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The Immortal

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Not an update, but the update should be on Friday.


To answer the question folks are asking, no this will not end the story; it will end the second chapter. I don't know how long the story will be as a whole, I'd imagine something like seven chapters. (It's more a novella than anything else.)


To answer the other question of if I'll write other things, sure! It may take me some time coming up with more fantasy tales (fantasy isn't my forte), but I'd be glad to write more.


And as for the confusion on what that last exchange meant, I can see why you didn't understand that bit. The humor was muddled and I just wanted to get the next bit posted. Instead of trying to answer the question, I'm going to re-write that last bit and hopefully that will make the joke more clear. A joke isn't funny if it has to be explained, right? :)


Anyway, like the top of my post said, check back Friday!


Edit to Add: I've edited it, hopefully that helps.

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Thanks Vadon :) That was funny :lol:

Well, the update is supposed to be today, will be checking in periodically expecting the update.

(BUT , no pressure ;) )

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Author's Note: Zzzz...Zzz... Huh? What? Oh. Hey would you look at that! I happened to uh... fall asleep on the keyboard! Yes, that's it!




Seriously, life just gave a perfect storm of distractions. So I forgot to post this on Friday. On the plus side, I went through and edited the piece again today so it's better than what you would have gotten on Friday. The downside? It's a fairly long post. So I hope y'all enjoy it.




Davis slipped his sword back into its sheath. As it slid into the small slot, he couldn't help but feel somewhat disheartened by his sword's pitiful condition. Davis didn't take particularly good care of his blade; rust speckled itself across the steel, the copper hilt was now a repugnant green, and the fabric strap that surrounded the handle had frayed into a frail web that danced with each swoop. The only redeeming quality of the sword was its uncanny balance. This aspect of the sword, however, could not be seen with the naked eye, but only through the use of the sword. Davis felt rather attached to the sword, as though he had a special bond with it. That said, he still had a little bit of 'sword-envy' when looking at the weapon Jacques carried.


Davis sat down on the bed, his arms folded. “What's the offer?”


Jacques bent down and grabbed a piece of rubble from the window he had smashed in. He twiddled it idly in his hand, a mask of ambivalence plastered across his face.


“Oh, I can't rightly tell you, love.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm just the messenger. A mundane task that gives a person a wee bit more exercise than I particularly like, but a noble job nonetheless.”

“All right, so what's your message?”

“What message?”


Davis felt his lip involuntarily curl. Normally he could control his frustrations and keep them internalized, but Jacques was picking a nerve. Many have speculated that Davis shouldn't keep his anger internalized because it results in more violent outbursts, fewer have lived to confirm it.


“The message that involves some form of monetary reward.”

“Oh I have a few of those.”


Davis grabbed the bow he had used to assassinate the hybrid and in one smooth movement readied an arrow aimed at Jacques' throat. Jacques quickly cowered.


“Don't shoot the messenger!”

“Give me a reason not to.”


Jacques let out a dramatic sigh and tossed the wood fragment out the window.


“Fine. I can't tell you the job to make your money, but I can tell you where to get it.”


“Where do I get the job?” Davis asked, he kept the arrow steadily aimed at Jacques.


“From an associate of mine,” Jacques said. “He hangs out in a bar called the Slimy Squid in the port-town Devon.”


“Devon?” Rahm asked. He had been hiding behind the bed all of this time and had finally reasserted his presence. Rahm stood up from behind the bed and dusted himself off. Jacques stifled a snicker directed toward Rahm's overly formal appearance.


“Yes,” Jacques confirmed, “Devon. Have you been there?”

“Well, I haven't been there personally, but I know where it lies on a map.”

“Excellent!” Jacques exclaimed with contrived delight. “Then you can lead our rusty friend to the place!”

“I don't know that I can. It's fall and the canyon-pass will be blocked with heavy sheets of ice.”

“That's why I suggest you go through the mountain,” Jacques said with a coy grin.

“Through the mountain?” Rahm echoed, though this time in the form of a question.

