Sundren Short Story Contest

[Leaving Hope]

Best Short Story Contest

I will be judging a short story/letter (under 3000 words) contest. Stories should be written by your character to inhabitants of Sudren, as if recalling a tale, writing a letter or book, etc. If your character is illiterate, they can tell a story instead.

The winner will receive 1000 XP and 5000 stags for the character used.

Please post your short stories here.

[The Ice Hag]

"Surely you must wonder what circumstances brought you to this point my child?" the hag spoke. Her hand caressed the mans face, her talon's lightly scratching the tender flesh of his neck.
The winds howled as the storm raged overhead, drowning out the whimpers of the man who laid before her. "There, there my child." she spoke softly. "No need for such tears, they shall only serve to weaken your resolve."
She tightened the leather straps that held the man in place, his naked form exposed to the numbing cold.

"You do not understand why it is I have chosen you for such an honor?" "Perhaps you cannot even fathom your importance, but, in the end, it truly matters little."

Braghuru stood, reaching her hand for the blessed dagger the Mother had bestowed upon her. Her tongue ran the length of its blade, drawing droplets of blood with its passing.
"Have you ever served the will of a god my sweet?" she asked. "Have you ever known their embrace, their unending love?"

"The mother chose to save me, to use me, to grant me enlightenment." she spoke, as if in a trance. "I am the harbinger of the mother's fury, the instrument she shall use to unleash the eternal winter upon this land, and you, my child, shall be the sacrifice that grants her blessing."

The man attempted to cry out, to scream for help, but without a tongue his words merely came out garbled and incomprehensible.
Braghuru plunged the dagger down, piercing the mans breast and puncturing his heart, blood erupted from his mouth as his body grew colder, assisted by the divine magics held within the blade.

Her hand grasped the symbol from around his neck, jerking it forward and breaking the gold clasp that held it in place.
Holding the symbol before her, she watched as the blood crystalized across the engraving of a gloved fist and it's ever watchful eye.

"A fitting omen for the temple of Helm." She thought to herself as she made her journey into the city-state of Sundren.

The symbol would be found in the coming days, tacked to the entrance of the Temple, a warning of the approaching storm.

LH: (+250 in-game XP)

[Kangleton]

"Do not whisper to the wind,
For wind winds far and deep,
Deep down into the shadow land
Where evil creatures sleep.
The echo of thy uttered word
Can wake them, make them creep!

Do not whisper to the wind,
For seething monsters hear;
The winds will carry monologues
To meet their careful ears,
And they will rise up from their tombs
To plague the world with fear.

Do not whisper to the wind
For demons know, they say,
Where rests thy sleepy, pretty head
When darkness swallows day,
And in the night they’ll come on thee
And steal thy soul away!

Do not whisper to the wind,
For evil’s waiting there
With anxious claws and open ears
Just listening to the air.
And waiting for a foolish child
To whisper unaware.

Do not whisper to the wind,
For beasts come leather skinned
With eyes aglow in sickly hue
And figures tall and thinned.
Thou may not, shall not, cannot
Ever whisper to the wind!"

The men, women, and children sat around the fire with open-mouths, barely even able to form the smiles that would display their anticipation to hear the story. It had felt like the longest of times since the events actually took place, but all the same, the townsfolk loved to hear the story, always opened with the same poem. Without further delay, Karthus began to tell the tale.


"There are two varieties of failures in this life, my friends; those who thought and never acted, and those who acted and never thought. Our story details one such man who had acted without thought, for you see, he whispered to the windin the darkness of the night. He whispered to the wind, with shadows creeping into sight. He whispered to the wind, and it was heard by a strong and silent might."

The listeners looked to Karthus with excitement, despite having already known what would come next, as they had heard the story over a dozen
times.

