; fades into
non-existence.
A seething ball creeps ever so slowly on the horizon. With Hate; with Love.
No loyalties.


And I stood there. In the midst of Dread.

Arms bound by Guilt.
Hands held by Sorrow.
Brought here by Pride.

Trialed by Justice.


And so He appears.
Message and Messenger caressed in his hand.
And he points it towards a
traitor,

And in a
slow

deliberate


fashion.


He fires.



And I see it.


Death cutting through the air
It whistles a melody in the w i n d
spiraling
s
l
o
w
l
y
.


Cuts. Pierces.
and it dances inside me.


A quiet blossom, crimson crawling across
la
ye
rs;


Charon's envoy lodged tightly between my heart.
Metallic. Unrelenting.


The Man gives a gesture. Taunting, laughing.
No answer.

Unblinking eyes no longer see.

The darkness whispers a chorus,
breathing someone else's breath.

So


laboured.

And I lay there. In the midst of dream.

Precariously,
selectively forgotten.


With only the rain crying at my grave.

Men of the world, cerebral flies,
Canvas of Earth, glossed with lies,
Society's ink, tint of blindness,
Throne of Ignorance, single-mindness.

Leftist philosophy, gradient culture,
Shaded intentions, corporate vultures,
Cruel vengance, questionable means,
Greedy, meticulous, cunning fiends.

Wisdom forgotten, the Wise ignored
Guided hate, death by swords,
Blasphemous thoughts, Maker's ire,
Armageddon, the cleansing fire.

I am.

I am the person who lives.

I am the person who loves.

I am the girl who cries to sleep at night, wishing I could be prettier.

I am the boy who is trying to live up to everyone else's expectations other than my own.

I am the invisible who linger in the hallways.

I am the person who bullies to feel better.

I am the parent who gave up after my child went to jail.

I am the daughter who works at fifteen because my parents can't.

I am the person who is bullied for being different.

I am the person who lives because I don't know what happens after death.

I am the woman who is hit on every day because of my looks, making them more of a curse then
a blessing.

I am the man who took steroids to be stronger and now am discarded by society.

I am the child who was forgotten.

I am the broken.

I am the hero.

I am the villain.

I am the takers.

I am the givers.

I am the deserving.

I am the bullied.

I am the pressured.

I am the suffering.

I am the surviving.

I am the wishers.

I am the dreamers.

I am the abused.

I am forgotten.

I am human.

Through soulless eyes people see
all too constantly watch the world
that they believe had nothing for them.

Tears form, but no one sees,
no person even bothers to look,
yet it isn't like they don't notice.

When someone finally looks
and actually sees for once
they utter those few words,
that can change so much.

Are you okay?

The tear stained face looks up
and knows it's been seen
with a blink though
the tears are gone.

I'm fine.

The voice breaks,
but it is overlooked
as nothing important.

"Stop! I'm not okay!"
The internal voice screams,
but the silent mental call
is heard by no one.

And the crying form
that so brokenly said it was fine
is left to cry once more.

Trite but True

Every journey began with a first step.  Every wildfire with just one untended ember.

Later, he would marvel at just how insignificant it was.  A few days in the solitude of a cemetery, weaving threads of the arcane.  It had been a fumbling process, his fingers and mind unpracticed after… gods only knew how long of disuse.

But it had been… blessedly familiar.  Not normal.  But like caressing a lover after years of absence, relearning the curves and dips of a body once memorized and still remembered.

Not everything had changed.  Not everything had abandoned him.  It had remained, enduring…

Before, he had been no more than driftwood, silent upon a sea of ether.  He had no desire to find any shore or any fellowship… existing had been enough of a strain in those weeks.

Now, though, the currents had changed, but the energy was the same.

It had been a small shift, in some ways, but now he could speak.  No longer did he had to struggle with notes, with gestures.  A small shift, yes, but one that changed so very much.