“Of course! While it's a bit slower, there is a tunnel that has been dug through. I'm sure that you'll get through. Once you're on the other side, you'll just be half a day's walk from Devon.”

“Where we'll meet an associate of yours?” Davis asked.

“No, not in Devon. In the Slimy Squid which is in Devon. And would you mind putting that bow away? I imagine your arm is getting tired.”


Davis' arm was starting to ache, but after a couple dozen covert assassinations he had learned to hold steady for hours at a time. But considering that this wasn't a covert operation, he decided to grant his stinging hand a break. He adjusted his aim by a hair's difference and released the arrow. It sailed by Jacques' head and grazed the immortal's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. Jacques mustered a whimper.


“Oops,” Davis yawned.


Jacques touched his cheek and brought his fingers to the center of his vision. He looked at the blood that dripped off his fingers and rubbed it to feel the sticky fluid dry up.


“I think that was uncalled for,” Jacques muttered while looking out the window.

“Probably,” Davis conceded. “So tell me, how much money can I expect from this job?”

“A good payout," Jacques explained, "Moreso than your botched assassination would have given you, that's for sure.”

“Botched?” Davis whispered, “How did I 'botch' the assassination?”

“Oh, just the fact that the local authorities have already carried off the hybrid's body,” Jacques said with a shrug.


Davis scrambled to his feet and looked outside. Jacques had told the truth; the body had been dragged away. Davis clenched his teeth and gripped the handle of his sword, resisting the urge to decapitate Jacques.


“You cost me my paycheck,” Davis growled. The venom in his voice was almost palpable.

“Yes, but now you'll get a bigger one,” Jacques beamed.


Davis turned to Jacques and said, “I couldn't have both?”


Jacques faltered.


“Well, I suppose you could have... yeah. Yes, you could have had both. Whoops. My bad.”


Davis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Jacques, on the other hand, began to step out of the window.


“Anyway,” he grunted, “I think my work here is done. Just go to Devon through the mountain-pass and you'll meet my associate in the Slimy Squid. Once there he'll give you the real job for your payment.”


“How will he know to give us the job?” Davis asked.


Jacques had already jumped from the deck onto the street below. The wave of people had begun to sweep him away against his will.


“Oh, just tell them I sent you!” He shouted. His voice grew faint as he was thrust farther away from the inn.


“All right, I appreciate it!” Davis shouted back. He turned back to the room and saw his companion, Rahm, sitting on the bed.


“So I take it that means we're going to Devon?” Rahm asked.

“It's not like we have any other choice,” Davis said with a shrug. “It has the potential of money and it gets me out of the sight of Frank's henchmen.”

“So what do we have to do to get the job?” Rahm inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh we just have to tell the guy at the Slimy Squid we were sent to him.”


Rahm hesitated on his next question.


“So we just have to tell the associate we were sent to him. Um... did we ever get the messenger's name?”

Davis' jaw dropped as he reflected on the meeting. “Aw, dag nabbit!”


The sound of faint scratching filled the room.


“Hey, no writing!” Davis shouted.




Glad to see you folks want to keep reading more. There's more to the story, and while it might seem fairly light and flimsy right now, I guarantee this plot will leave many of you folks on the edge of your seats. If only I could write and post fast enough to meet demand. :)


@Qwillie: Thanks for the nudge. :)


@BadMagick: Hah, thanks for the compliment. And as for the 'big' words, I try not to go overly esoteric with the language. I'm trying to keep it accessible by surrounding the words with plenty of simpler writing so that it makes sense in context. If the language is making the plot progression muddled, I will try to tone it down. Thanks for the tip! I always welcome constructive criticism. I'll also check out your writing shortly. Probably in the morning as its fairly late and I should get some sleep tonight.

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Hi, Vadon - excellent section. Hey, don't cut the vocabulary down much - it never hurts to expand our vocabularies (we can always look up a word here and there, as long as it's not every third word in a story). ;)


I like the length, too. Looking forward to how this trip through the mountain goes, and I hope someone fixes up his sword for him!