"It was the Mistress of the Night who waited patiently upon the wind, to hear thy uttered word. The Lady of Loss; The Dark Goddess; Shar, who’s only purpose is to unmake that which we all hold dear. Shar heard the man’s whispered words, and purred with a vicious, ugly happiness as she allowed for her plan to unfold, for in truth, it had already begun. You see, the whispering man revealed the location of what had been still and silent for many eras - he had found the keys to unlock the prison of Val’shi, though he knew not what he had uncovered. Rather than leaving alone that which he did not understand, the poor man breathed his tale into the ear of another, and from him, several more until the silent grip of death fell over him. But before you despair, my friends, know that it is better to lose a man to death, rather than to evil - he died for refusing to turn over what he had found into the hands of the foul Sharrites. Alas, regardless of his defiance, the church of Shar attained what they had sought from his mangled corpse."

The audience always broke the silence at this part of the story, often through the voices of children. They would ask "Mr. Karthus, what happened then?" and "What did you do?", or something to that effect. The response was always the same.

"The problem with this realm is that fools and fanatics are always so sure of themselves, whereas the wise and intelligent are so full of doubts and hesitation. Decidedly not a fool or fanatic, though also not a doubtful, hesitant person, I entered the tale at the darkest of parts, though I was not alone. Standing with me was the great hero, Sir Cadmus of Helm, Z’huul of the Arcanus Liberus, Igneous Black of elemental heritage, and Hennek Helmsley of Torm. There was another, too, who arrives at a later time. Together, we formed the Circle of Six - the only true resistance against the uprising of Shar, and her then-imprisoned agent, Val’shi, who was coming nearer and nearer to freedom.

The keys to the dark one’s prison, one of which the dead man had discovered, were small, blue gems. The good and pure Abbot Orlan Proskus instructed the Circle that there were three of such stones, and we began our most difficult of searches as soon as the words escaped from his mouth. During our search, we lived by the ancient line of wisdom that refers to speech as silver and silence as gold, and thus we were very quiet in our search to ensure that we should not, could not, would not ever whisper to the wind. What we found though, was another pair of ears that rested upon the winds, open to all that would drift atop the stale airs of truth. The ears belonged to a seer who was called Morganus, and she was our single greatest ally - for a time. She told us where to find the remaining keys to the prison of Val’shi, and instructed us on how we might destroy them. But for all the information she gave us, it would never make up for her inevitable betrayal."

The audience begins to express their discontentment at the betrayal by booing and waving their hands about in offensive motions and gestures.

[Kangleton]

"Please, please... Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer, though nothing is harder than to understand her. Morganus acted not out of hatred, malice, or spite; she did not act out of greed, selfishness, or self-interest. The seer acted for change. You see, goodness exists only in contrast to evilness - without one, the other is undefined. One relies on the other to exist, and it is in this eternal conflict between the two that we grow, as people, and come to know who we are and who we’re going be. Life is about growth, and growth happens through change and experience; Morganus perceived herself to be performing a noble act by forcing change upon what she thought was an apathetic land. Even after her betrayal though, whether her motives were pure or not, the Circle persisted all the same. We never parted with our hopes, for without hope you shall continue to exist, but you will have ceased to live. The story continues.

With Morganus on his side, Val’shi became strong enough to project himself outside of the ancient prison that had detained him for so long. Making an appearance around every shadowed corner, it became unsafe to travel in or around darkness. Dark figures would tear themselves apart from the shadows from which they were produced, and they would roam freely throughout Sundren’s land, unable to be tracked or stopped, and they only continued to come. Even without a fully developed plan, the Circle of Six decided that the time for action had drawn decidedly too close to hesitate any longer. We assaulted the forces of Val’shi in the place that they had felt most at home; the Necropolis."

The assembled group of listeners and onlookers gasped and whispered amongst themselves, always shaken at the mention of such a dark place being within their own homeland.

"If injustice or evil is the only solution to combat a more detrimental form of evil, pick a form of injustice that you have not yet tried; at least this way you are to learn from the evils you are forced to commit. I had not yet committed theft, but it had been necessary at the time to steal from one of the temples, the materials that might be used to further the conflict against the Sharrites and Val’shi. With the needed tools in hand, our gathered forces marched to the gates of the house of undeath, and the fighting ensued.

