The Gift of Lethe Writing Contest

Quest Offering

We have all done things we regret. The mistakes that weigh on us. The things we wish could be lost to the fog of time. I wish to hear the tale of these things, that the speaking of it may lance the hurt that does not heal. To this end, I am hosting a writing contest. The topic of all entries must be, ‘What I Wish to Forget.’

The top prize will be one restring –or- an Amnesic Lyrical.

Additional prizes may occur if I receive more than three entries.

Entries should be a minimum of 100 words, and must be received by March 18th at noon CST. They may be posted in Note form to me on mud, or emailed to me at Cordir@hotmail.com

As always, I will be the sole arbiter of this competition.

Entries

Nicholai: An Unwise Decision

Many ages ago when I had not yet reached full mastery of my studies I made a trade which I regret to this day. While many of us have made purchases on impulse, spent gold we did not have on a shiny bobble or trendy new outfit, and felt the inevitable buyer’s remorse afterwards few have ever made a trade so unwise as to give up an essential and irreplaceable part of their own character for something easily lost with no hope of return. The transaction of which I speak isn’t what you may suspect, and it isn’t one I wish to forget, for the memory of its foolishness is essentially an ironic blessing. One day the great Tynian descended into the realm and offered trades with any mortal willing to do barter with him. I do not recall all the items offered but one had piqued my desire to perform better in physical combat. It was a 3 damage ring which at the time was quite powerful. I felt as though I had earned enough practices at my current level to carry me through to level 50 and foolishly believed there was no other use of my wisdom stat. I quite unwisely traded 1 of my wisdom points for this ring, a flimsy tin ring to be exact, etched to near disintegration at ac -9. I did not feel any discomfort as he extracted his payment, and I was quite happy with my new treasure as I could do noticeably more hurt to my opponents. But that happiness did not last as the ring was lost in combat with a dragon whose breath melted it right off my finger. Wisdom comes from our experiences both good and bad, and enables us to grow and learn from our mistakes. My unwise decision to give up some of my eternal wisdom for a temporary item taught me a lesson which is in itself gained me wisdom, and it is a lesson I choose not to forget no matter how much I regret it.

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Hiddukel

the regrets or mistakes that i wish to forget
now i could sit here and write every mistake i made but
i have to ask myself is it worth laying it out on the table
dont get me wrong its not a trust thing but all mistakes
or regrets are what makes me the pleasant assshole i am today
they formed me into a person who doesnt hold back and speaks his mind (which you know)
also my past mess ups helps me look at other people and help them if they travel doqn tha same path
so i honestly can say i have regrets or would like old wounds to heal
because if they go away then part of me goea with them
i know this isnt what you asked for but its my entry
the man the myth the legend
which none of that last sentence appliea to me

---

Venom

Venom paced the floor slowly, his head raised slightly as he thought deeply on the question at hand. Each step fell gracefully and silently, clearly the work of his custom fit boots of elven-kind. As always his entire suit of worn equipment was immaculately clean and rather polished, discretely bearing the runes of magical enchantment. He stroked his fingers along the rather exquisite jewelry that hung around his neck, pausing upon his favorite piece, the Amulet of Hate. The contract-bound scribe was huddled in the corner of the room near the window, his pen hovered just above the parchment, waiting for the story to begin. His glance up and down the rather impressive attire of the battle ready Kindred was a dead give away to his thoughts. Venom sneered. "Do no pay too much heed to this magical equipment," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "My wealth of power is merely a means to an end. I do not particularly care for material possessions." A lie he had been telling himself for many years. "Now," he continued, "As for my story... Ready your pen, scribe, and I shall tell you of my one regret..."

"It is known now to only a few. Most who know of me have long left these lands, but the truth is, this life is not my first, and will not be my last. It is my curse. My spirit has gone from body to body, incarnation to incarnation, for as long as time has been recorded. Each time I am reborn, I awaken a weakling and am forced to start my journey once again from the beginning. My quest for power and immortality is the infinite fool's errand. It is this youthful weakness that betrayed me so and became the cause of my one regret. The one thing I wish to forget.

It was in my last life, just before this one. Ironically my name was Venom, a fact I can never remember when I am born anew. But I have seen documentation, I know it was so. Other than my name, I always remember every other detail of every life I have lived. But, I would trade all my knowledge of the realm and all the memories of my past lives if only to be released from this..."

