Sugarcane

You collapse on a pile of blankets. Your wife throws herself across you, showering you with kisses.\n\n"How am I so lucky," she cries, "That my husband alone should be the one to return from battle?"\n\n"I don't know," you say. Your voice sounds distant in your ears.\n\n"Are these your scars?" she asks, tracing a line across your chest. "Have they healed so quickly?"\n\nYou watch as she explores the scars on your chest and arms. Her lips are pressed together and her brows are lowered. "They've healed so fast," she says again.\n\nThen she picks one-- a long, jagged mark reaching from your collarbone to your navel. "How did you earn this one, my husband?"\n\n[[Lie to her about how you got the scar.|lie one]]\n[[Tell her the horrible truth.|truth one]]

The ashes drifting from the campfires of the Sorcerer-King's numberless hordes have already stained the battlefield's turf a shade of corpseflesh-grey.\n\nYou and your fellow soldiers stand uneasy at the edge of the treeline, in numb realization of your folly. Your force is less than a hundred strong; the horde across the plain is too vast to even count.\n\nBut the fear of disgrace is too great. That night, the men of your village sit around the fire, readying their gear with automatic motions.\n\nWhen you close your eyes, you can see your wife stretched bleeding in the ruins of the burning town. When you wake in the morning, you have hardly rested... but the Sorcerer-King's army stands already in their battle-lines.\n\nThe oldest soldiers among you face the enemy with impassive expressions. They have found deep reserves of bravery and honor in the face of certain death.\n\n[[When your forces charge, you hang back and seek an escape.|dishonorable charge]]\n[[You vow to meet death like these veterans do.|honorable charge]]

You claw at the ground, but the tongues unfurl from your scars and walk you across the road like spiders' legs!\n\nThe door shatters. Walls collapse. Someone reaches for the knife beneath their pillow, but your scars are too quick for them!\n\nYou stagger into the road again. Now people are waking up, screaming, running from house to house. Someone sees you and stumbles backward in horror.\n\n"No," you shout, but they turn and run away. The scars hiss at them, and the tongues reach out blindly into the darkness.\n\nAcross the road, you see your father-in-law's hovel.\n\n[[Feed to dull the pain!|embrace destruction three]]\n[[Resist.|resist destruction three]]

Your wife recoils. You reach out to her, but she suffers your embrace unwillingly. When you try to reassure her, but the terror in her eyes frightens you more than the Sorcerer-King ever did.\n\nYou lie down in the corner, tug a blanket over yourself, and try to sleep. But the hovel is cold and unfriendly, and snakes seem to whisper from the shadows:\n\n"I have marked you! You are mine!"\n\n[[Time passes.|wake]]

You launch yourself through the air. You have more strength than you've ever felt before, and greater hunger.\n\nThe greasy tongues stretch and lash themselves to your neighbor's doorframe. The teeth chomp through wood. The tongues stretch and pull. Your fingers find cracks in the wood, and your arms bunch with muscle. The door shatters!\n\nYou snarl and leap into the hut. Soft bodies struggle beneath your feet, and someone gives a strangled scream. You feel your heart pump and your blood rush! You embrace your struggling victims, and the scars bury their teeth in flesh. The tongues reach up and crack the roofbeams. Cold air rushes in, and flames roar up!\n\nYou find yourself in the road, covered in slime and sweat. Your skin is smeared with blood. But the pain is returning... and across the road, there is another hut.\n\n[[Feed to dull the pain.|embrace destruction two]]\n[[Resist.|resist destruction two]]

You hurl yourself across the road. The tongues unfurl endlessly from your toothy scars. They spring you forward like a leaping spider!\n\nThe door shatters. Walls collapse. Someone reaches for the knife beneath their pillow, but you are too quick for them! Your scars feast on fresh human blood!\n\nYou stagger into the road again. Now people are waking up, screaming, running from house to house. Someone sees you and stumbles backward in horror.\n\nThe scars hiss at them, and you lick your lips, too. They do not have time to escape.\n\nAcross the road, you see your father-in-law's hovel.\n\n[[Feed to dull the pain!|embrace destruction three]]\n[[Resist.|resist destruction three]]

