#gaheris has his true form back-

[ryogai]

The time for the assault had finally come, the march upon Camelot itself. Everything they had done and endured had been leading up to this point. Nix never was used to the idea of war, so much loss of life was always expected in such things. Nonetheless, this had to be done in order to hopefully prevent the collapse of Proper Human History and Faerie Britain. Before they separated, Oberon did make a request of Nix; one that caught her off guard. He asked that she summon him in Chaldea after all was finished in Britain. She wanted to reassure him that they would reunite after all the fighting was done but did agree to his request after giving the Fairy King a quick hug. Then they parted to continue with the plan.

Breaching the front gate was simple in comparison to what lied ahead, the large twisting castle town of Camelot. What Nix wasn't prepared for was Morgan to come for them directly and without warning. The group struggled to fight back, the silverette sending support where she could. The knight beside her suddenly took a stance in front of Nix and Altria, separating Morgan from having a clear shot at them and putting distance between them. His sudden action didn't seem to phase Morgan but that wasn't going to stop him, even as she mocked his attempt at chivalry. "Say what you want, Morgan.. But I have hidden my own True Name all for this moment." That's right, Gaheris had kept his own identity secret from all but his Master and those in Chaldea. It was better that way so the Lostbelt King before them would have no prior knowledge of who he was. Though as soon as he activated his Noble Phantasm, this host would fade away since his Spirit Core and Origin was fully repaired now..

'My host, I give you thanks for allowing me to take shelter in your form. Rest now. I will protect the princess from here.' Gaheris drew his blade and held it at the ready. "My True Name is Gaheris! Knight of the Round Table!" A knight that had slain Morgause, a version of Morgan; his mother. There did seem to be a look of mild shock upon her face and the knight pressed on with his plan. His sword gleamed red as he began to activate his Noble Phantasm. "This blade is stained with the blood of vengeance, the death of wrong-doers.." As he spoke aloud, a bright light enveloped his body as Yuuto's form began to fade away to give way to how Gaheris' true form and appearance. It was painful for Nix to see this happen but knew it was for the best. "It now becomes my sin as I draw it once more to deliver justice that must be done. Dienyddio Morgause!" His blade was swung down as a dark red light, sharp as the weapon itself, shot forth to hit Morgan directly. Others around them aided in the final strike to put an end to the Queen.. Or so they thought.

[siderealxmelody]

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, kissing Natalia on the forehead quickly. He never liked the idea of everything getting so important he couldn't do the small affections.

"He asked if Gaheris was bad. Why he couldn't learn all the things Xaden and Alaric did. I didn't hear the question but Gaheris was musing about how if we could go back to the Primal forms we had. When we'd been things of elements and emotion we'd be harder to kill. I didn't like how interested in any of it Aleksander was. I don't think we should take them to see Gaheris anymore. I love him, but I see less and less of the child he'd been."

He'd been curious, precocious once. He has hoped Sancia would be enough one day. That it would quell whatever else lurked there.

------

Azriel's small shoulders dropped and he sighed, kicking at a stray rock.

"Well he's going to come for Solstice right? We can ask him then. Do you want to help me win against Drakon? He says he's better at darts than us."

Which wasn't true, obviously.

Sebastian bit his lip, they'd gotten out of the labor camps when Alaric was five and Xaden had been 10. They'd tried to sheild them as best as they could but -

Gaheris had been the only one able to actually protect them and not have anything left to loose.

He wondered about Sancia sometimes but now wasn't the time to dwell or ask.

"I know you can Aleksander. You have greatness in you just like your brothers. All I'm saying is just start slow, if you are that kneen on learning asl Xaden or Alaric to teach you."

He trusted his sons, Alaric would hopefully see past whatever cloth he'd spun over Alaric soon. Sebastian smiled, pulling him close and flying off.

------

Azriel brightened running to Aleksander as their father landed. He smiled up at his father and watched Sebastian speak to their ma quietly.

"Why are you back? Did you find that orb that Alaric talked about?"

[whumptopia]

In the Underdark

d&d oc ladywhump commissioned by @silentlygo

content warnings: female whump, minor character death, graphic violence, blood, and brief mentions of nausea

—

Baenviir is not unfamiliar with the Underdark. She is half-drow, after all. Her dark blue skin is a testament to her heritage. Below the surface of the sunlit world, she knows what dangers to look out for. She treads lightly, her golden eyes peeled at all times. This is not her first time in the Underdark, and she prays it will not be her last.

