(no subject)

[ofchaosandorder]

It had been a long while since Anya had last descended on the land. The battle between Order and Chaos had been raging for quite some time, each side gaining just a little ground, only to be pushed back by the other. It was a tired dance, practiced and dull, balance held to almost the point of stagnation.

But that had changed... The call to other worlds, the summoning of champions... Anya had watched, wanting to see how this changed the game, changed the Balance that she was charged to uphold.

A few individuals. A pair of knights. A trio of princesses, a mage... A small flurry of activity and then...

Nothing.

So dull... Was this the great stroke of genius that Order had devised to challenge it's ageless rivals? Family reunions and playing dress up? Chaos's servants, so busy with their current battles, could offer no counter move, resulting in the same stagnation as before.

Slowly, she inhaled through the thin cigarette at her lips, eyes closing as she held the grey smoke inside as long as she could, feeling the toxins and tars tearing at the cells within, the cells that would forever regenerate as a human's could not. A microcosm of the battle of Order and Chaos inside of her until she exhaled, the smoke escaping her lips into the clouds around her.

Tossing the cigarette aside, she stepped off the spire in the sky she had been perched off, smokey robes fluttering as the wind pushed up against her falling, twisting and darkening to transform into a tight black dress that flared around her as she landed, bones crunching and snapping at the impact only to reform and regenerate as if they had never fractured. She reached out, catching her cigarette effortlessly and taking another slow drag on it. The smoke was black as she exhaled this time, black and heavy as it spread out, creeping along the ground, billowing up and twisting into familiar shapes; a well tended cottage, a small store with its faded sign and weathered siding, a tall spindly church with towers trying to reach the sky, cobblestone roads pestered with stubborn weeds, empty water troughs next to an abandoned stable...

Hollow footfalls echoed off the empty streets as she stepped into the newly created town. With one last inhale, she tossed the cigarette casually over her shoulder where it twisted and transformed, a black, glittering jewel clattering on the cold stone to rest at the side of the well in the center of town.

This exhale wrapped smoke around her body, obscuring her completely as she stepped back into nothingness.

A test.



A few days later, almost all the towns posted the same story: The village of West Haven had been found empty, all inhabitants vanished as if spirited away by some force. Some reports speculated about witchcraft, others invaders, others a curse. All ended with a plea for heroes to investigate and find out what had happened in the village.

Comments

[a_wider_world]

Since his arrival, Obi-Wan had found the role of Knight every bit as natural as his duties in the Republic. Although he had been given a sword--one whose blade occasionally shimmered and glowed the blue of a summer sky--he had little occasion to use it in the villagers' service. So far he had settled a dispute between neighbors, helped repair the wall that separated someone's back garden from a particularly wild patch of ground at the forest's edge, and found a lost child (who had not so much been lost as napping in a tree well past dinnertime). A horse--the same species of beautiful, sleek animal he had encountered in the City--had begun following him around; with his usual gentle humor he nicknamed it Boga, and bartered several hours of his time for a worn but functional saddle.

Having so much time with his sons was invigorating. It had scarcely been two weeks, and yet he felt five years younger, felt the weight of the wars and the long years of pain in his own world begin to lift off of his skin like stains being soaked away. He smiled more easily and slept more soundly.

And then West Haven was empty in a single night, and murmurs of fear went through the little village he temporarily called home.

The kindly old woman whose spare rooms he, Fakir, and Ryou were currently sharing had taken him aside late that morning and implored him, with tears in her eyes, to help. Once he had calmed her down (admittedly with a hint of Force-assisted persuasion), he buckled on his sword and reached out for the bright and distinct presences of his two boys.

Come meet me, please. By the village square.

Since I realized this went in the wrong spot... ya know, a month later.

[shiromadoushi]

It didn't take long for Bakura to arrive. He had been about to get grocery shopping done, but that could wait.

"You called?" he asked as he approached.