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[Arlin]

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Stephanie looked skyward, as a bellow of rage escaped from the rooftops. She squeeked and dashed inside, as a shower of plants, trees, and soil fell where she had stood mere moments before. She guessed that whatever her boss had planned with his lady, hadn't come off as well as he hoped. She strode inside and began to brew one of his hangover remedies, tucking it beneath the bar. He'd probably need it soon.

On the rooftop, Arlin let loose another roar of pure, vicious hatred, as he swung his massive scimitar down on a stone table, and cut it neatly in half. He slammed a gloved fist into one of the pieces, causing the stone to crumble into small pieces. Breathing heavily, Arlin stood and admired his handiwork. Perfect. Nothing remained of his once beautiful garden, save some turned over topsoil, and a handful of plants that hadn't quite made it over the edge. Among them, an yellow rose, trampled and torn, but clinging to life. Somehow, it still maintained much of its beauty, despite the violent nature from which it was torn from its roots.

These subtleties escaped the fuming half-ogre, however. He stomped around the soil, still clenching his massive scimitar in hand. He looked down at it, his head swirling with options and opportunities. Every path was open to him now, except the one he most desired. He turned the scimitar over, staring at the small inscription in the handle. "Legacy of the Black Dogs" it read. A relic from his mercenary days, a path he could always return to. The scimitar clattered to the ground as Arlin loosened his grip. No, those days were behind him. He had more now than he had ever had as a mercenary.

Storm clouds gathered menacingly overhead, and Arlin looked over his shoulder, towards the looming spires and dark stone buildings of Umbra. That was his goal, supposedly. And yet, at this moment, he could care less about that. He could always march up to the gates of Charnel Hill, and fight one last battle against the Ebon Skull. Surely afterwards, they would tear his soul from the land, and he would never have to face such pain again. This thought played through his head for but a moment, before Arlin discounted it. Another cowards way out, and he wasn't a coward.

Slowly descending the stairs into his private chambers, Arlin collapsed on to his large bed. Rare had been the nights Arlin spent alone, and rarely had he felt more alone than he did now. Stripping off his armor, he rolled on his side, staring at a small wooden box that sat on his nightstand. He sighed, knowing what lay inside would not help his wounded heart. Still, he reached out and brought the box to him, opening it slowly. A book, a candle....and now a necklace. Arlin dropped his precious necklace into the box, where it would remain. His eyes moved from his necklace, to the book that lay inside. He had never been much of a reader, so he had never opened the book. Dusting off the cover, the title read simply as "Love".

Arlin snorted. Love was a joke, a cruel joke by the gods, something meant for the damnable knights and nobles of the world. Not meant for scumbag half-ogres. He growled, mostly at himself, for allowing himself to be this weak, this pathetic. He almost threw the book across the room, but stopped himself. Love had made him weak, and he had nearly torn himself apart. But he had never felt so...good. So full of life. Something that had made him actually cry...surely, that is a testament to how great it truly is.

He wanted to hate her. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to never see her again. And yet he didn't believe any of these things. He loved her. He wanted her to live. He wanted to see her happy. That was how he truly felt. But he really hated that accursed Book of Destiny. It had been right all along about everything. His fists again clenched in anger, and his eyes lit up with fire.

Arieus. This was all his fault.

He ought to have the man killed. Dragged through the streets, his body desecrated, burnt to ash, so badly that his soul could never return. It could be done too, Arlin still had his underworld connections. But it would be no secret who had done it. And Arcana still loved him, and he didn’t want to see her hurt. Did he? No, he didn’t. He loved her still, but he hated her for what she’d done. He clutched his chest, still holding the book in his hand. It hurt just to think about her. He wished he could make her feel the same pain he did.

Arlin dropped the book on the bed, and it fell open. Curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned over it, reading slowly and carefully. He began to feel like even books had turned against him…

“Love is to know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love, and bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of living.
To meditate on Loves ecstasy, and then sleep with a prayer on your lips for your beloved, and a song of praise on your lips”

Arlin groaned in pain. This was love eh? He thought. Well love be damned! He didn’t need it! He didn’t need anyone, or anything! He grabbed the book and threw it across the room, slamming against one of his chests against the wall. The book fell open and landed upwards again. Damn books…

Feeling compelled to read it once more, Arlin dragged himself over to the book, and again read it. It was the last two pages of the book.

“Compassion requires Love above all other things. Justice requires Love, lest it become Vengeance. Sacrifice itself is an act of unselfish Love towards another being.

You have shown each this day, and the Britannian Nation is proud to present you with this Necklace of Love in recognition of the undeniable Love and Chivalry you have displayed here today.”

Sighing, Arlin replaced the book in the box tenderly, and collapsed back on the bed. Sacrifice or Vengeance. It could go either way right now. Both would help heal his wounds.

Bah, he thought. He had no use for emotions anymore. They made him weak, and no matter how good he felt, he had never left himself so vulnerable, so open to attack, as he had in recent history. All for a woman. He pulled the sheets around his large frame and snorted. He wished he never had fallen for that damned woman anyway. Or did he?

Arlin hit his head, trying to get just one straight thought out of it tonight. He needed sleep, his outpouring of emotion had left him both physically and emotionally exhausted. And despite the battle in his head that raged continually, between love and hate, one question kept resurfacing.

What now?
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As the fire fades to night, remember always the ember that started it all.