DDO Olympics Storytelling: Round 1

Self-appointed Lord Nathair Ravensworth watched the ocean rhythmically pound against the shore. He paid no attention to the wind whispering in his ear or the sun sinking into its crib. He simply stared at the water, as though willing it to bury all his memories. Two years had passed since the Great Rapture. At least, that's what the people left behind called it. Lord Ravensworth disliked the term. After all, it wasn't the Christians who were whisked away to a magical palace with hot chocolate in winter and ice cream in summer, or whatever heaven was about. No, that fate befell the women.Alone with his thoughts, Lord Ravensworth sat until the sun sank and the sea turned black. He stood. His legs felt stiff after hours of sitting, and his first few steps were wobbly and uncertain. By the time he arrived at the small cottage he loosely called a home, he had mastered his movements. He knocked six times on the door. One could never be too sure these days. There were a fair amount of men who'd gone crazy in the absence of women, as well as looters and vandals. But they weren't what worried Lord Ravensworth the most. That honor belonged to the Virgin Church, a group of new-age psychopaths who earnestly believed that God had saved all the women so that the remaining men might butcher each other in peace. The door opened, and Lord Ravensworth found himself face-to-barrel with a shotgun. Its owner, an absolute beast of a man, stared impassively down at Lord Ravensworth. His eyes, owl-like in intensity, bored into Lord Ravensworth's. "Ha, ha!" The man laughed. "Nathair, you old dog! Out skulking again?" Lord Ravensworth self-consciously ran a hand through his dark hair. "You know I don't like it when you use my first name, Gren," replied Lord Ravensworth evenly. The burly man laughed again. Then he lowered the gun and moved out of the doorway. Lord Ravensworth entered. "We ate without you," said Gren. He didn't sound all that apologetic. He shuffled down the hallway. Candles offered the only source of light. They were all over the room - on tables, on cabinets, even mounted along the walls. The larger villages and communities still possessed the luxury of electricity, but those living in the wilderness were not as fortunate. "OI!" Gren bellowed. "Cardin! Anything left in the kitchen?" Cardin, a young and effeminate fellow, sidled into view. He wore a white button-down coat over his blue shirt, and his even bluer eyes twinkled with delight behind his glasses. Lord Ravensworth always felt uneasy with Cardin's colorful clothing. The man was entirely too liberal in what colors he chose to wear. Though, to be fair, Lord Ravensworth always dressed in complete black. He held mixed feelings about Gren, who favored dressing like a lumberjack. "There's some soup left over," Cardin said. His gaze slid to Lord Ravensworth. "Welcome back, Nathair." Lord Ravensworth sighed but didn't comment. "It's a miracle, really," Cardin offered conversationally, "considering the size of Gren's stomach." "I can still brain you with an axe, boy," Gren growled. "And then who would listen to the stories about the hundreds of women you've known?" Gren chuckled and lumbered elsewhere in the cabin. Lord Ravensworth followed Cardin into the kitchen. Even though it had been two years, the kitchen still saddened Lord Ravensworth. It was small and cozy, much like the kitchen in his former house. Sometimes, when his mind wandered, Cardin turned into his wife. Sweet Maria. Lord Ravensworth sighed again. On the nights Maria entered his mind, he inevitably had to chase her out with alcohol. "Sit, sit," Cardin fussed. "I'll heat up the soup for you." "Thank you." Lord Ravensworth sat, careful to avoid snagging his cloak on the uneven wood. Cardin nursed the fire back to a comfortable glow. He glanced back at Lord Ravensworth. "It won't be much longer," he said. Lord Ravensworth considered Cardin. He was barely a man - much closer to a lad in Lord Ravensworth's opinion. He'd been so young. Too young to deserve what happened. Someone like Cardin ought to be making the same rash decisions all youths made - getting drunk and fooling around with pretty women. Though, from what Lord Ravensworth knew, that sort of thing wouldn't interest Cardin anyway. "Has there been any news?" He asked. Cardin looked at him again. Was it his imagination, or did Lord Ravensworth spot splashes of red on Cardin's cheeks? "Well..." Cardin turned back to the fire. "You should probably talk to Gren." Lord Ravensworth stiffened. "What is it, Cardin?" But Cardin just shook his head and refused to say another