Spells fell to and from the skies above, crashing and raining down upon both the living and the dead. Steel was struck against the decaying flesh of once-living men and women, tearing apart their limbs and torsos, only to have them keep advancing in greater and greater numbers. Blasts of darkness erupted all around us as we continued to press onwards, shadows tearing themselves from the walls only to claw at us with their surreal weapons and disturbingly expressionless faces. Despite the overwhelming odds, the combined forces of the Sharrites and Necropolis denizens could not hold us back, as we had struck with the sunlight at our aid. Managing to make our way through the winding paths of the gruesome and defiled memorials, the fighting did not let up even as we forced our way up the steps to the entrance of the foul structure. Without pause, though, we pushed our way through the enemy barricades and resistance, and proceeded through the narrow corridors of the Necropolis. Bearing torches, lanterns, and all manner of arcane and divine lights, we turned to face every shadow before it had an opportunity to spring from off the walls - our light kept them at bay, and on and on we went.

When at last our destination layed before us, and the final steps had been climbed, we realized quickly that victory was not yet ours. In the sacrificial chamber of the Necropolis stood Val’shi, somehow in corporeal form again. Despite his fear-inspiring presence, we knew that it meant only another chance to slay the evil once and for all. Having already destroyed the prison that he had fled to in order to preserve his life last time, once Val’shi was ended then and there, it would be the last that Sundren would ever see of him. Take away the flint that started the fire, and the fire will still burn, but should the fire burn out, it is much harder to restart it without the flint. The prison and keys were the flint, with Val’shi being the fire. The Circle of Six was the water.

The battle that raged on was of epic proportions, and many things transpired within that evil place that were sworn to never be mentioned again."

The audience sighs, disappointed, always hoping that they shall hear the mysterious conclusion, and always let down, left only to beg for the unseen climax.

"What is done is done, and know now that the world is a different place for it, and the Circle of Six is no more. Cadmus went on to do great things in the temple, as did Z’huul with the Arcanus Liberus. And I am left here, to tell you all what happened, so that you might take the tale and learn. After all, the wisdom of one generation is the common sense of the next - I have done my part in sharing the lesson with you, and now you all must come to learn from it. Never whisper to the wind."

Having listened so many times to the tale and it’s ending, the audience patiently awaited for the final poem, which they had, too, heard before.

"The world is different now,
Though still the seasons run.
The world is different now,
But bright still shines the sun.
How times have flown
And worlds have grown -
The breath of life has blown.

New life awaits
Beyond the gates
Parts of life, still unknown.

The age is new,
The time is true,
Give honor where it's due -

To Time itself,
And growth and health
And perseverance too."

Smiling to everyone gathered around the fire, Karthus gathers his affects and departs.

LH: (+250 in-game XP)

[Orlandu]

"We want a story! Tell us a story papa! A scary one! We promise we'll go right to sleep after! Yeah we promise!" The two brothers Marco and Duane pleaded, not quite ready to let go of their day yet.

Father Romeo smiled.

"Scary huh? Well... Let's see then." He said, fonily wrinkling his brow as if in deep thought.

"You know, I think I have just the one... It's about this Drow you see. Deep underground they live, you know? Very, very evil."

Marco and Duane giggled excitedly at each other, pulling their cover up to just under their noses.

"Alright then. Ahem." Romeo fonily cleared his throat, and proceeded with the story.

"Thul Rubrazar is a large, sphere shaped chamber, carved from the rock of a gigantic stalagmite."

"It lies somewhere in the Middledark."

"Life in Thul Rubrazar was truly not what it is anywhere else."

"Inhabited by approximately 300 drow in total, mixed sexes, they would all have shared this one chamber together."

"Here they would conduct and carry out every aspect of their lives in a crowded rabble, knowing no privacy nor shame."

"At any one time moans of pleasure, screams of agony, heated argument, merry laughter and cries of starved children would be heard within this domed structure."

"Animosity teemed."

"Imagine the decadence."

"It would truly have been a barbarous existence."

Romeo didn't sugarcoat the big words. He figured if he made his sons work their heads around them it would tire them quicker.

"Lolth the Spider Queen or any other of the drow pantheon would have been unheard of."

"All would unquestioningly serve the allmighty Emperor and Empress as their rulers and Gods."

