*curtain up*

 

The lights fall upon a small child's bedroom, the interior completely laced with pink. A young Jerica n'Lochli walks into the room, and turns to the door, tapping her foot impatiently.

 

"Now, Tremula!"

 

She impatiently moves to the bed, folding away a portion of the large, fluffy blanket and sitting on it. She turns her head towards movement at the door, and a small, circular object falls through, bouncing into the room.

 

"Mother. These toys break too easily." Tremula's voice, high-pitched and sweet rings through the air. "I don't think she'll make it through the night."

 

A slight rustle of fabric can be heard, and Tremula walks through the door. She is tiny and beautiful, still un-marred by the Taint, her alabaster skin shining in the light from the chandeliers and her snowy  hair falling in luscious waterfalls behind her. Her normally pleasing face is turned into a frown, her eyes on the doll in her hand. "Her head popped right off. I didn't even get to use my guillotine."

 

 

She pouts at Jerica, her lower lip wobbling slightly as she looks at her with pleading eyes. "Can you fix her?" Jerica sighs, and picks up the head from the ground at her feet. She turns it over a few times, inspecting it before holding out her hand. Silently, Tremula deposits the body of the small faeling doll into her mother's hand.

 

Jerica produces a needle and thread, seemingly from nowhere, and patches the doll's head back to it's body, her hands a flurry of motion. She pulls the thread tight and holds it out to Tremula, who smiles with delight. With a mighty bite, she severs the string, her sharp canines flashing.

 

"Now you be kinder to these dolls. They're not to be decapitated except for special occasions. Like Estarra's birthday...or midmorning." She shrugs, and hoists her daughter into her arms, a quick wrestling match deciding that Tremula would be tucked tightly into her bed, her laughter pealing through the air like bells.

 

"No fair!"

 

Jerica brushes the hair from her face, smiling at her daughter. "Quiet now. Are you ready for your story?" Tremula nods and hugs her doll closer to her chest. Jerica rubs her chin thoughtfully, then says, "Let's go to the future tonight..." She begins talking to Tremula, though no noise can be heard. Slight fog obscures them, and a different scene begins forming on the other side of the stage.

 

A dusty road through a forest comes into view, a band of five male figures hiding behind various pieces of scenery. A worn down, shoddy carriage slowly creaks into view, the nightmare drawing it old and feeble, same as the elderly, emaciated orclach holding its reins. The most muscular of the males gives a signal, and each member of the group pulls a sword, the first drawing two.

 

They emerge, from hiding right as the carriage begins to pass them, one quickly striking down the nightmare even as another beheads the driver. They form a loose semicircle around the carriage, and in the better lighting, you see they bear the coat of arms of the Templars of Gaudiguch.

 

"Come out of there!" The leader raises his sword as he speaks, and the door creaks open. Slowly, a hunched figure hobbles from it, troubling over the two steps leading to the ground. They finally stand on the earth, both hands on top of a twisted cane. "Give us all of your gold."

 

"I'm sorry, sir." The voice is cracked with age and female. "But I'm afraid I no longer carry any on me. It's too much of a burden in my old age."

 

The leader, for he seems to be such, grins and says, "Well, now. My boys don't think you're telling the truth. And it's so hard to afford plate mail nowadays." He grins evilly at the woman, and says, "I'm certain we can find some other use for you though." He puts heavy emphasis on the word other, leering at her with malice. "I could always use another hand in the kitchen." He guffaws loudly, as do all others in his party but one.

 

"Sir, couldn't we let her go? She's of no use to us...all she's done is be born into Magnagora." His voice is filled with the naivety of youth, innocent and melodic. He wields his sword awkwardly, as though unsure of what to do with it.

 

The dust in the area begins blowing more, a dramatic silence as the leader turns to face the outspoken lad. "You've no idea what you're talking about, boy. This wench may very well be a high ranking Nihilist, and be ready to summon a horde of demons to attack us at any moment." He

pauses, sniffing. "And whoever did that can certainly excuse themselves!"

 

He frowns, and says, "Wait a minute...that smells like...sulfur..." Realising his mistake, he quickly turns and charges the old woman, but the ground at his feet turns to quicksand, quickly swallowing him to his waist.

 

"Very close dear." Her voice is now firm and resolute, brimming with power and authority. "But it seems you were mistaken in my guild." She stands tall, no longer stooped over. The orclach who was driving groans and his body firmly clutches his head, screwing it back onto his neck. The nightmare slowly rises to his feet, his mane and tail suddenly ablaze with violet fire.

 

"Get her, damnit!"

 

The scene freezes instantaneously, all of the bandit group charging the woman, save for the youngest. Tremula's voice can be heard, and she says, "That's a swear!"

 

"Tch. Fine." Jerica's exasperated sigh can be heard, and the scene rewinds a few seconds.

 

"Get her, you fools!"

 

The ground rumbles ominously, and large, twisted spires of Taint shoot upwards, impaling a member of the party. Luckily, the other members twist out of the way, the youngest dropping his sword and cowering behind a tree.

 

A ferocious, winged taint wyrm drops from the skies and snatches one of the two remaining assailants, twisting as he spirals into the air before letting his prey fall to the ground with a bone-shattering CRUNCH!

 

The scene pauses again as Tremula pipes up, saying, "Wait, that's not how a wyrm would kill someone. Where's the poison?"

 

Jerica heaves another sigh, and says, "You have a problem with the killing habits of a fictional wyrm in that it's not gruesome enough, but I can't say damnit?"

 

"That's another swear!"

 

"YOU AREN'T THE LANGUAGE POLICE! Fine-"

 

The scene rewinds once more, and the wyrm swoops to land on top of a bandit, opening its mouth to spew venom onto his face. Screams of agony and torment rise from the man as his skin melts from his face, dripping down his skull to form a puddle on the ground.

 

The other bandit swings his longsword at the woman, aiming for her neck. Moments before he connects, however, a shimmering forcefield flares around her, absorbing the blow and knocking him off balance. She gestures, and he flies backwards, landing awkwardly against a rock and breaking his neck. 

 

The woman pulls a rope attached to the side of the carriage, and the orclach turns to her, intoning, "You rang?"

 

She nods, and says, "One is hiding. Find him." The orclach nods and jumps from his seat, landing with a thud before lurching off. She smiles, and turns to the man who is now buried to his shoulders in the quicksand.

 

With a twitch of her staff, the ground solidifies, causing him to cry out in pain. Menacingly, she hobbled towa--

 

"STOP!"

 

"Tremula, I swear to Estarra--"

 

"You can't hobble threateningly! That's like saying, 'Oh, that poison looks particularly scrumptious, don't mind if I do.'"

 

The lights dim on the left side of the stage as Jerica stands, and touches Tremula on the head. The little girl's eyes glint mischievously before they close and she slumps onto the bed, her small chest rising and falling evenly and deeply.

 

Jerica folds the blanket over her daughter then turns to walk toward the door, muttering to herself. "I swear I should have just left her in the Pit of Insufferable Cruelty where she belongs." She licks her foremost and middle finger, and extinguishes the small candle near the door, plunging the stage into darkness.

 

*curtain fall*