With communication made easier, the townsfolk began to see that he wouldn't just fade away as some had, and slowly, very slowly, began to introduce him to the tongue of his new people.  He was an alchemist, after all, and might do the Dark Lady in some stead, so he'd need to learn the language of Undercity.  A harsh, grinding dialect, one that he thought was rather aptly named.  Gutterspeak, yes.  Filthy, gutter-hewn.

Regardless, Diatren had a fondness for language, and picked it up quickly... even if he refused to speak it back.  The Forsaken knew Common, a tongue he'd agonized over learning.  They could handle hearing it again.

Able to finally understand those around him (at least he knew now that he wasn't crazy, and the townspeople actually had spoken words he'd not known when he walked away in those three weeks, four days) and with his magic back... well.  He wasn't quite so opposed to lending a hand where a mage would be of assistance.  Isabella, after all, was a rather busy woman.

It gave him something to do to pass the days, but more importantly, it allowed him a chance to continue to wake up that energy inside of him: remember how to stroke it, to let it dance on his fingertips… he never much cared why, or for those he assisted.  It was purely for himself, to remember…

And he remembered quickly.  Lessons.  Techniques.  The more he remembered… the more that magic inside seemed to remember him.

Suddenly, the days didn't seem to matter anymore.  He realized they passed, but he was busy, distracted with other things.  Collecting ingredients and reagents for Novice Elreth, often helping her with the alchemical compositions, burying those truly dead…

And he slept.  Not every night, at least he didn't think so.  Although he was never truly tired, he did get weary.  His energy slowly drained out of him as he used it, leaving him feeling… empty.

Alone.

It was then he slept, allowing the fire inside of him to smolder and slowly grow back up to a blaze.  He didn't feel quite so alone, then.

But Deathknell was a small town, and that was something that never did sit truly well with Diatren.  Being so close to people who would remember him, remember his name, the times he misspoke or tripped over his own feet.  As the days passed, he began to feel the eyes turn to him, focus on him…

Although he didn't need to breathe, there was this very distinct feeling of being suffocated.  Slowly strangled, from the inside out.

Needless to say, he appreciated the time away more than anything.  The solitude of the forest was… relaxing, and the crackle of arcane fire as it grew and swirled around his hands, warming him before he flung it forward, feeling it travel through the air before it hit—

"Hey!  Hey mage!"

Diatren growled, snapping his head around, eyes narrowed to glowing silver slits.  Whoever had the nerve…!

From the road, an undead man dressed in green was walking up towards him.  Smiling lopsidedly—an expression that was only exaggerated by his skewed jaw—the Forsaken stopped, stretching as if he'd come a long way.  "Do a favor for a young man who's been fighting more than his fair share of mindless zombies and spiders?"  He looked down as he began to pat down his pockets.  "I got this here letter that needs to go to Brill… to an innkeeper named Renee… something-or-other. Don't really matter none what her last name is."  Smile growing, he pulled out a small, crumpled note, extending it.  "So, help a friend out, mate?"

… the maggot.  Not for the first time, Diatren wished he could frown and snarl.  Flicking a hand with obvious irritation, he snatched up his wand, jabbing it into the hole in his neck with now-practiced ease.  "I am not your friend."

Over the days, with an aching sense of perfection, the mage had continued to tweak his speaking-spell.  Nearly every time he spoke, he noted the vibrations of energy, how they played together, and would later refine them.  Now, although still almost jarringly mechanical, at least he was intelligible and spoke more or less fluently.  However, he'd found that he was… so far unable to convey tone.

Sometimes that little detail irritated him to no end, sometimes amused him, and sometimes fared him well.  At the moment, it was the former.

The man in green only smiled.  "Oh, come on now. It's a nice cozy little place full of victims of the plague trying to make their way in the world. And it be a great spot for you to rest too if the need arises. You should check it out… you do and I'll pay you well."

Although the finer muscles in what remained of his face were long since decayed, leaving him more or less expressionless much of the time, the sheer annoyance that ripped through him made his flesh quiver enough so that what remained of his tongue flapped stiffly.  "I don't need—"  He paused.  "—isn't Brill on the way to the City?"  