''The Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor\n\nBy Laura Michet\n\n//[["The whole of your body can be scarred..."|begin]]//''\n\n[img[death.jpg]]

There are no ruins, and no smoke. The village sits unharmed in the valley below you.\n\nYou hurry down the slope. By the time you reach the gates of the village, a crowd has gathered. Wives, fathers, mothers, and children see that you are alone and begin to wail.\n\nBut your father-in-law steps forward and grips you by the arm. He has lost two sons today, but you have survived.\n\n"You have returned to us," he says, with half a snarl. "Unharmed."\n\nYou look down. The cuts from the cursed sword are closed and dry, like thin lips pursed tightly.\n\n[[Tell the people the truth of your defeat.|tell the truth of defeat]]\n[[Lie to make the loss easier.|lie about defeat]]

As the others stand rigid and silent, you raise your father's sword and beat it upon your shield.\n\nTHUMP! THUMP!\n\nYou praise your gods of death and blood with a guttural cry, and soon the others join with you. As the sun burns the fog from the plain, you raise a defiant shout.\n\nAnd then the chant ends, and the moment comes. You lead the others in a charge across the battlefield!\n\n[[The battle is terrible to behold!|war]]

You stagger to your feet. By the light of the moon, you can see corpses and shattered armor scattered around you. Here and there, a face you recognize stares back, slackjawed and grey.\n\nYou drag yourself to the treeline. Under the branches, a handful of men from your village have gathered to bind their wounds. These are all the survivors.\n\nYou do not look one another in the eyes.\n\n[[Try to bring the others hope.|lurching home honorably]]\n[[There is no hope left.|lurching home dishonorably]]

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Before you can do anything, the Sorcerer-King knocks you on your back with a mailed fist. The Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor slices down toward your chest. The very air seems to scream in pain as the sword splits it!\n\nAt first, you do not feel the cuts that the Sorcerer-King inflicts upon your body. He does not wound to kill. He kicks you over with a spiked boot and jabs once, then again, and again!\n\nThe smell of burning flesh fills your nostrils. Your eyes fill with tears and blood. Above the wails of the dying, you hear the Sorcerer-King walking towards you, his boots clanking.\n\nBut he does not kill you. Instead, he knees on the bloody earth and whispers in your ear.\n\n"I have marked you," he whispers, with the voice like the hissing of a hundred snakes. "You are mine!"\n\n[[You force through the pain and leap to your feet!|honorable resurgence]]\n[[You wait facedown in the earth for death.|dishonorable wilting]]

There is no need to hunt them down.\n\nThe father-- you already bit him. Even at this distance, you see his own scar shining red on his shoulder.\n\nIn the morning, when they finally stop running, will he have already changed?\n\n[[the end]]

A cold wind rolls through the streets of the village, and you shiver. The moonlight touches you.\n\nYou look down. Across your chest and arms, the scars are opening. They yawn. They bare teeth. Long, greasy tongues loll out.\n\nAcid drool drips from your ravenous scars. They hiss like snakes. They hurt again, like new wounds. You double up and scream.\n\nThese scars are driving you mad with pain!\n\n[[What's happening??|attack one]]

Your wife throws herself into your arms, and the whole village gathers to celebrate your return. \n\nMen who disrespected you before now bring you horns full of mead. The children of your enemies are eager to polish your sword. Your wife heaps your trencher with meat.\n\nYou respond with toasts to the dead. But you feel drained and empty, like a corpse left to hang. Split faces and When no one watches, your hands are drawn to the scars on your body. What curse did the sword bring?\n\nYour father-in-law watches you from across the hall. He does not smile or cheer. And when you toast, he remains seated.\n\n[[The night ends. You retire to your hut with your wife.|spousal reunion]]

