Sacred Forest Audition: PrologueGot the time for a tale?Good.Now listen. This here’s a story about two kids.Nobody should have to go through what they did.Poor things.They've been on the run for a long time. They'd try to find their way home, but nobody wants them there. They'd try to find their friends, but they ain't got none anymore. They'd go back there, but that'd be madness.They've got nothing at all, to tell the truth. Life’s beaten them senseless and left them to die.All they’ve got left is each other.Seems like nothing can break their spirits.But still, I’ve got to wonder- are they ever gonna' find the light at the end of the tunnel?To tell the truth, some just never end. They just go on forever and ever.Doesn't matter how tough your spirit is if you're never gonna' make it out.
Shipping: The AdventureAvonna was looking at a soda machine when Familiar appeared out of nothing much."Avonna we're not being soda."Avonna punched the coke box. It loosed an inaudible scream of torment and fury."But Avonna™ we don't have any money because you spent it all on high quality imported European cheeses next week.""Why should the focus of our discussion be upon coin, the source of most, if not all, societal evils? Should we not instead consider the grand benefits of the acquisition of a cylindrical device which contains a measured quantity of caramel-colored flavored beverage?"Juts then the Pepsi cube turned into the Thief and he laughed before running away."Oh no," said Familiar.Avonna kicked the wall behind where the sprite rectangle was in half with her forehead and sat down on the ceiling. She rubbed her nose. The ceiling smelled like fruit salad and cabbagewich sandwiches."AVONNA AVONNA AVONNA!" shouted Familiar with excite."What?""We have to make out now.""Okay!"But Avonna
LaF Round One: The EndAeja sits at her deskby the lightof a new candle.She files her bladeagainst a whetstone,pausing from time to timeto examine its edge.A cloth wraps her wounded leg,but her cheek goes unbandaged.She lays down her tools,turning to the open pagesof her leather-bound book.Too deformed to call,she writes.Likely cause:damaged vocal cords.Paralysis?Physical injury?Must exercise more caution.Can't damage the subject.She holds the pen in placeas she tries to think.The ink spreads out into a blotmuch to her frustration.Find better writing tools,she scribbles in the marginwriting just below more-Recover swordFix the grateShe glances to her right,noticing a smear of bloodupon the stove's front face.The rest of the floor is clean-clean is good, after all-although the faint scent of deathhovers in the still, dank air.Haydn's corpse, still mostly intact,lies at the bottom of the stairs.No longer bleeding, he simply liesas if in a deep,