He believed he'd heard that.  And cities… one could be lost in cities.  Somewhere... somewhere he'd heard that if one wished to be known and not to know, live in a village; if one wished to know and not be known, reside in a city...

It was a certain proverb he'd personally experienced.

The other Forsaken blinked owlishly, then nodded.  "Yeah, it is.  If you're goin' that way, then really, mate…"

With his free hand, Diatren snatched the letter, tucking it into his robe.  "I suppose I am going that way.  You should pay me now, since I won't be back."

"What?!"  The man balked, reaching his hands out as if to take the letter back, "Owe you any money!  I don't—"

One hand still holding his wand, the mage lifted up his other, fire beginning to curl around his fingers.  "Oh?  Would you like to find out if you're flammable?"  He paused, cocking his head.  "I bet you are."

The man jerked, taking a few steps back and holding up his hands in surrender.  "Woah!  Woah, friend, I was… I was just kidding you!"  He chuckled weakly, hand diving into his pocket once more.  "Here!  Here, a 'course you won't be back.  Thanks… thanks mate."  Weakly chuckling once more, he flung a few copper on the ground.  "See you later!"

And with that, the other Forsaken turned and all but ran.

Smiling internally, Diatren let his fire evaporate, bending down to pick up his coin.

Deathknell was too much—it was growing stale, too close for comfort.  He'd known for days now that he'd have to move on, to leave lest he lose himself again… but he hadn't known where, too paralyzed with the unfamiliarity of everything about the world in which he had awoken…

But now, now he had a destination, and an excuse.

Once and a while, the gods smiled upon him.  That, or Lady Luck, at least.  

... or so he hoped.

Dusting off his robe needlessly, Diatren spared one look back.  … once he got to the city, he'd send word back to Isabella.  Just so they didn't think some beast had eaten him…

… no.  They didn't care, and neither did he.

Brill it was, then.  As he started off, he couldn't help but feel as if he'd heard the name before, a long time ago…

Will of the Forsaken

For two days, the residents of Deathknell avoided the crypt.  Every time a breeze swept down the hill, it carried… strange noises.  Crackling.  Sharp, animalistic yelps.  And, most notably, an odd sort of… hum.  More of a buzzing, really, that none could rightly place.

The common consensus, however, was that if whatever it was meant harm, it would have already done something by then.  Or, if they were incorrect, hopefully one of the pockets of Scarlet Crusaders would come upon it first and they'd kill two birds with one stone without any effort.

So they hoped, but no one was about to check one way or the other.  When the cat had already died once, it left most of its curiosity behind.

They needn't have worried, though.

As the sun began to set on that second day, pale smears of dusty yellow light faintly filtering through the dark leaves of the forest, the sounds went suddenly silent.

Only when they saw Diatren walking down the hillside did they realize he'd been absent at all.

Although the mage caught his foot now and again on the uneven ground, he moved with a presence, a focus.  He walked—not just shuffled numbly—up to the steps of the church and stopped before Shadow Priest Sarvis.

The priest blinked, eyeing the taller of them dubiously as he withdrew his wand and, without hesitation, shoved it deep into a gaping hole in his own neck.  The wood squelched as it sunk into the soft, rotted flesh, sinking nearly halfway in before it seemed to hit something solid.

Quirking a long brow, Diatren twisted his wrist sharply.  The wand whined and buzzed as if it were some Goblin invention groaning to life, and then:  "Hello.  Shadow Priest.  Sarvis.  I am.  Diatren.  Once Drake.  But now.  That surname.  Does not suit me."  The… voice, if it could be called such, was halting, mechanical, and only barely intelligible.

But the mage was speaking.   "Regardless.  I was.  The apprentice.  Of Archmage.  Fitzdragon.  In Lordaeron.  And I am.  Not about.  To be.  Ignored."

The priest simply stared, but after a long moment… laughed, applauding loud enough that much of Deathknell perked their ears.