"Kor was born the Emperor of the great dome of Thul Rubrazar."

"Elevated above the masses, upon a giant platform, He and His Empress were seated."

"There were no social structure to speak of."

"Merely that of God, Godess and lowly worshiper."

"The only duty and law was to Them, and to obey whatever vague and fickle command They would have in store for Their minions from day to day."

"Whether it was a command necessary for the sustenance of the colony, such as foraging for food and water, or if They were merely in the mood for staging a macabre play of death and murder...Their will be done."

"Naturally the Emperor and Empress would never leave this platform in fear of being exposed for what They truly were."

Marco and Duane had now pulled the cover up all the way over their heads, and they tickled each other and played excitedly underneath it, pretending they too were Drow and that they were in a cave of their own.

Romeo chuckled mildly, and couldn't help but to indulge the children in their games, tapping at the roof of their "cave" and drawing intriquate lines along it in a playfull manner.

"Humans!" The boys giggled, striking at wherever Romeo made his hand known.

"In order to survive Themselves They were waitred on by certain servants, kept close at all times, and held in check through fear and awe of the Emperor." He continued.

"That, and lobotomization."

"Loboto-What?" Duane asked, his meek voice muffled from underneath the cover.

"This in turn protected them from the masses, as their aloof nature was seen as punishment for displeasing the Gods, and as no one would wish to share their fate and tempt Their mercy, folk would steer clear of them, and indeed hold them in a reverance of a sort."

"They alone knew the secret passages leading to the platform from without the dome."

"But so, after two and a half centuries of relations with the same partner, the Empress' curiousity did get the best of her."

"One fateful night, Emperor Kor being fast asleep and heavily intoxicated, the Empress had Her most trusted servant lead a male and female of her choosing up to her from below, to endulge Herself and them in a act of "divine" pleasuring."

"Afterwards She had them both discarded, quite naturally."

"Naturally" Marco responded, attempting to sound mature in his voice, and he punched Duane on the shoulder.

"Oww... Papa!" Duane cried.

Romeo smiled, but simply continued.

"However, this brazen act of disloyalty would not escape Emperor Kor."

"Having spent every waking moment with each other for Their entire lifes, They knew each other too well."

"He would soon pick up on this having transpired, and in a wrathful frenzy of jeolousy He picked Her up and tossed Her from the platform into the murderous rabble below."

"The fall would break many bones in Her body, and She made Her pain plain to see as She screamed out aloud time and time again."

"Each of the approximately 300 drow, mixed sexes, now realized that they had been played the fool throughout their entire meaningless existences, and they descended upon her en masse, tearing and ripping her to pieces."

"Emperor Kor, still drunk with rage and disbelief, challenged "His" people to come and claim Him, and He ordered His mindless servants to lead them to Him through the secret passages."

"At the end of the carnage, Kor would be the last living drow of Thul Rubrazar."

"As such he set off into the vast Underdark, wandering aimlessly in search of a new purpose in life."

"He had a feeling his recent one would be difficult to top."

Romeo fell silent, listening intently for any signs of life.

He could hear snoring already.

"Duane" He thought to himself, smiling content.

Marco hadn't quite fallen asleep yet, managing to whimper out a "Night pa..." before he too tuckered in just mere seconds later.

LH: (+250 in-game XP)

[wangxiuming]

For Love with Evil

I was not always like this ... I did not always need to share a body, and with my son no less. Once, I had my own form, my own body - my own identity.

... and it was beautiful.

I remember the day I made the pact with my dark master. I didn't know who he was at the time, I was so naive - all I knew was a handsome man had asked me to the palace balcony. He opened my eyes to the world and whispered romantic secrets, forgotten legends in my ear - the stars, Selune herself shown more brightly than ever that night. And when his lips touched mine, and our tongues danced together - I knew that I would forever be under his spell.

Or so I thought.

I left the court behind, and spent the next month together in complete bliss. We travelled the untrodden roads by day, taking what pleasures we could afford from the villages we passed through. By night, we made love. I thought the ecstasy would last forever; it was a whirlwind, a maelstrom of passion, and frenzy, and unbridled desire and satisfaction.

