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What If... Ginny had been Good?
By Cirth the Pale, Scribe of the Kindred, Scribe of the Chosen

"What is that you have there, Dearie?"

"Nothing. Old trash this one."

"Let me see. It looks familiar."

"Nothing to see. No colours left and full of loose ends. Best put it out of its misery this one. Put it in the old heater."

"I will hear of no such thing! I'm sure it's not that bad. Here give it to me."


"Oh, I recognize it! One of my favourites for sure."

"Hmph, all are favourites of yours, Mother."

"What are you old crones fussing about?"

"Grandma is having one of her cleanings again, Sweetie. She wants to throw away this fine old one."

"What is it for? Keeping the warmth?"

"No, not anymore at least. More an item of memorable value."

"Memory shmemory! I've forgot more things than both you ever learned. No reason to hold on to old junk I tell you. No reason at all."

"Hush, Grandma. Couldn't we unravel and redo it, Mother? Give it a fresh start?"

"Mmm, you know how I feel about changing a pattern once we've got it all together, Sweetie. There's really no telling where one ends and the other begin. It's never the same again."

"But that's the point! Here give it to me. I'll begin…"

The other children in the camp never come here. The vastness of Deepwood forest scares them. That is just as well. They don't dare search for me here.
Wandering through the darkening forest the boy find his way with ease. He has walked this path many times before. Perhaps he will spend the night, it will be nothing new. When he reaches his goal the glade is little more than a starlit patch surrounded by darkness. Reaching the middle he pauses and watches the stars for a moment. There is peace and quiet here.


The night is filled with the light of day and I am not alone anymore. There's a woman in the middle of the light, so piercing bright that my eyes cry from looking at her. Stunned by awe and wonder I drop to my knees, and when she opens her hand towards me I take it.
The University of True Good has grown steadily the last few months and it appears yet another student is about to join the class. Mistress Ginny has called a meeting and the classroom is filled, almost everyone is here, even the usually busy Grayghost is attending. The focus of our attention is a young man about my age standing in the bathing light of our Mistress. I wonder if he is a mage, somehow he strikes me as one. It would be good with another mage in the class to help the others.

"See how cold he is", Khore whispers to me, and I see. There is no excitement of joining over him, nor is he dazzled by Ginnys magnificent prescience.
He only shows determination.

The Mistress speaks and we hush like little children, "Class, welcome our newest student. His name is Molo."
Months have passed and Molo has saved my life numerous times already. I trust him, of course, but I consider him more of an ally rather than a friend. The others I've spoken to agree. He never speaks of himself, or asks questions about others. No one even knows where he comes from. It occurs to me that it might be that no one has dared to ask him, so I do.

When he speak his voice is dry, "I was a mercenary mage before this. I sold my services to anyone, never discriminating a customer." His gaze is steady, but he doesn't pay me much attention. "Aura was of as little issue to me as race or gender. But some evils, Seeker and Dredd, decided that my services to them were worth nothing when I provided Kennet the same. I managed to escape them, but ended up in the Shrine of Neutrality. I would seem fate has a sense of irony." He smiles dryly and continues, "Your Mistress offered her assistance to get me out of there alive and to shelter me, and I accepted. I will study and work with you, and I will never rest until the last of evil is purged from this world." There is a silent rage behind his speech, behind his whole person.
Khore stands over me. He's Lord Khore now and the Mistress of Light has not been seen in this realm for many years. So many years.

"Is this your wish? To join the Legion of Light, to obey and to feed the Sun?"

The stone altar is cold against my bared back, and Khores ceremonial dagger catches the sunlight as he aims it at my chest.
Warmth and glory, such is life dwelling in the Sun. We have not the strength of numbers, but in dedication. Others shun us despite our actions. They don't understand, and they are afraid. Calling us undead, when we are more alive than ever. The sacrificing of our hearts we do gladly, so that we can share the Sun. They don't know that kind of closeness. But as I said they don't understand.

Molo, or the Arch-Angel as he is called know, does not care. He accepts us, as he does with anyone who joins his crusade. His Inquisition has driven the evil sects to their knees, only the Ebon Hand and the Mist stand their ground. To better help my brothers and sisters in the war I've begun training as a warrior under the supervision of Awhanil.
"Hello! Hi, I wonder if you have seen an angry hat? It's kind of made of straw and real neat. Sometimes, when it's in the mood you can make it do tricks, if you bribe it with flower petals or a good mushroom. You know that kind those clerics can make. I like it very much and I'm looking for it real hard, but have not found it yet. It's real good at hiding. Have you seen it?" A short girl with copper red curls verbally overwhelm me one day as I pass through the neutral grounds of the Guild

"Um, excuse me? I'm confused, what do you…"

"That's ok, sometimes I get confused too. I can be fun also, like if you're suddenly running from an angry dragon or…"

"…or if you're talking to a dull goodie…", Palmer the thief suddenly appears at her side grinning., "Come on, let's see if it's in Harpers."
As they wander off I stare after them. I never got her name.
We're not many, but too many for my taste. As a political gesture some of the Abrasive have joined our group under the leadership of Jerald from the Inquisition. Moving through the landscape goes slow and I know what everyone is thinking. Zara has been seen again, claiming more victims. Other names shrouded with mystery and legends has been mentioned as well, Typhon, Ivan, Huey, Siobahn… No one wants to stumble into them. Some even claim that Seeker and Dredd have returned which has made the Arch-Angel give specific orders to the Inquisition concerning them. Things are getting crazy, and everyone is nervous. Drazuk returns, he has scouted ahead. He gestures silence and we hasten our pace.

Suddenly the battle has begun and we clash with our enemies. We outnumber them, but they are not afraid. They grin us in the face and meet us almost eagerly. All I can think of is to keep with the group, but of course I get separated from the others. Running through the underbrush imagining that big warric with the spiky armour on my trail.

Panting I enter a small glade where I'm not alone. Silver hair gleams in the sunlight as a small woman turns around. She wears the sigil of the Ebon Hand and although I can see no armour I sense that her are defences are up. She relaxes visibly when she sees me, but before she can speak I strike her down. She looks at me genuinely surprised as she slide off my sword.

Behind me Jerald and Combee enter the clearing.

"Well done," Jerald shouts. Combee pats me on the shoulder and asks if I'm alright.

Someone whispers, "no" and a shadow shoot through the glade disappearing with the corpse of the woman. Jerald curses and take on the chase, with Combee quickly following him.

I stand confused by the bloody grass, alone again, with the glaring sunlight hurting my eyes.

"So, wasn't this exciting? What do you think, Mother?"

"Mmm, not the same, sweetie, not the same at all. I liked to old one better. More style in that one."

"What about you, Grandma?"

"Hmph, I see no difference at all. I say we should have burned it. Let's burn it."

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