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nice update Vadon... and really thank you Qwillie else Vadon would still be sleeping ;)


As Qwillie stated i think its good to expand our vocab a bit... so do feel free but dont overdo it as BadMagick said...


waiting again

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Author's Note: After a nice vacation, some plot retooling and some work I'm back to write some more!


It's a longer segment, but hopefully you'll forgive me of it. And it's lacking in the comedy element, but that will return in the next segment. So if you like dramatic development you'll like this next segment. If you want comedy read this bit for the plot progression, but just be patient for the next update.


I haven't edited it much or read through it to check for cohesiveness, so if y'all see thing that aren't making sense let me know.


Either way, I hope you enjoy it! :)




Chapter 3:

Tradition has its charms; it defines a society and establishes its culture. But sometimes, Lisa Lehrer thought she could do without it. The Lehrer family was renowned in the land for their mystical prowess and the Lehrer children where expected to follow in their ancestor's footsteps. Tradition dictated that the first child would go into the church and become the arch-priest. The second child was expected to enter the dark-arts academy and be the royal family's personal warlock. Unfortunately for Lisa, she was the second child.


People tried to assuage her misery by pointing out that she had powers and skills that most mortals would never hope to achieve. But Lisa didn't want power, she wanted happiness. Blighting populations with bulbous plagues sickened Lisa, but because of the sacrosanct laws of tradition, she performed her duties.


Lisa had worked in the dark arts for only a few years, but even within that short a time, she had sacrificed her beauty, youth, and vitality. Her skin had crusted over and much of her hair had fallen out. Boils, blisters, and warts covered her flesh and a hump had grown on her back. She wore the traditional black robes not because it signified her occupation, but because it hid her from a world that was obsessed with superficial beauty.


She couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy when looking upon her older sister Jasmine, the Arch-Priest of the land. Jasmine still had the flowing, golden locks that Lisa once enjoyed. Her face had never been marred with blemishes or a single scar. Lisa wished that her body would reflect the purity of her heart; as it was, the fates had other plans for her.


Indeed, Lisa's main duty within the castle was to listen to the airy whispers of fate. Ever since she was a child, she demonstrated an uncanny talent for discerning what the mystical forces mutter. Her parents would often come across her sitting in her room, talking to her dolls and discovering truths that even a trained warlock wouldn't find. With that training, she learned how to ask the fates specific questions, and she would receive a specific answer... assuming she paid an appropriate price. Usually sacrificing a chicken or newt would satisfy the visceral demands of the powers that be, but occasionally she needed to sacrifice things of sentimental value in order to discover deeper answers.


Lisa sighed and shuffled down the long, winding staircase into the underbelly of the castle. The walls dripped with green slime and the stench of rotting corpses wafted up through the bricks. After years one would think you'd get used to the aroma, but Lisa still couldn't stand it. The only thing she had to distract herself from her dismal surroundings were the conversations she had with the fates.


“So what happened to them?”


Voices echoed against the walls, and Lisa listened intently for the answer amid all the whispers.


Death... salvation... birth... a new destiny... they were married by...


“Oh? What did they name their child?”


Lisa finally entered the alcove where she spent her days working. Animals lined the walls, trapped in cages and waited for their common fate. Lisa hated killing the creatures, after all they had done nothing against her or anyone else. Although she knew she couldn't save them from the selfish demands of her superiors, she could at least make their short time on earth as comfortable as possible. She went from cage to cage giving the puppies and kittens their food and fresh water.


Trapped... lost in the... the boy learned to walk... Jacques...


Lisa dropped her pail of water and the bucket clattered against the floor.




Jacques... Jacques... Jacques... Davis... Jacques...


Never in her years of experience did all of the fates speak to her in unison. Nor did they all have the same thing to say.


Jacques is coming... Jacques is coming...


The cages rattled with the voices and the slime that lined the walls glowed with the power of the fate's message.


“Who's Jacques? Where is he coming? What is he doing?” Lisa asked in desperation. The sheer power was overwhelming and her head felt like it was going to split.


He is coming...


“He's coming to what?!” Lisa screamed, wrapping her gnarled fingers around her head.


To kill.