She cannot confidently say the same for her current traveling companions, however. Her faction has tentatively formed an alliance with another group in an attempt to strengthen their numbers. They need all the help they can get if they hope to stand a chance against the new threat brewing in the Underdark. Still, she doesn’t exactly mix well with her new associates. She’s never been the most sociable or quick to trust, especially not down here where lives can be so easily snuffed out. It’s best not to grow attached.

And yet… Gaheris.

She tried to ignore the human man at first, but putting him out of her mind proved to be extraordinarily difficult considering how loud he was. Granted, you could never be truly loud in the Underdark if you wanted to stay safe, but Gaheris’ talkative manner pushed at the boundaries of safety. Most of the members of her group ignored him, signifying the divide between the two factions, but she once made the terrible mistake of muttering a sarcastic remark in response to one of his over-the-top attempts to unite the two parties. Upon hearing her speak, he immediately directed his efforts toward her, and she’s been stuck with him ever since.

The thing is, Gaheris isn’t a bad person. In fact, he’s rather obnoxiously noble. He’s not helpless, either, with his knight-status, gleaming armor, and longsword. She has no real reason to reject his acquaintance, and yet…

It’s the Underdark. Not exactly the best place to make new friends.

Baenviir may not be unfamiliar with the region as a whole, but she is a stranger to the caves her party is currently navigating. Her and Gaheris walk side-by-side down the path, situated somewhere near the center of the group, their weapons strapped to their belts and their packs slung over their shoulders. They’ve been traveling for days, and even though she would never admit it, she’s exhausted. 

Gaheris playfully nudges her shoulder. “Nothing like a pleasant stroll through some creepy caves to brighten the spirits, eh?”

Baenviir shoots him a glare, taking a step to the right to create some much needed distance between them. “Just wait until we come across a Beholder. That’ll really lighten the mood.”

The knight chuckles, amused. His green eyes glint in the dim light of the caverns. “Y’know, down here it feels more like we’re on vacation than anything. I mean, everyone we’ve met so far has been so hospitable.”

She snorts. “Yeah? Like the kobolds we ran into the other day?”

Gaheris grins. “Exactly!”

“One of them bit Valeheart’s calf like a rabid dog would,” she points out, cringing when she visualizes the nasty infection the human man is currently combating.

The knight falters slightly. “Well, we can’t all be winners.”

“You don’t mean that,” she says, well-aware of the goody-two-shoes morality hidden underneath his teasing.

“I don’t,” he admits, giving her a sideways smile, “I just like getting under your skin. I have to repay you for those drow lessons somehow!”

Baenviir hums in acknowledgement. It’s true he owes her for the kindness and attention she’s bestowed upon him. After all, she isn’t handing out drow language lessons to just anybody. He’s her only student. She doesn’t intend to make him pay her for her tutelage, however. She’s only helping him because she wants to. Besides, it gives her something to do.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can form words, a bloodcurdling scream echoes throughout the chamber. The sound stops her heart and sends chills rolling down her spine.

Immediately, her hands fly to her scythes, her fingers curling instinctively around the hilts as she scans her surroundings. She can’t pinpoint where the commotion is coming from at first, but, a moment later, an arrow soars over her head and lodges itself into a traveler behind her. The attackers must be charging from the front, then.

Gaheris unsheathes his sword, standing close beside her in a display of loyalty. He won’t leave her. Whatever threat comes, they’ll tackle it together.

In a matter of seconds, the previously peaceful cave descends into chaos, battle cries and magical blasts filling the air. Their travel formation immediately dissolves as enemies break through their ranks. Orcs, armed to the teeth and seemingly intent on slaughtering them all, rush forward. Baenviir grips her curled, poisoned-soaked blades and clenches her jaw, feet spread wide in a fighting stance. An enemy strikes down the party member in front of her, but before the orc can turn his attention to her, Gaheris slashes his sword across his abdomen, spilling his guts. Baenviir cuts his throat for good measure, ducking to the side to avoid being crushed when he topples to the ground.