"Well, good to have you, Diatren, apprentice of Archmage Fitzdragon.  I don't think you're someone we can ignore."  His laugh tapered off to an amused chuckle.  "Clever.  I'm curious, though—how did you come up with that little trick?"

Had he been able, the mage would have smiled.  "Music."

A Rude Awakening

Cold.

It was the first thing he felt.

… no.  No. That… wasn't quite correct.  It was… the first thing of which he was aware.  

Cold. Smooth.  Stale.  Some distant sort of understanding, yet without truly feeling it.  

Any of it.

He groaned, the sound wet, clinging to the damp walls around him.  There was something wrong, though, about that sound… so unfamiliar…

Eyelids sticking together, presumably from the residue of sleep, he finally managed to pry them apart.  Then, after a moment of darkness, his vision slowly returned: grainy, dull around the edges, too bright at the center.  He waited for it to clear…

… and waited…

… and waited…

… but nothing changed.  A slow, aching sort of fear began to bleed through his veins, wrapping around his consciousness when he finally realized what he was looking at: a colorless stone slab, not six inches from his nose.

Panic slammed into him headlong.  Making that unintelligible sound of a trapped animal, he began to scrabble at the walls of his prison.

In his frantic flailing, his left hand suddenly found the edge of the stone above him.  Too forgone to feel foolish, he all but threw himself out, collapsing to his hands and knees on the ground below.

Eyes wide, flicking frantically, sightlessly  Ears clogged with a painful, throbbing whine.  Around him, human architecture, damp and mossy stones of…

… oh… gods… they… they buried me…

Lurching forward, he hit the floor again as his limbs refused to function in tandem, each going every which way.  He couldn't stop though, couldn't give up—he had to get out…!

Finally, his body was beginning to move together, if badly.  Jerking, stumbling, he all but fell up the stairs, grasping at the slime-slicked stones.  There was light, he could see it, a bright spot in the colorless snow behind his eyes…

He fell three times, either a foot or hand slipping as he clawed his way up on all fours like a frightened beast.  Then suddenly his sight was momentarily whited out as he reached the top of the stairs, scrambling to his feet to try and make a run for it…

A vice grip clamped down on his arm, making him stumble.  A shriek escaped his throat, wet and wild, as he blinked frantically, trying to see his attacker and remember anything to save himself…

"Ho there."  He felt the pressure—a hand?—tighten against his skin, holding him steady as his eyes began to focus as best they could.  "About time you woke up. We were ready to toss you into the fire with the others, but it looks like you made it."

'Made it?'  In his mind, those were the words he spoke: clear, if frightened.  In his mind, even trembling lips could have found those shapes.

But the sound that escaped him was nothing like what was in his mind.

Stumbling backwards, the… thing… holding him letting him collapse against the wall, spine cracking loudly against it.

Shock, confusion, terror… he considered it a small miracle he wasn't trembling all over.  They had buried him, and there was something terribly wrong.  Some lingering sickness, or injury, or…

His arms now free, one hand braced himself against the wall, the other flicking up to cover his mouth.

But…

… it wasn't there.

His mouth wasn't there.

He would have screamed, but he found his throat too tight as he began to shake, feeling as if he was coming apart at the seams.  What… what..?

The creature in front of him—it looked human, but with whatever was wrong with his eyes, he couldn't rightly tell—seemed not only unshaken, but… rather bored.  "I am Mordo, the caretaker of the crypt of Deathknell." The thing, Mordo, gestured down the stairs from which he had just come. "And you are the Lich King's slave no more.  Although…"  It—he?—paused then, "You seem to come out a little worse for wear than most of us."

… wh… what?  It was… all that he could think.  Leaning heavily against the wall, he just stared ahead. Lich King's slave?  Worse for wear…? Why…why couldn't he talk?

A moment of silence passed, and the Mordo just shrugged, sweeping its hand down to motion to a path at their feet.  "No matter.  Speak with Shadow Priest Sarvis in the chapel at the base of the hill, he will tell you more of what you must know."