@ eveleny, Enchantress, and Qwillie: Thank you all for you kind words. I'm glad to keep writing this story. I just wish I was able to update it according to your demand. :)


@ BadMagick: Thanks to you too, and I was wondering if there's a particular story you want me to read being as you have a few projects going on at the moment. I wish I had time to do more reading, but I might only be able to handle one for now. :)

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Author's note:Woah, it's been more than a month since I've touched this story. Sorry if any were waiting for the update. Either way, I have one! It's fairly short but it returns the story to our familiar characters. Enjoy! (I enjoyed writing it, though am unsatisfied with the final result. I probably will go back an edit it to sharpen it in some places.)




“Are we there yet?”


“How about now?”


“You sure?”

“Rahm, you're the one with the map, shouldn't I be asking you?”

“Oh... Good point.”

“I thought so.”

“So... are we there yet?”


Davis sighed. “Let's take a break and then we'll continue forward.”


Davis stepped off of the trodden path and took a seat on a stump. His legs ached and his shoulders stung from hefting his equipment for the past few miles. The landscape had changed dramatically since leaving Ashton. What was a blistering city, being baked by the sun had become a frigid, dark forest. Trees were planted as thickly as a wolf's fur, making it nigh impossible to see more than a few feet down the path as it twisted through the timber. Although Rahm's nettlesome questions grated him, Davis realized that he really didn't know how long it would be to get to the mountain.


Rahm stumbled over to where Davis rested and placed his satchel down. He leaned against the tree and pulled out the map. After a few moments of close examination he said, “You know, I could probably figure out about how much longer it will take to get there.”


“Really? That would be lovely.”


“Let's see, we've traveled for the past three days and have gone sixty miles...” Rahm's muttering grew distant as he internalized his calculations.


Davis leaned back and closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds of nature, whose soothing harmony always brought peace to his troubled soul. Birds were chirping a delightful song of courtship above him, the leaves rustled against the faint breeze that had squeezed its way into the forest, and there was a rabbit a good fifty yards away hopping about the leaves. A twig snapped in the distance and Davis sighed, opening his eyes.


“Young miss?” He said, shocking Rahm. “Young miss, you can come out now.”


Rahm hesitated with a laugh, “I don't know if you noticed, Davis. But I'm right here. And I'm male.”

Davis answered Rahm with a glare.


“Young miss, you've been following me for two days now, why don't you just show yourself?”


A faint breeze rustled the leaves, but no one showed up. Davis shook his head and thrust his hand into Rahm's satchel. He pulled out a thick, leather bound book. Before Rahm could protest, he flung the book deep into the forest, high up into the canopy. A faint thud echoed from the distance and a slightly less faint sequence of sounds occurred as a person fell out of a tree and crashed through the branches.


Davis stood up and walked over to the fallen person. It was indeed a girl, hardly a woman. She was naught more than a couple years out of her teen years, if that. Her face was contorted in a twisting expression of pain, probably due to the fall she just endured. Davis could tell, however, that under normal circumstances she was probably quite an attractive woman. She had a slim, athletic build and was dressed in a black, leather vest whose hue matched the color of her hair. She wore chain mail leggings and was equipped with a dagger and crossbow. Indeed, everything about her appearance, save the leggings all led to the conclusion that she was an...


“Assassin,” Davis muttered, drawing his blade from its sheath and laying its edge along her neck. She opened her eyes to this change of events. Fear trickled into her face and her breathing quickened. Tears welled up in the bottom of her eyes as she looked helplessly up at Davis. Her response confounded him, this isn't how a trained assassin reacts to being caught. They keep their cool under pressure and find an avenue to escape. Davis ascertained she wasn't a professional, a clue he should have taken from the chain-mail leggings.


“Who are you?” He asked, without taking the sword from her throat.


Her eyes darted around the scenery, evidently looking for somewhere to run. Davis increased the pressure slightly on the sword to regain her attention on the slightly more pressing matter.


“Who. Are. You?” Davis repeated, leaving a pause between each word so that she could comprehend in spite of the fear polluting her senses.



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