She doesn’t spare a moment to gloat (she’s too much of a seasoned warrior to gloat). Spinning around, she lunges toward the nearest enemy, stabbing the orc in the thigh, making her howl in agony. She manages to land a punch, and the blow leaves Baenviir winded, forcing her to take a step back. Before her opponent can strike again, she slams both her blades into the orc’s chest. The metal sinks in deep, past cartilage and slipping between the bones of her ribs. Blood spills from the orc’s lips, and Baenviir rips her scythes free, her teeth bared in ferocity. The orc falls at her feet, and she moves on.  

Her golden eyes narrowed in determination, her heart pounding furiously, she searches for Gaheris in the mess of carnage. As she makes her way through the crowd, cutting anyone who comes too close as she steps over the wounded and dying, worry seeps through the cracks of her mental fortress. What if he’s already been slain?

Finally, she spots him several yards away, engaged in battle with two orcs, his expression twisted into a snarl. Before she can even start in his direction, a sword slashes his side, leaving a sizable dent in his armor. From where she stands, she can see his mouth fall open in a pained yell, but she can’t hear his voice over the clamor of battle.

Her pulse spikes, and she sprints forward, leaping onto the back of the orc who attacked her friend, slicing his neck. Her scythes dig so deep, she nearly decapitates him, his hot blood gushing onto her hands. Even though he’s dying, the orc manages to grab hold of her and throw her off. She lands on the rocky ground with a thud, grunting. One of her blades slips from her hands, and as she rolls over to reach for the handle, a heavy boot connects with her side. Pain blossoms across her ribs, and she groans. Curling into herself to protect herself from further damage, Baenviir awaits the next blow. 

It never comes.

She opens her eyes just in time to see Gaheris finish off the orc who attacked her, his longsword running him through. With a huff of effort and a boot planted against the orc’s protruding stomach, he wrenches his weapon free, staggering back as he does so. Baenviir snatches both her scythes and climbs to her feet, kicking the back of the orc’s knees to ensure he goes down.

Panting, she looks the knight in the eye, searching to see if he’s alright. He shrugs, gesturing to his wounded thigh. His leg armor has been penetrated, and red drips from the gash in his trousers. Baenviir’s stomach flips at the sight. He won’t be much use in a fight with an injury like that.

“Baenviir!”

The shout pulls her gaze from Gaheris’s wound to his face, which is alight with a primal fear that can only be found in the realm of death. His wide eyes are looking past her, so she spins around, and—

Another body slams into her own, knocking her back several feet. She trips over a dead body and loses her balance, her arms pinwheeling as she falls backwards. She faintly expects to land on the stone path, but instead she falls on uneven ground, her body tumbling fast down a slope that ends in darkness. Her heart drops into her stomach as she spins, completely out of control of her own movements, propelled down the steep embankment. Over the sound of blood rushing in her ears, she can hear Gaheris scream her name.

She crashes into a boulder, and pain explodes across her vision. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, and she’s out like a light.

—

When Baenviir wakes, she almost wishes she hadn’t. Her head aches like her skull has been split down the middle, a deep crevice in the bone that can never be mended. She’s dizzy even though she has yet to open her eyes, and she fears she’ll be sick if she dares to sneak a peek. Parting her lips, she sucks in a reedy breath. Her chest aches, even more so when her lungs expand. Her ribs must be bruised, if not fractured, from the battle and the ensuing fall. As she measures her own pulse, she takes stock, shifting ever so slightly. Her outer left forearm itches in a way she knows means she’s been cut, either on jagged rock or an enemy’s blade. Her right knee throbs as well. All in all, she’s a mess. She’s lucky to be alive.

Eventually, when she thinks she can stand to bear it, she opens her eyes. Her light of sight is black, stars sparking along the edges, and she grimaces as her stomach rolls. If she doesn’t want to throw up, she’ll have to take things slow.

Baenviir wills herself to be patient, suffering through minutes at a time, blinking repeatedly as her eyes adjust. She’s at the bottom of the embankment she was pushed down, further away from the faint light emanating from the crystals on the ceiling of the cave but not too far down to be trapped in total darkness. She can’t hear a single sound. The battle must be finished, then. She wonders who won. She assumes the orcs did, otherwise her party would’ve rescued her. Or maybe not. She would’ve assumed a missing person dead after a fight like that. Gaheris would’ve searched for her, though. He wouldn’t have left her behind. 

Unless he was dead.