… Shadow Priest?  What…?  Where was he?  What… what happened?  All he could remember… all he could remember… what could he remember?  Just… brief flashes, images, disjointed and broken… but…

He'd worn out his welcome, though, and the Mordo made that quite clear: it huffed, gesturing more sharply.  "I have to stay here, to guide anyone else who wakes up.  Now get going.  I don't have all day."

Blearily, he looked down the path once more.  Eyes… somewhat adjusting to the light, he could at least begin to make it out, and his body seemed to be… slightly more responsive…

Feet shuffling awkwardly, he finally began to move away, all but dragging himself down the dirt path unthinkingly. Shadow Priest Sarvis.  Chapel at the base of the hill.  Then… then he could ask… what was going on…

Logically, he knew the walk hadn't been a long one.  Not even a quarter of a mile (maybe less, he couldn't be sure) but it had taken him a… shamefully long time.  He'd stumbled more than once, picking himself up awkwardly.  His body just didn't seem to want to move properly, nothing seemed to want to work right.  But yet… yet he didn't hurt.  He felt like he should, but… he just… didn't.

Perhaps he was just stiff.  He had no idea how long he had been… well.  However he had been that they had thought him dead.

He suddenly found himself at the base of the hill, having passed through the cemetery gates and now standing in the middle of… what looked to be some sort of decrepit town.  It was hard to tell… details failed him, as did…

He blinked, suddenly realizing the world was… nearly colorless.  There were… some soft shades of bluish or reddish grey, but… other than that…

Chapel.  Shadow Priest.  Glancing around, he realized he was but right next to… what had to have once been a quaint little chapel.  Fighting with his feet for a moment before he managed to tame them, he shuffled forward… only to trip on the steps and land with his face against the splintering floor of the chapel.

"Ah, careful!" The sound of scraping footsteps grew closer and closer, until, for the second time that day, he felt clawed, bony hands on his shoulders.  "Come, now. Another of the walking dead, hm? Must have been quite a shock, waking up in the crypt with only the cold and Mordo to greet you..."  The thing holding him clicked its tongue, 'tsking' quietly.   "Come on, in here…"

Finding his feet once more with the help of the hands still steadying him, he felt himself led forward and more or less gently sat down on one of the creaking, lopsided pews.  "There you go.  You'll get more used to your body with time and… a little care."

Inside, the light wasn't so bright, and while he found his sight still fuzzy, he was able to see a bit better than before.  Blinking, he began to make out the face in front of his own.  It was male, looked human, but… it just wasn't… quite… right…

The man (thing?) looked away from him, sitting on a skewed pew just a few paces away.  The more he looked, the more he began to realize that this… man… was… he wore tattered priest's robes, and there was a flap of skin, a looseness of his (its?) jaw…

This had to be Sarvis, or at least he so assumed.  After all, he was in the chapel, and priestly dress…

"I'm Shadow Priest Sarvis."  Ah, so he was indeed correct.  "I see the confusion on your face. Let me try to explain… your… our… situation… to you."  The priest took a breath, making the flap of skin flutter.  "You are… a unique case, at least as far as I have ever seen, so I can't imagine what you're thinking.  What understanding—if any—you have of… what's become of you.  So I'll keep this simple and short."

The chapel went silent, then, and he simply waited, mind blank and far away.  It felt like a dream… even so, though, he noticed that the priest hadn't spoken again.  Only then did he realize that he'd dropped his eyes at some point, and slowly, so slowly, raised them back up.

Once his eyes met that of the Shadow Priest, the… thing… nodded and began again.  "I don't know your story.  But I can at least tell you this much.  You died, and rose again… from what I can tell, under the control of the Lich King, as part of the Scourge."

The moment after that had been said, the priest stopped talking, and wisely so.  He would have never heard another word after had the man continued.

His ears were much too full of the sound of his entire life falling apart to have heard anything else.

