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The Trophy	By : auntfanny Category: +1 through F > Dungeons and Dragons Views: 1623 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dungeons and Dragons, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Trophy
- 1
The Trophy
-x-

Inspired by Sealgirl’s “Inversion” fic – in fact, this is a sort-of a sequel to it. So I give the Kipper Of Gratitude to my Semi-Aquatic pal, and hope that the rest of you enjoy it!
Scribbles (and her Aunt Fanny)

-x-

Diana ran.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, or when she could afford to stop. All she knew was, since she’d woken up that morning and found the flower in her hair, she had to run. She had to run for her life.

How long had she been on her own for, now? Weeks? Months? It hardly mattered now. This was the Endgame. It wasn’t as if she could escape. But, God Dammit, she was gonna at least try.
She launched herself nimbly up one of the larger, sturdier trees in the forest. She found her thoughts catching up on her as she climbed. She found herself re-living every death. She promised herself that she wouldn’t cry this time. She had to put her strength into the climb.

Hank had been the first. They had only just been coming to terms with the fact that Eric was gone, that they’d never find him when that day had arrived. The creature had just been standing there at the crossroads, calmly waiting for them to approach. It had been disguised at first, shawled and hunched like an old man, but then they’d tried to talk to it, and there’d been the glint of grinning teeth and sharp steel. And Hank had been so very… Hank about it. He’d told them all to run away and hide, that this was his problem, his battle. They’d said ‘No Way’, of course, they’d stuck by his side, but it had seemed that, that day, the creature had agreed with Hank. It had singled him out, grabbed him, and the two of them had rolled down the steep hill in battle. They had pursued as fast as they could without falling, but there had been no creature at the bottom. Only Hank, both bow and neck snapped in two.

And then, rationally, Diana should have been taken next. But the creature was not rational. The creature was insane. The next time it had come, it had been for the child. Despite Bobby’s protestations that he could take it, they’d tried to crowd around the Barbarian when they saw that the creature was making a bee-line for him, but it had just pushed them away. Seconds later, Bobby’s helmet and club were smashed, his throat was slit and the creature was bounding away into thin air. Sheila and Uni had both wailed long into the night, demanding to know why the creature had killed their darling boy, and spared them. But it hadn’t. It just hadn’t been their turn quite yet.

It made no sense – the violence, the bizarre ‘pattern’. That was part of the creature’s strength.

The Dungeon Master had tried to help them, at the beginning. After Eric and Venger had disappeared without a trace, he’d given them as many clues as he could to help them find them, and after the Ranger had died, he had become very serious and plain talking. Sending them home wasn’t an option any more, not with what had happened, but he was going to do everything within his power to keep the remainder of his Young Ones safe. But everything in his power hadn’t been enough. She remembered the confusion in the old man’s eyes. He was used to all forces, good and evil, playing by the rules of the Realm. But the creature was different. The only rules it played by were those it invented for its own amusement. It was not of the Realm. It was not of anywhere, and the Dungeon Master had honestly no idea how to deal with it. Still, he’d tried - tried moving them, hiding them, guarding them, but then had come the morning they’d awoken to find the unicorn’s head on top of a wooden spike, and Sheila’s torn cape and body only the day after. After that, the Dungeon Master had merely sadly suggested that the two remaining Young Ones split up to throw the creature off the scent, and disappeared. Diana and Presto had hoped, as they’d said goodbye to one another, that the Dungeon Master had gone to find to creature, and put a stop to it. Evidently, even if the old man had found it, he had failed to stop its systematic destruction of their group.

There had been a flower in her hair that morning.

High enough now, Diana reached out to grab the branch of another nearby tree, hoping to cover some more distance through the foliage, hoping that she would not be trackable moving this way.
The flowers – the sick addition to the creature’s crazy system. After every death, Diana would find a flower – tucked into her belt as she buried another friend, or resting in her hair or an open hand after no more than a light doze. Nobody ever saw anyone put them on her person, or anybody strange around at the time the flowers appeared, but she knew who they were from. And there had been one that morning. Which meant only one thing: Presto was dead, and she had been found.

‘Found you.’

Diana screamed. There was the creature, just sitting there in the branches, against the tree trunk, cloaked and still again as it had been that first day at the crossroads, so dark and still that she hadn’t seen it at all. It lifted its black shawl and grinned at her. Surprised at her own calm, she sat herself down on a branch opposite. There was no point in running any more. The creature had decided that the time to catch her had come.

She cleared her throat. ‘Why didn’t you kill me before? When you killed the others, when you gave me the flowers?’

‘It wasn’t your time.’

‘But now it is, huh?’

‘Soon, Diana. Very soon. You’ve got questions. I’ve decided I’m going to answer them.’

‘How so?’

There was another grin, more fond and cocky than aggressive this time, and for a moment, it was almost like talking with Eric again.

‘Because you’re my favourite.’

‘Hence the flowers?’

‘I like presents.’

There was a pause as they both regarded each other. Diana knew she must have looked a mess. There was a hint of sadness, even pity, as he gave the bruised, exhausted, skinny sole survivor the once-over. And she almost felt the same for him. He had become so… so twisted. What could have grown into a good-looking young man had warped into something sharp and ugly. He looked to small, too frail, to Human to be a true monster. Neither of Realm or Earth now, neither one thing or the other, just a hollow creature fuelled by nothing but the pursuit of his insane game – a game that was now so very nearly at an end.

‘You killed Presto,’ she said, eventually.