Dread stirs within her at the thought, and she forces herself to sit up. She feels wretched, but she knows she can’t stay down here forever. She’ll die of dehydration or be devoured by some wild creature. Crawling onto her knees, she reaches around on the stone ground for her scythes. She has no hope of survival without them. Movement hurts her right knee, the cap bruised in the fall, but she grits her teeth and powers through, trying to cover as much ground as possible. Finally, several feet higher up on the slope, her fingers brush against the familiar hilt of her weapon. She heaves a sigh of relief and grips the blade tightly, hugging it to her chest. She finds its sister soon after.

Once she’s strapped her weapons to her belt, she attempts the feat of standing. Leaning against a stalagmite for support, she hoists herself up, wavering as she struggles to remain upright. Her body is weak and trembling, but after a moment or so, she’s steady enough where she won’t immediately pass out and fall on her ass. 

She takes a deep, slow breath, mentally preparing herself for the grueling climb up the slope back to the road, but an odd noise catches her off-guard. Pausing, she cocks her head to the side and listens. She hadn’t noticed it before, too distracted by her own pain and frantic search for her weapons, but a strange keening sound is coming from up ahead. It doesn’t sound like an animal. It sounds like a person. 

Baenviir starts in the direction of the noise, dread and hope both finding a place in her heart. Squinting in the darkness, she can make out the shape of a body lying at the bottom of the hill. Cautiously, she approaches, unsure if the figure is friend or foe.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” a male voice hisses, and her ears perk up. Could it be?

“Gaheris?” she whispers. 

The swearing stops. “Baenviir?”

She lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding and hobbles over to him. He looks like he just regained consciousness. He must’ve been knocked down the embankment as well, left for dead like she was. 

He smiles at her, struggling to sit upright. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

Warmth blooms in her chest. She’s relieved that he didn’t abandon her and that he’s still kicking—for now, at least.

“You hurt?” she asks.

He leans against a boulder, groaning. “Always cutting to the chase.”

“You still have your weapon?”

He shrugs, but the motion seems to cause some discomfort, judging by his grimace. “Probably around here somewhere.”

Baenviir hums and crouches down beside him. His armor is dented in several spots, and his face is a mess of bruises, but her eyes gloss over those minor injuries. What really bothers her in the cut in his thigh, a deep gash that’s still oozing blood. 

“We gotta deal with this.” She reaches for his armor, unlatching the lower half and discarding the metal pieces before moving on to rip apart the seams of his pants, prying the fabric away from his skin.

Gaheris grunts, squirming. “Can I at least keep my clothes on?”

Ignoring his weak attempt at a joke, she takes the scraps of fabric and ties them together, wrapping them tightly around the wound. “You’ll bleed out if I don’t take care of this. Either that or die of infection.”

“What about you?” he asks, looking her over. “You hurt anywhere?”

“Nothing that’ll kill me,” she says, tying a knot that makes the knight wince. “But climbing back up that hill will be a challenge.”

“You’re telling me,” he grumbles, glaring up at the cave ceiling high above them. “Can’t wait to get out of this miserable place.”

Baenviir nods silently, sitting back on her heels. They need water, food, and medicine. Their packs were likely ransacked by whoever won the battle, but there might be something left on the road. Maybe they’ll find enough supplies to get them to the next settlement. If they’re lucky, they won’t die from their injuries.

“We shouldn’t wait any longer. We’ll only grow weaker by the minute.”

Gaheris frowns deeply at the thought of scaling the embankment. She can understand the sentiment. 

“C’mon. Let me help you up.” She extends her hand, but he waves her off.

“Don’t think I can stand,” he says, shifting to his hands and knees, “I’m gonna have to crawl.”

She purses her lips, wanting to argue. There’s no point, though. She can’t support his weight as well as her own. 

“Go slow,” she orders, “and keep a lookout for your sword.”

He grunts in assent, and she turns around, shuffling toward the hill.

As soon as she starts, she realizes she’s better off on all fours, her hands digging into the rock as she pushes herself up one step at a time. Her wounded knee sparks in protest, and her ribs creak with each inhale, but she grits her teeth and forces herself to continue. She has to do this if she wants to live. Every couple minutes, she glances over her shoulder at Gaheris to make sure he’s alright. If he slips and tumbles back down the hill, she doesn’t know what she’d do. He’s several feet below her, his limbs shaking from effort, and whenever she asks how he’s doing, he simply nods, too busy panting to speak properly. Will they have the energy to go on once they’ve reached the top? Or will they simply collapse?