Venom walked to the window near the scribe, his proximity was like dragon-fear to the quivering mortal. He glanced out of the window of his room at the Adventurer's Inn, out over the Trading Post, and down the mountain side. His eyes fixed on a point in the distant sky, his fangs recoiled into nearly human canines.

"It was many many years ago. A hot summer day in the desert. I remember passing the trail marker as I had done a thousand times before and cresting the sand dunes. I was younger then and only barely able to withstand the light of the sun. I was still in the habit of talking to myself to take my mind off the pain. But, as I came down the long side of the sand dune my eyes would behold a sight that left me speechless. Samiyah. Although the heat waves made it hard to see her off in the distance, there was no way I would have ever mistaken her form. I knew her like I knew my own shadow, for the very sight of her caused a flash of hatred to shoot through me. That day was to be unlike any other, for as I approached her I came to realize an interesting opportunity was at hand. She was sleeping in the sand. I still remember the way her veil flapped about in the warm desert wind, like a flag indicating to the world that something vulnerable lay below. She was nestled like a child next to a large slab, swaddled like a baby by the hot sands. Normally I would have taken such an opportunity to slit her meddling throat, if not for what I saw next. For what I saw next would give me a way to hit her where it would hurt far more than her throat. What I saw next would give me the weapon I needed to hit her right in the heart. The rock next to where she lay had been scrawled upon, clearly by one who could barely write. The scratchy calligraphy beheld a single word," "bayt"

The scribe dabbed his quill into the small pool of ink on the floor next to him and carefully traced the letters as he listened. The room was growing darker as the sun outside began to set. The attack dogs guarding the wagons of the Trading Post below could be heard howling. The scribe rummaged through his backpack and produced a small lantern which he proceeded to light and place next to his work. As dancing shadows climbed the walls of the room the form of the Kindred seemed to melt into them until it was impossible to tell where shadow ended and vampire began. Within minutes Venom was unseen, but yet still heard...

"I reached into my pouch and retrieved my notes, recording the word so that I could have it translated by the sexual deviant, Sabella. Ideas were already gushing on how to best use this against the Bard. I could bait her into this place again at will, knowing not only where her secret place was, but why she came here. Or, I could manipulate her emotionally, knowing now what it was that she sought here. In the end my machinations were to be the highest trump card of evil doings, but that is another tale. My deepest regret, that I wish I could forget, was what came next..."

The curtains on each side of the window suddenly released and fell together, shutting out the night sky. The room felt smaller now to the scribe, who trembled momentarily. The air in the room shifted slightly and a creepy voice resumed its story from the far corner.

"I tucked away my utensils and dug my feet into the soft sands, turning away from the sleeping virgin below and looking around to regain my sense of direction. Just as I took my first step back, something came over me. Something rotten, vile and disgusting. I stopped after only one step and looked back at her. In hindsight, I'm sure it was pity. Or perhaps just a strong sense of relation. Like an abusive parent might adore their sleeping child and feel guilt for having beaten them the day before. I felt a brief moment of longing to wake her and make amends. I was almost human again for a second as I thought about how I knew her pain. It's the pain that binds every orphan child, for they all know its sting. The constant feeling of being out of place, of having no home and no family. I too once knew this pain, and I suppose a small speck remained, deep down in my cold, unbeating heart. I have never told anyone of this, but I clearly recall my hand twitching ever so slightly as I nearly reached out to wake her. Thankfully this wave of chimera-shit-emotion left me as quickly as it came and I spat in her direction as I turned away and stomped off through the desert."

The shadows rose from the floor in front of the scribe and formed into the foreboding embodiment of evil, Venom. His Kindred skin pale against the dim light of the lantern.

"The experience left a bad taste in my mouth for years. Even now I'd give anything to forget it."

The scribe finished off the final words of the dictation and dabbed his quill again, purely out of subconscious habit. He checked over the last paragraph and paused for a moment before gathering the courage to look up, "Pardon me for asking, Sir, but given your years of darkness... it would seem to me that, ummm, well... wouldn't a moment like that be something to cherish?"

The flickering light of the lantern glistened and a flash of fang split the shadows, in a heartbeat the scribe was dead. The bloodied vampire slowly tucked a single golden coin into the vest pocket ofthe dead scribe, never one to go back on his word. In the morning the maid would find the room coldas the wind breezed in the open window, the corpse cold as the life had been gone for hours, and the truth cold as it lay on the blood spattered pages.