And then, when he had my heart trembling in his dark hands, my fate intertwined with his own, he revealed to me his true nature. A monster from the hells, a devil, a nightmare ... the horror I felt, the disgust, the revulsion.

... and yet, it was tempered with something I could not explain - desire, lust, love. He told me he was leaving me, that I could not follow; where he walked, only destruction was left in his wake. He held me in his arms in a final embrace, and cradled me like a babe. I could not resist, I could not stand to be apart from him. I pleaded with him, begged on my knees, crumpled to the floor in a pathetic heap, desperately holding onto his arm - as if that would have stopped him.

And it was then that he turned to me, and looked into my soul. Perhaps he saw something there that even I didn't realize was there at the time. He whispered in my ear ...

"There is something you can do ... something we can do ... to ensure we never have to be apart again. Never again."

Never again. Those words rang in my mind, reverberated, echoing into my soul. Never again would we be apart... I agreed without a second thought. Still wrapped in his embrace, I looked up to him. He brought a hand up to push back my hair, and leaned in to brush his lips lightly across mine - lingering after, and we just stared into each others' eyes.

I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. He lifted a bloody claw to my eyes, and drew a crimson line from the top of my forehead, over my nose, down to my chin. All I could see were his eyes like fire, ablaze with intensity. And as I lost consciousness, waves of feeling washed over me. I knew I would be safe.

I woke up the next day ... and walked to the mirror. As I brushed my hair slowly, my eyes flashed a brilliant scarlet.

... I smiled.

LH: (+250 in-game XP)

[Landaren]

The night began like any other, with the sun setting off in the distance and the the moon taking it's place. The villagers had finished their daily chores and were now in the comfort and safety of their own homes.

It was the same routine every night, the cities Lord would come out check the streets and the guards then retire for the night himself. After returning to his home you could track his movements by the candle's lighting up each window he past. The Lord's mansion was large, indicating that he was a very rich man. He ruled most of these lands with a cruel hand, and the outlaying farmlands suffered many hardships because of this. They were
forced to turn over much of their crops to the nobles each year, and were left with just enough food to survive.

That night a young boy’s father became ill. His sickness left him unable to tend to his farm, and the only one he could rely on was his son. The young boy toiled away in the fields day in and day out, but he was inexperienced and had only done what his father told him in years past. The task before his was nearly impossible, time slowly past and each day was a new nightmare for the boy.

As harvest time approached his fathers condition became worse, and the boy spent less time tending the fields and more time tending to his father. On the day of the harvest the child went out, leaving his fathers bedside and gathered what little food he had managed to grow. The boy thought to himself that with the amount of food he managed to gather they would survive the winter at least. Little did he know the lands Lord had other plans in store, one week after harvest day the Lord sent his men down to the farms to gather food for the nobles. They traveled from farm to farm, filling up their carts as they pleased. Until they arrived at the boy's farm they had gotten everything they had wanted. They looked around at the sorry state the farm lands were in and wondered if it had been abandoned.

Two of the soldiers move their way to the farm house. As they get closer to the door they hear the sounds of a child crying. Some time in the night the boy's father had passed from this life, and left his child alone in the world. The soldiers enter into the home and after seeing the dead body of the boy's father they decide to take everything they could carry.
Valuable, the harvest, everything. The young boy tried to resist them, but was struck to the ground. The force of the blow knocked the boy unconscious, he lay there for the rest of the day. Some time that night the child woke up, his head throbbing in pain he stumbles to his feet. His home was destroyed there was no food, and he had nothing to sell in order to even buy any. His future looked grim, he felt as though he had no future.

He traveled towards the city, following the same path his father had always taken him into town with. After some time he arrived at the large bridge the lead into town. Below this bridge was a violent river the current was swift, and the rocks were known to be sharp. The child looked over the edge of the bridge, considering his future. The child climbs up on the edge of the bridge, looking down he only hopes his death will be swift.