Nothing made sense.  Died?  How could he have died…?  All he could remember…

—the regiment!  The regiment was dying of the Plague.  He was immune, he had to get back to them.  Had to!  Sir Rainecourt was counting on him…!

Panic again surging through him even stronger than when he'd first awoken, he surged to his feet, hands flicking wildly.  Didn't the priest see?  He had to go!  Where had they gotten to?  Where had he gotten to?   It didn't matter, it didn't matter, he had to get back…

"Whoa.  Whoa.  Sit down, friend."  Those hands had found his shoulders again, and he was so weak, so shaky, it wasn't difficult to be pushed back down.  He tried to insist he had to go, and now, but all he heard come out of him was gurgling noises.  The priest only continued, speaking over him:  "You're going to fall apart if you push yourself too hard.  Just… sit."

Sit?  How could he sit…?  Where… where was he?  He'd never heard of Deathknell before.  Wasn't that what the Mordo said he was…?

"We can only speculate you've been a slave for all these years.  Deathguard Linnea found you running aimlessly.  You collapsed on the road, and she nearly put you out of your misery, thinking you were just another mindless zombie."  The priest shrugged, as if this were a normal occurrence, and for that, he thought nothing of it.  "But when you fell into a death-sleep… she thought to at least give you a chance, and we dragged you down to the crypt.  For a while we thought you were too decayed, but… here you are."

He was silent then, waiting for more.  More explanation, more hope, an admission this was a dream, anything… but the Shadow Priest just sat there, waiting as well.

But what the other was waiting for, he didn't know and didn't care.  Dead.  He couldn't be dead.  It just… wasn't…

"You've been gone for a long time, haven't you."  It wasn't a question, so he didn't bother to make any indication one way or the other.  The priest sighed.  "We have been freed from the control of the Lich King by our new leader, Lady Sylvanas. The Dark Lady guides us in our war against the hated Scourge and the holdouts of humanity who dog our every step.  We are the Forsaken… but you."  There was a pause, and Sarvis reached out a rotting hand to flick one of his ears.  He jerked back, looking at the priest with venom.  "I suppose you are as well now."

The Shadow Priest stood then, walking towards the altar.  "Can you write?"

Write?  Of course he could write.  But why did it matter?  He hadn't even been asked his name, which was terribly rude even if he didn't much want to give it.  Straightening up, he started to proclaim he was likely more literate than the Priest himself…

… only to hear the wet, sucking noises his throat made.

He… he remembered.  There was… something wrong with him.  Hands shaking, he brought them again up to his face, feeling it as if he were a blind man.  From his top lip up he seemed… more or less whole, but.. from there down…

… there was just nothing.  A few flaps of skin hanging down, some severed muscles, half of a dried-out tongue and numerous gaping holes…

When the priest returned, he came carrying parchment and some charcoal, waiting for some sign.  Slowly, he looked up at the… what had he called himself?  Forsaken?... and nodded.  Yes, he could write.

With a curt nod, Sarvis gave him the paper and charcoal.  "Name and occupation.  For our records."

He looked down at the parchment, fingering the gritty writing utensil, no more than a burnt piece of wood, and paused.  Then, slowly, with practiced scrawl, wrote down but two words:

Diatren
Mage

He looked down at it, barely able to make out his own writing.  Just his first name.  He… he couldn't give his last.  At least not right now, if the creature in front of him was correct…

However, a thought struck him, and before he handed the paper back to the priest, looked back down, and added:

Diatren
Mage
(it's pronounced Dee-tren)

There.  Looking up once more, he handed the parchment back to the priest, who glanced down at it briefly.

… and then, if Diatren wasn't incorrect, seemed to quickly glance back, as if surprised.  But he couldn't be sure… it very well could have been his own paranoia.

"Ah, a mage?"  Regardless of any shock there might have been seconds prior, Sarvis seemed simply pleased now.  "Are you trained in herbalism and alchemy?"

He nodded.  Yes, he'd been an apprenticed in both.