Climbing the embankment takes significantly longer than it did for her to roll down it. By the time her fingers touch the dirt road, she’s soaked in sweat and suffering from a pounding headache. All of her muscles ache from exertion (likely a combination of the battle, her injuries, and the climb), and she flops over onto her back, closing her eyes. 

“Gaheris?” she asks, too tired to lean over the edge and see how far he’s come along. “You almost done?”

She doesn’t get a response, and as the minutes tick by, her concern grows. She begins to consider helping him up the rest of the way, but before she can will herself to move, the sound of heavy breathing indicates his arrival. With a heave, he rolls over next to her, his face pale and drawn. 

“Are you gonna faint?”

He makes an expression that seems to indicate he might, but after gulping down air like a dying man, a bit more color returns to his cheeks. 

“I…” he says, patting his sheath, “I found my sword.”

True enough, the weapon has been returned to its rightful place. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” He wipes his brow, closing his eyes. “We should probably look around for leftover supplies.”

Baenviir turns her head and scans the road. She sees nothing but orc and human bodies. “We have time. Let’s just rest a minute.”

“For once, you have a good idea!” he exclaims, breathless, and despite herself, she laughs. Shifting to get into a more comfortable position on the ground, she allows her eyes to slip shut once again, her hands resting on the hilts of her blades. This won’t be their last time in the Underdark, not if she can help it. 

[2gameprince]

Lancelot (Incomplete)