You urge the others to hurry onward. "We must protect the village," you remind them. "The Sorcerer-King may already be there!"\n\nBut the others' eyes are glazed and unfocused. They are pale and weak. You urge two of the strongest to stand and follow you. For a while you walk together through the woods. But soon you realize that you cannot hear their steps. And when you turn around, they are gone.\n\nWhat gives you strength when the others fall? You alone fell beneath the cursed sword. You felt its slashes.\n\nBut can you feel them now?\n\nYou put a hand on your chest. No blood seeps from your wounds. In a clearing, you inspect your cuts by the light of the moon. \n\nBut they are closed and sealed already.\n\n[[You must continue home.|reception at home]]

You kiss your wife on the forehead and heft your shield over your shoulder.\n\nThough she weeps on your threshold, her tears are proud.\n\nYou march with vigor and enthusiasm. Even the hardiest veterans are impressed by the force of your will.\n\nSoon the rising firesmoke of the Sorcerer-King's numberless hordes blocks out the sun. The battlefield is not far ahead.\n\n[[Your forces camp and prepare for war.|battlefield]]

The oldest soldiers strike their leather shields with the flats of their swords.\n\nTHUMP! THUMP!\n\nThey praise your gods of death and blood with a guttural cry, and you follow along with a whisper. They raise a defiant shout, but you wish to sink into the earth.\n\nAnd then the chant ends, and the moment comes. First one dashes toward the enemy lines, then another. Then they all rush into the jaws of death, howling fierce obscenities!\n\nBut you hang behind, loping along in the rear, cowering behind your shield.\n\n[[The battle is terrible to behold!|war]]

War is a cyclone of blood and bronze.\n\nNow and then, you catch moments of clarity. An enemy face contorted by rage splits beneath your sword. It falls to the ground, and you realize it was a painted war-mask. Behind it, a man's dazed face shines with wet blood.\n\nDazed, you suffer blow after blow on the flat of your shield. Your arm aches. You stagger. You lose sight of your friends in the crowd.\n\nFor a moment, the glare of sun off burnished armor blinds you. You shield your eyes with an arm... and see the Sorcerer-King standing before you, in all his spiked and skull-studded glory!\n\nAnd above his head he hoists a jagged blade carved with ancient runes-- the Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor!\n\n[[You throw yourself heedlessly at him-- your life for glory!|wounding]]\n[[You shrink away from the cursed sword!|wounding]]

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Your father curses you and throws your supper in the fire. He threatens to throw his sword in as well, but you are overcome by the fear of disgrace.\n\nYou promise to go to war with the others, but they have heard of your cowardice. You hang behind the others, marching with heavy feet.\n\nBehind you, your wife holds back tears of sorrow and shame.\n\nSoon the rising firesmoke of the Sorcerer-King's numberless hordes blocks out the sun. The battlefield is not far ahead.\n\n[[Your forces camp and prepare for war.|battlefield]]

Your people have gone three years without paying tithes to Warlord Mumtaz, Sorcerer-King of the Ashen Waste.\n\nThe bushels you should have sent him go instead into the hungry mouths of babes.\n\nThe babes sicken and die, and the bushels rot in the granary. Old men say that the Sorcerer-King has cursed the village's harvest.\n\nWhen the northern sky turns dark with the smoke of hostile campfires, the men of your village gather their bronze swords and leather shields.\n\nYour newlywed wife weeps over the hearth, as if you are already dead.\n\n[[You dutifully march to war with the others.|honorable]]\n[[You search for an excuse to stay home.|dishonorable]]

CREATED FOR MOLYJAM 2013\nSAN FRANCISCO, USA\n\n"The whole of your body, except for your private parts, can be scarred. You are clothed most of the time, but not in front of your wife, and not when you swim, either. Don't forget, it's the emotion of being scarred."\n\nBy [[Laura Michet|http://www.lauramichet.com]]