"Ah!  Wonderful.  The Dark Lady will be pleased."  Shuffling over to the altar once more, the Shadow Priest placed the parchment off to the side before returning.  "Perhaps you'll be a boon to the Royal Apothecary Society… but let us not put the car before the horse.  First things first.  You're in need of some new dress, and perhaps Isabella can find you a wand or a staff.  Come, the clothier is just across the way…"

For a moment, he hesitated, both body and mind still loathe to react.  But, eventually he did drag himself to his feet and began to follow the priest.

Thankfully, Sarvis wasn't exaggerating when he said that the clothier was just across the way.  Unsure and still unsteady on his feet, he lingered just outside as the priest spoke with a somewhat frazzled looking… man, he supposed is the word.

The two talked, and while had he truly wanted to listen in he could have, Diatren chose not to.  He was just… uninterested.

There were… much more pressing matters on his mind, but honestly… he didn't much want to consider those either.  If he did, he would have to really accept…

"It's not much," Diatren's eyes snapped up from the ground; he hadn't noticed the priest return to the doorway, "But at least it's whole."  And with that, Sarvis held out a stack of clothing… all various shades of gray, at least to his eyes.  "If you're worried about any kind of modesty, there are a number of empty houses around.  Once you've changed, return to the chapel.  I'll find Isabella for you, see what can be done."

Diatren nodded, and with that, Shadow Priest Sarvis turned away and, without another word, returned to his chapel.

It was… too much to process.  Too much… too much to handle… to understand…

But… at least he had something.  New clothing, that the priest had mentioned was whole.  Whole was always a good thing…

Shuffling blindly forward, he simply walked, unsure exactly where to go.  An empty house, he supposed… but he wasn't precisely where those were, either.  He would just walk, numbly clutching the material in his hands, unthinking and unfeeling… simply, lost.

By sheer luck or coincidence, Diatren very nearly stumbled on the steps of a small vacant cabin.

Either way.  It would do.

Looking down so as not to stumble, he carefully picked his way up the few steps, and then pushed open the front door that just barely hung off its hinges.  The place had been ransacked, but it had four walls and a door, so it served his purpose.  Once inside, door swung closed without any urging from him, and that was just fine.

He paused then, hesitant.  He'd always taken great pride in his clothing, but… it was hard to care, feeling… oddly half-whole, and unable to see properly.  He couldn't care about color if he couldn't see it, fabric if he couldn't feel it…

Finally setting the new robe and such on a mostly broken table, numb and stiff fingers found their way to the tie at his waist…

… or rather, tried to.  Jerking slightly in shock, he looked down only to find there was… not much there.  Only scraps, tatters.  The smallest bits of what was once a robe clinging to his shoulders, about his waist, and hanging down his legs.  Only by pure luck did he keep any modesty and…

A new robe was a good idea.  A very good idea.

Even with his body as unresponsive as it was, he shed his clothes quickly.  It wasn't that hard: they were so threadbare, most of them fell apart in his hands.

The more important step was… significantly harder, though.  Taking great pains to avoid looking at his own body—even out of the corner of his eye—Diatren fumbled with his new attire.  Thankfully, the robe was three sizes too big, and while at one time that would have irritated him to the point of yelling, now… now he was simply glad to be covered.

Once mostly modest, he allowed himself some leisure in putting on the rest: boots again too large for his crooked feet, a belt he had to tie rather than buckle…

But it was something.  Anything.

… nothing.

That was all he had: nothing.  It was all he felt.  Nothing.

Blinking, he leaned against the nearest wall, blankly staring ahead.  He found no reason to move from that spot.  If it was true…

… his fingers itched. … itched?

Curious, Diatren looked down at them, moving them slowly, molting grayish skin slithering over too-prominent bones.  They shouldn't have felt something, not like that, but… they itched.

… hadn't Sarvis said something about a wand, perhaps?  He hadn't anything else…

Still staring at his hand, he began to shuffle forward, almost as if compelled to move.

He hadn't anything else…