There were forty-three of us back then. Arthur, Gawain, Geraint, Percival, Bors, Lamorak, Kay, Gareth, Bedivere, Gaheris, Galahad, Tristan, Aglovale, Agravain, Bagdemagus, Baudwin, Brastius, Breunor, Caradoc, Colgrevance, Constantine, Dagonet, Daniel, Ector, Ector de Maris, Elyan, Galehaut, Galeshin, Geraint, Gingalain, Leodegrance, Lionel, Maleagant, Morien, Pelleas, Sagramore le Desirous, Safir, Segwarides, Tor, Ulfius, Uriens, Ywain and myself. We all drank from the chalice, and just like that we were eternal. Some decided to stay in Avalon, like Arthur, but more of us wanted to come back. Here. To see the progression of the world. The World Government had known about us since the dawn of time. Hell, I guess you could say we founded the World Government. Originally. Some os us became soldiers. Joined different nations. Branched out. Helped make and win wars. Men of power. What else were we good for? As time went on the people of the new ages didn’t want peace. Not like we fought for. They just wanted control. More powers and bombs and guns. They liked it. I guess things have calmed down, but that thirst for blood is still there. Just barely tamed now. My life has become simpler, ever since I quit serving men of power. The last time I worked with the World Government is when they asked me to kill Kennedy. Now, normally whenever I told that story I used to tell who was ever listening to ask Lyndon Johnson. That he’d give them the scoop. It was a joke, of course. Johnson didn’t remember a thing. That was, after he had his memory wiped. I remember when I was called into that room. They had Johnson sitting down with some other shadowy heads. And that was when they proposed killing off John. Now, I had been close with John for a time. I knew about him and Miss Monroe. I didn’t think it mattered much. All my colleagues seemed to think so. And the instant they brought up me killing Kennedy, Lyndon lost it. So they put him on a sedative, mixed his brain around and sent him on his way. They had me on so much medication back then. I would of done anything they said. And I did. I killed John F. Kennedy under the instruction of leaders far more powerful than him. And that’s how that whole song and dance goes. After I snapped out of whatever they had me on I knew working with these people was out of the question. This was the final straw. I should have seen them going for Miss Monroe. I guess I wasn’t invited to that meeting. Some of the world knows what happened, but no one will say anything. No justice will come to those responsible. For a time it seemed as if the only people that existed were those who enjoyed stepping on others and those who enjoy being stepped on. I will admit, I floated around the Prohibition and bootlegging scene for a while, but that life just wasn’t for me. I worked in some fractions against Al Capone, but I never went far with that kind of life. I couldn’t move in or adapt to that old Italian ideology. The mafia wasn’t my thing, but it paid well-enough. I messed my ties over the decades anyways. I guess moving down from the government and joining up with the mob wasn’t exactly a good transition, but I needed money and their benefits were the best. That was until the day I found myself out on a contract and sitting behind a fella named Henry Hill. I was told to put a bullet in his head and be on my way. It wasn’t like I was gonna get caught. But something about the whole thing just took me back to John and how I felt then. So I botched the hit and left the killing business. I suppose the sixties and eighties were kind of darks times for me. Thinking back to an older age, I think the two people I could consider my greatest friends were Arthur Doyle and Erik Weisz. That is, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the man who came to be known as Harry Houdini. I met Arthur after he had come out of Medical School. Arthur and Harry met in 1920 and I tended to lean more toward Arthur as the years went on. The three of us used to have some adventures, I’ll tell you what… but things changed. I was devastated after Harry passed. Wish I could of done something. And one day Arthur stopped answering my letters. I never made any attempt to reconnect, honestly. A new age was approaching and I guess it was just one of those times I had to transition or get lost in the nostalgia of the last few decades. The few people who know about me, who know what I am, usually ask if I had ever met Tolkien. Malcom Little and Andy Warhol in particular. I don’t know why they were so interested in that. As I’d always tell them I was never a big fan of the man. I enjoyed The Hobbit, yet couldn’t stand The Lord Of The Rings. I could never understand it. Plus, there was that whole thing with C.S. Lewis. Personally, I think Tolkien secretly beat Lewis over the head with a bible until he gave into his beliefs. Believe me, I knew Lewis. He was a great guy, but he was impressionable. A frustrated youth who tried to give off a confident outward appearance. Tolkien just kind of beat down on him, always coming off like some cocky spiritualist. He tried to act superior and rain inescapable truths on an unsuspecting Lewis. Sure, I knew Tolkien was correct. And that Christ had walked the Earth and all the mythical phenomenon was true, but still. The way he went about it made me… uneasy. Though, I may have to blame myself for Lewis’ transformation. Meeting me, there was no denying the presence of god. But, what neither of them could never understand was… even I doubted the truths behind the Bible. Yes, we drank from the chalice, but there was still so much more Arthur and I never knew. So much more I feared would never be answered. Tolkien and Lewis became content with whatever little they knew and eventually stopped seeking answers. I think that is what drew me to Charles Darwin. Now, there was a brilliant man. A little assertive, but brilliant nonetheless. The only man I ever met to match his scientific brilliance, but in the form of musical brilliance, was Ludwig Van Beethoven. I was in love with his music. Even helped him out a little in the beginning, until he got his bearings. I have to say, I do blame myself for his hearing. In his advanced years we used to fence. Though, I’m not sure it was called fencing in this days… anyway. One of my most automatic combat techniques was always leading into a swing bringing decapitation. One too many hits to the side of the head and in the ears I think cost him his hearing. Still, he didn’t blame me. I last saw him in 1816. After that I went back to drifting around, as I had before relocating to France the following year. You want to hear a funny story? Did you know Edwin Booth, brother of John Wilkes Booth, saved the life of Robert Todd Lincoln, Abraham Lincoln’s son? Interesting right? Edwin had caught and pulled Robert up after he had fallen between the platform and a moving train. In fact, it was said that Edwin received a letter in the following months thanking him. I personally witnessed this event. I didn’t get involved though. The platform was so crowded at the time, I could have barely noticed. Still, it was quite the feat. So, I’m sure you could image my surprise when Wilkes assassinated Abraham. Looking back on it… I think something was up. Like the two incidents and those involved were more connected than people let on. Wilkes was a Confederate sympathizer. Funny story… I took the bastard in that night. At this time I was living in this small cottage out on those little range in Washington. He stood with me for a few days. He told me he was a drifter looking for work. He didn’t do me any harm and after he was well on his way he headed on down to Virginia. A few days later the Union soldiers got to him. And good for them, I say. I think my life has been fulfilling enough. Not many people can say they’ve sat, smoked cigars and discussed warfare with Winston Churchill while bombs raged about. And not many living individuals can tell of the days they sat in chess matches against the magnificent Alexander Alekhine. And beat him devastatingly once. No. No one believes the word of an eternal who almost captured the heart of the lovely Miss Earhart. Or how said eternal sunk into unending depression as she disappeared into the sky. Yes, I have lived a full life. I only wonder at what time in the future, past eons and uncounted millennia, that it will all finally end. Perhaps… it never will.