word. Lord Ravensworth groaned inwardly. The boy was so stubborn sometimes! It reminded Lord Ravensworth of himself and how his own son might have been. No. Not might. Should. "Cardin," moaned Lord Ravensworth. Cardin rose and moved away from the fire. He rummaged around in one of the cabinets, producing a fairly-sized glass bottle and two glasses. He placed them on the table before Lord Ravensworth. "I know," he said sadly. "If you ever want to talk...." He laid a hand on Lord Ravensworth's shoulder. Then he moved over to the entryway. "The soup will be ready in about ten minutes." With that, he disappeared. Lord Ravensworth had just enough time to pour himself a drink when Gren entered the kitchen. He sat across from Lord Ravensworth. The chair groaned beneath his weight. Gren laughed. "You look like hell, Nathair. If hell was made of sand, anyway." "I don't have that much sand on me," muttered Lord Ravensworth. "You could start a beach of your own!" Gren roared. "I don't know why you wear all that black to the beach. You stand out like Nixon at Watergate! You ought to have Cardin pick your wardrobe." "I don't think Nixon was at Watergate," Lord Ravensworth responded. Gren waved the point aside. "So what were you up to? Did you find a woman? You keeping her a secret?" Gren laughed at his own wit. Lord Ravensworth brushed a grain of sand from his cloak as though it were Gren's comment. Gren grabbed the bottle and poured himself a drink as well. "We're running out, you know," he commented. Lord Ravensworth grunted and refilled his glass. Gren sneered across the table at him. "You and Cardin - so much fun to talk to!" Lord Ravensworth lowered his head. "Sorry," he said. "I was thinking about Maria." Gren's smile disappeared. "Ah," he managed. Lord Ravensworth's gaze was far away. "We met at a lighthouse - did I ever tell you that?" "Often as the sun rises in the morning. It sounds too sappy to be true." "Sometimes love is sappy.""Ha ha!" Gren nearly fell off his chair. "Damn, Nathair, you're really in a mood tonight!" He drained his glass and reached for the bottle, becoming abruptly serious in the process. "Look, Nathair, it's been two years. Two years and no women!" Gren finished off his glass again. "It's time to start looking forward.""To what?" Lord Ravensworth's temper took flight. "What the hell is there to look forward to? We're not just a dying group, Gren, we're a dying species. Once all of us go, that'll be it! No more humans! Do you understand what that means?" It took all Lord Ravensworth's will to resist the urge to throw the bottle against the wall. Gren's face was unusually blank. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink. When he spoke, his words came as though measured. "Do you think I haven't thought everything you just said? Do you think you're the only one who lost loved ones? You are arrogant, Lord Ravensworth, if you believe that nobody has suffered aside from you." Lord Ravensworth watched the fire. It danced softly back and forth, whispering in an alien tongue. "I'm sorry," Lord Ravensworth finally said. Gren waved his apology aside. Lord Ravensworth took his glass. "Cardin said you had something to say?" Gren leaned forward conspiratorially. "I heard a rumor today, while you were out. Now, normally. I don't pay any mind to rumors, but this one was especially interesting." Lord Ravensworth waited. Gren waited."Are you going to make me guess?" "We'd be here all night." Lord Ravensworth ignored the jibe, settling instead for an eyebrow raise. "I should warn you," Gren prefaced. "The rumor concerns the Virgin Church." Lord Ravensworth stiffened. "Are they here?""No. Relax. They're still based in New Atlanta. If they were in the area, I'd be showing them my axe, not drinking beer.""You can't do both?" Gren guffawed. "I probably could," he admitted. "There's that biting sense of humor we love about you." "I'll bite you, alright," muttered Lord Ravensworth. "No, thanks," Gren grinned. "Though you could ask Cardin." "The rumor," pressed Lord Ravensworth. Gren helped himself to the bottle. Lord Ravensworth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It's good," Gren said."Nothing relating to the Virgin Church is good.""This is." Gren gulped down his drink. "I heard that the Virgin Church found a group of women." Lord Ravensworth glanced up sharply. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His heart felt like it might leap out of his chest. Was it possible? After two whole years...was it possible? "Women?" He rasped. Gren reclined in his seat and sighed luxuriously. He refilled his drink yet again."Women," he said happily.