You lurch through the burning wreckage of your village, averting your eyes from the faces of the dead.\n\nSlowly, the scars close. The tongues reel themselves back in. You fall to your knees, a normal man once more.\n\nBut across the road, by the treeline, you see two familiar figures: your wife and her father. They are hurrying toward the undergrowth. Your wife turns to look over her shoulder.\n\n[[I chase them down.|kill]]\n[[I do not need to chase them.|live]]

Long after midnight, you startle awake.\n\nThe blankets are drenched in sweat. Your wife is huddled on the other side of the room, her back turned toward you.\n\nYou stand. Your skin seems to itch all over.\n\n[[You seek the breeze outside.|outside]]

"The Sorcerer-King of the Ashen Waste," you say, in a weak and strangled voice. "He cut me there, with the Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor."\n\nYour wife pulls back. Her face is pale. She rubs her hands together, as if to rub the touch of you off them.\n\n"What does that mean?" she asks. "Are you cursed?"\n\n[["No."|sexy times]]\n[["Maybe."|cursed sexy times]]\n[["I don't know."|cursed sexy times]]

Your scars lick their lips. It only takes one bite on each of your prey to leave a scar of your own.\n\nIn the morning, when they finally stop running, will they have already changed?\n\n[[the end]]

With a roar, you rise up on your elbow and force the hilt of your sword into the Sorcerer-King's neck. He gasps and staggers back!\n\nYou rise slowly to your feet, dripping blood and sweat. You bare your teeth, and show the Sorcerer-King that you will not be beaten like a dog!\n\nThe Sorcerer-King raises the Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor once more, but you see a change in his glittering eyes. He takes a step back.\n\n"It matters not," he says. And then he turns, and vanishes into the chaos of battle.\n\nYou sway and collapse to your knees. Your vision darkens.\n\n[[You wake with the moon high in the sky.|the aftermath]]

You cover your head with your hands and wait for death.\n\nBut above you, the Sorcerer-King only laughs. He kicks you again, and you roll across the earth, limp and helpless. Then you hear his clanging footsteps move away.\n\nYou lie like a corpse and listen as your friends gurgle their death-sighs in the dirt around you. You hear the Sorcerer-King's soldiers looting from the dead.\n\nYou grow cold and numb, and lose track of time. \n\n[[You wake with the moon high in the sky.|the aftermath]]

"We were outnumbered," you say, "but our brave men drove them back. They were shocked to see the fury of our retaliation."\n\nThe villagers around you murmur and nod. Their tears begin to dry.\n\n"Your husbands and sons fought valiantly," you shout. "We turned the Sorcerer-King back, but at great cost."\n\nYour father-in-law gives you a strange look. He seems to see through you. "You are covered in blood," he says, "but your wounds are closed. What has happened?"\n\nYou have no answer for him.\n\n"Never mind," he says, and forces a smile. "You must see your wife. We must celebrate your return."\n\n[[Your village throws you a feast.|honorable celebration]]

The Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor

You try to turn away-- but your scars have other plans.\n\nThe greasy tongues stretch and curl around neighbor's doorframe. The teeth chomp through wood. The tongues stretch and pull. The door cracks open!\n\nThough your arms and legs hang limp and weak, the tongues reach out on their own and seize flesh. Someone gives a strangled scream and hurls a torch, but a tongue reaches out to snatch it. Others reach out to crack the roofbeams. Cold air rushes in, and flames roar up!\n\nYou find yourself in the road, covered in slime and sweat. Your skin is smeared with blood. But the pain is returning... and across the road, there is another hut.\n\n[[Feed to dull the pain.|embrace destruction two]]\n[[Resist.|resist destruction two]]

Your wife smiles nervously. "He cannot curse you, anyway," she says. "Since you beat him."\n\n"I did," you agree. You kiss her, and roll together across the furs.\n\n[[Time passes.|wake]]

"A mighty warrior, tall as a tree, hit me there with his shield," you say. "He tried to knock me to the ground, but I was too strong for him."\n\n"Of course you were," your wife says.\n\nYou kiss her, and roll together across the furs.\n\n[[Time passes.|wake]]

