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[Cal Hurst]

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The neutral field has become plagued with warfare. Pawns staring off, almost touching one another. Bishops glaring at each other from across the board. Rooks, while still stationed in the backfield, craving for the taste of fresh blood on their lips.

But still, the time has not come. There is still much to accomplish before the board can erupt into total warfare. Much to do.
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Stepping out of Dark Order's keep, Vaen started thumbing through his runebook. At this time, it would be normal for him to recall to Umbra and enjoy a few drinks with his friends. Mainly Rhiannon and Yasamin at this time of night. Sometimes a few other people would be there, but he didn't really pay any mind to them.

But he realized something. He's kept this book since the day he set out of Minoc. Its pages are littered with the history that lay in his own bones. Places he's fought, places he's lived, and places he swore he'd never revisit. Until now.

"Legion Island" read one of the pages. A small smile crept over his lips. This was the base of operations for the mighty Legion of Justice some years back. An entire island that they claimed after fighting off the hordes of murderers that plagued Felucca. Perhaps a visit to the old home wouldn't be a bad idea.

As he recalled in, the island seemed empty, but the house still stood. He walked up to it to push the door forward, but at his very touch, the door fell flat forward. There were cobwebs all over the place, and it smelled... like nothing. Nothing has inhabited this house since Vaen left.

Walking around the downstairs, he smiled at the decorations, remembering Brianha. The two of them shared something he had not felt in some time. He missed her, greatly. But they were separated. He had no idea where she was at this time. He only hoped she would make it back at some point. To return to him.

Vaen walked towards a book case in the far corner. Taking off his glove, he slapped it against the books, sending dust clouds into the air. He coughed, and waved his hands in the air around his face, and the dust was waved off. He placed his fingertips at the books, reading the titles of each one as his fingers touched it.

And then, one book stood out.

He pulled it from the shelves, brushing the cover off with his bare hands. He walked over towards the couch, and sat down, opening the book. This book held a lot of power; power he once knew. But he was old, could he really master the art again?

He closed the book and neatly placed it in his backpack. Standing, he made his way to the upstairs.

He peered up the stairs to the second floor, but he could not see anything. It was pitch dark. He took the first few steps, but then he stopped. He heard noises. It sounded as if someone was eating... eating very loudly, and very sloppy. With each step he took, the noise got louder, and louder, and louder.

Not until he poked his head over the floorboard, peering into his old bedroom, did he hear something shift, and then silence. Narrowing his eyes, he reached over his back for his quarterstaff, and placed his back against the wall. Sliding himself up the rest of the way, and then against the wall, gripping the staff tight, and preparing for whatever it is that may be up here.

As he stepped along the wall, closer to the threshold of his old bedroom, he heard a different noise. The sound of something breathing, very rapidly. And as he got closer, it started wheezing. As soon as he took one more step, and peered into his room, whatever it was that was in there, growled. Hungrily. It then let out a piercing howl, and lunged right for Vaen. Still in the darkness, Vaen was surprised by the attack, as it sent him through the guardrail of the stairs, tumbling all the way to the first floor, the creature following behind.

Quickly regaining his strength, Vaen tumbled and jumped to his feet. Looking around the bottom floor, he saw nothing, heard nothing. There was nothing there. Nothing to his front, or his back. Was he going crazy?

Just then, he felt something drip on his head. One drop. Two drips. And then a whole stream of some liquid streaming down atop his head. The growling shortly following, as the creature leaped down from the ceiling, tackling Vaen and biting viciously at his arms and shoulders.

Crying out in pain, Vaen reached for the arm of the creature. But as soon as Vaen got ahold of it, it dematerialized. All that was left was some sort of dust.

Vaen stood, his arm and shoulder hurting from the bites, and slowly walked out. Whatever that thing was, he did not want to run into it again.

Reaching into his pack for his runebook, he quickly found his destination: home. And as a small trial, to see if he still had it in him, he spoke the words...

Sanctum Viatas.

As he appeared infront of his home, he could feel the liquid slowly running down his face. He reached for his face to wipe it off, and then glanced at his hand. Red. Blood red. His hair was blood-soaked, and his face had become almost completely covered in blood. He quickly ran over towards the lake right next to his house, cupping his hands, and splashing water all over his face.

As he continued to wash his face and hair out, he could only wonder what it was that attacked him. And if he would ever return to face it.
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