‘Yes,’ came the flat reply.

Diana shook her head, trying not to picture it. ‘You two were like brothers… all of us… we were like family to you, but you… hunted us down like animals…’ She met eyes with him, as courageously as she could with tears clouding her sight. ‘We tried to rescue you, Eric! We broke into the dungeon where they’d taken you, and when you weren’t there we tried another, then another, then another… We didn’t abandon you! This revenge of yours… it’s over nothing!’

‘It wasn’t revenge,’ soothed the EricThing, ‘nothing so negative.’

‘Then why?’

The creature got to its feet, smoothly. ‘Same reason I gave you the flowers. Because I wanted to, and I could.’

It stepped onto Diana’s branch and settled down next to her. ‘Any more questions?’

Diana didn’t look into his eyes. ‘Why leave me ‘til last? Why that order? There’s no pattern…’

The creature unsheathed a knife, silently, and gazed at her. ‘Hair colour.’
He smiled warmly at her as she looked at him, shocked.
‘Light to dark,’ he added.

The creature pressed a bright flower into Diana’s hand, and used its knife to swiftly cut a lock of hair from the side of her head. The knife never stopped moving, and slipped under the skin beneath her ear, cutting a long line beneath her jaw. The creature stayed with her until she dropped from the tree of her own accord, and watched her fall until her body hit the ground. Then it reached the blade up to its own head and cut a chunk of its own shaggy, black hair, from so close to the scalp that it drew blood, mingling with that of the girl still on the knife. It nodded to itself.

‘All gone.’

Carefully, it sewed both locks of hair onto the end of a small, leather belt slung around its chest. That job done, he gazed down at the trophy.

‘Hmm.’

-x-

Venger sat and watched the young man as he gazed out of the large, arched window. No other servant would ever dare to stand so impudently, with their back turned against their Dark Lord, but this one was different. This was not a case of Servant & Master, and the young man damned well knew that.

‘It’s done,’ the young man said at last.

‘The weapons?’ asked Venger, expectantly, ‘you have collected them?’

‘I didn’t want to,’ replied the youth, his back still turned to Venger’s throne. ‘I broke them, instead.’

Venger’s fingers clawed around the arms of his throne. ‘You destroyed them?’ He could feel the rage crackling through him, but something kept it within him. His boy, his creation, had had his hands on the very items he had been seeking for so long, the items that could give him absolute autonomy, and the wretch had destroyed them?!? Any other minion would have reduced to ash where they stood for such disobedience… but… but…

The youth turned around, and smiled that bright, sharp, confident smile, like a shaft of moonlight flooding through the darkest night.

‘You don’t need them.’

Venger didn’t need them. Of course he didn’t. The boy was right. The boy was… Perfectly Right.

The youth walked towards him, throwing his shawl and coat to the floor as he walked. There was a strange decoration across his chest – a leather strap, from which hung a rainbow of hair – gold, sand, two chunks of copper, auburn, chocolate and ebony. He pulled the rainbow over his head and handed it to Venger.

‘Made you this.’

Venger ran it through his hands. He knew what this was. He had no idea the youth was capable of something so beautifully brutal. ‘A trophy.’

The young man shrugged. ‘I like presents.’

He held the last lock of straight, black hair up to the youth. ‘What is this?’

‘The Cavalier,’ replied his creation, flatly. ‘He took a while to die.’

Venger nodded, gazing at the gift. ‘It is perfect.’

The youth turned from him again. ‘Not quite.’ He paused. ‘Don’t you think it should run from white to black?’

‘You mean…’ Venger trailed off. ‘You cannot kill the Old Man.’

‘I can kill anyone.’

Again, Venger wondered why he didn’t smite the boy on the spot.

‘You cannot kill him,’ he clarified, ‘because he is the ordering force to this world. If he is destroyed, then this world will be thrown into chaos.’

‘I thought you hated him,’ answered the youth.

‘It makes no difference,’ snapped Venger. ‘It is simply Not Done!’

The youth turned to him again. The confident smile was gone. In its place was a look of… of revulsion. And disappointment.

‘Not done?’ he echoed, ‘Not done? You’d play by his rules? Is that why you always failed?’

Venger leaped to his feet. ‘How dare you…’

‘You should thank me, Venger,’ continued the youth, unabated, unafraid, ‘you’re never gonna win, the way you’re playing.’

‘This is hardly a game,’ growled the Dark Lord, ‘you can hardly just do as you please…’

The youth’s face suddenly split into that terrible, beautiful wide grin again.

‘Relax,’ he interrupted. ‘I wasn’t even talking about the Old Man.’

Almost prone to his own creation’s bidding, Venger sank back into his throne. The youth boldly stepped up before him and then, in an act of the most breathtaking impudence, leaned right into him, laying a grubby hand upon the Overlord’s cheek.

Venger was dumbstruck. Nobody had ever, ever dared to do anything like that before. The youth’s dark, dancing eyes were right against his own. They were stunning. He was stunning. He was the Future.

‘Show me,’ whispered the creature, ‘your hair.’

-x-

It sat cross-legged on the roof of the palace, and sewed. It was peaceful enough now, there would probably be all kinds of uproar once the remains were found, but it could live with that.

The belt still wasn’t quite right. This new lock of hair was silvery-blue, not white at all. It contemplated the words of its predecessor, and watched the suns boiling away on the horizon.

‘”Chaos”, you say…’

The End.
- 1
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The Trophy