Shortly before dawn, the others stand and begin to walk through the woods. You follow in the rear, hiding your face from the morning sun.\n\nYour despair consumes you. Again and again you see your wife bleeding to death beneath the spiked boot of the Sorcerer-King, the cursed sword raise above her. This vision seems more real than the forest around you.\n\nWhen you finally tear your mind away and look around, you realize that the others are missing. The trail is empty ahead and behind. The others must have fallen by the wayside.\n\nYou feel sick. What gives you strength when the others fall? You alone fell beneath the cursed sword. You felt its slashes.\n\nBut can you feel them now?\n\nYou put a hand on your chest. No blood seeps from your wounds. In a clearing, you stop to inspect your cuts. \n\nBut they are closed and sealed already.\n\n[[There is nothing to do but continue home.|reception at home]]

"A mighty swordsman slashed at me," you say. "But I leaped backwards, and only the tip of his sword caught me."\n\nYour wife puts on a frightened look, then smiles. "It only barely cut you," she says. "You must have been so quick!"\n\nThen she finds another scar-- a shallow groove running across your belly. Her fingers tickle.\n\n"What about this one?" she asks. "How did you get this one?"\n\n[[Lie to her about how you got the scar.|lie two]]\n[[Tell her the horrible truth.|truth one]]

"One of their war-dogs lunged at me," you say. "The tip of his fang scraped me there."\n\nYour wife giggles. "You moved like lightning on the battlefield," she says.\n\nThen she rolls you on your stomach, kneading the aching muscles in your shoulders. Then she stops and traces another line, from your neck to the middle of your back.\n\n"And what about this one?" she asks. "How did this happen?"\n\n[[Lie to her about how you got the scar.|lie three]]\n[[Tell her the horrible truth.|truth one]]

The greasy tongues lash your skin. The teeth chomp and drool. You stagger into the street, trying to hold the scars closed, but they gnaw on your fingers. When they bite, the pain dulls.\n\nThe greasy tongues stretch. They rip the railings from the fence beside the road and champ them into splinters!\n\nIt helps. You stagger towards the neighbors' hut.\n\n[[Feed to dull the pain.|embrace destruction one]]\n[[Resist.|resist destruction one]]

In the end, you close your eyes. Your scars do as they will. You hear screams, and feel flames against your face. But it is far beyond you to stop the scars left by the Cursed Sword of Shagganuthor.\n\nThe tongues are stilled. They hold you upright in the middle of the road. You crack an eye open and look down. There is hardly anything left of yourself to recognize.\n\nOnce, you wondered: why didn't Warlord Mumtaz the Sorcerer-King send his army to punish your village? Why didn't he knock the hovels down and burn them?\n\n[[You understand now that he did not need to.|see]]

You lunge toward the house. Your tongues tear the door from its hinges. People scatter below you, but you do not heed them. The scars feast on wood, on stone, and on flesh!\n\nThe tongues are stilled. The slap and slither on the dusty road. You look down, but there is hardly anything left of yourself to recognize.\n\nOnce, you wondered: why didn't Warlord Mumtaz the Sorcerer-King send his army to punish your village? Why didn't he knock the hovels down and burn them?\n\n[[You understand now that he did not need to.|see]]

Your father-in-law watches you from across the hall. He does not smile or cheer. And when you toast, he remains seated.\n\n[[The night ends. You retire to your hut with your wife.|spousal reunion]]

Laura Michet

"We stood no hope," you say, your voice cracking. "They outnumbered us, more than ten to one. More than twenty. It was a fool's fight. There was no honor in it."\n\nAround you, the people grow silent. They give you hateful glares for cheapening their loved ones' deaths.\n\nYour father-in-law gives you a strange look. He seems to see through you. "You are stained with blood," he says, "but your wounds are closed. What has happened?"\n\nYou have no answer for him.\n\n"Never mind," he says, and forces a smile. "You must see your wife. We must celebrate your return."\n\n[[Your village throws you a feast.|dishonorable celebration]]