Just before the child jumps a man grabs the child by the arm and pulls him down. He says to the child "Boy, dying is easy. It's living that is hard" It is hard to see the mans face with the sun to his back, his hood casting a shadow over the rest of his face. Hearing the mans words the boy begins to cry. He tells the man his story, of how he had lost everything and had nothing left to live for. He drag the child off the bridge, heading into town in the direction of the inn. They both enter the inn and take a seat at a table near the window.

The hooded figure look the child, he saw in him some strength and he felt he could work with this child. The man tosses a coin at the child’s face the throw is quick, it came without warning. The boy manages to dodge the coin barely, he looks at the man wondering why he would do something like this. He reply to the boy it was a test, one that he had past. The man orders them both a meal, he tells the child to eat up, and that they have a long journey ahead of them the next day. Finishing their meals the two head up to bed, the child drift off to sleep wondering where this journey would take him.

As the new day dawned the sun began to rise and the moon dimmed out. The boy set out with the hooded man, he had nothing to lose at this point. He asked the man for his name, the hooded man turned to the child and looked him in the eyes. He tells the child “From today forward you may call me Master”
LH: (+250 in-game XP)

[ThePaganKing]

A Life

*Elric sits and ponders the years that have gone by, the good times and the bad times. He sighs, then smiles, reaching for a gold chased piece of Vellum and his favorite quill. Elric begins to write*

I had always loved music, it was my first and will be my last passion. The pity was, I was so very good at it. At the age of five I was playing for the nobles houses throughout Neverwinter, wearing silks and jewerly, singing and playing my favorite instrument, the flute. Ahhh, the pure notes that would waft up from my first lute, it could bring a tear to anyones eyes. It was one of the happiest times of my life, yet.....

At age 8 I began to grow, outstripping most of the children my age. When I turned the age of 14, I started to realize the effect I had on girls and women. When I played my lute, I seemed to hold them in the palm of my hand, seemed to control them as the puppeteers did with their puppets with many strings. At the time I did not know the power I controlled nor how this power could destroy!

The affairs began when I turned fifteen. Many of the nobleman's daughters were enamered and showered me with gold, jewerly, and love. I had many a romp in places one would not consider fitting for a noblewoman. It was a heady time, intoxicating, exciting and dangerous at the same time, for if the noblemen found out about the many affairs, I would definitely be killed!

And then she came into my life! I was just sixteen and full of life, love, and ignorance. She was the wife of one of the leading nobles of Neverwinter, beautiful, intelligent, and very, very young. Married to an older man and completely unhappy. The affair happened by accident, but bloomed into intense passion, love...we were oblivious of all around us.

My love for her was so intense, I began to throw caution to the wind and cared not for all else. I published poetry in her name, under a pseudonym of course, but many knew who it was:

Cupids arrow, flashed from afar, flowers blossom, a door comes ajar.
Prancing horses, winter's sleigh; dashing forward, come what may.
Searing features, crossing stars, a bold assertion, a heartfelt scar!
Past performance, futures gain; present feelings set the game.
The cloven minstrel lies in wait; sets a course and waves his bait.

Will the choir sing out their praise,
And raise the all confusing haze.
Setting alight a blaze so fair,
Conquering the demons in their lair,
Setting a course for passions shore,
And bringing home a gift of more...,
Nymphs a running by the score,
Telling of mans hidden lore,
Which seems to grasp me more and more,
Within its cloying tendrils,
Whispering, calling for loves many score.

The affair lasted for a year. The only reason it lasted that long was due to her husband's absence on diplomatic matters. Yet, he had heard the rumors and when he returned, he found out the truth and his rage was uncontrollable. He set out to not only strip me of my passion, music, but destroy my very soul!

I was stripped of all my possessions, put in chains, and had my hands crushed, so that I could never play music again. I was then chained to a wall and had to watch as the bastard squeezed the life from my love!

With mangled fingers, I attempted to leave an epitath for my love in my jail cell, scribbled with a bit of rock, before they came for me:

A lake in summer,
Cool under the surface,
Yet,
Warmer as you near the air,
The air, warm, inviting, familiar,
Like a spring rain,
Or a ray of sunshine,
Beaming down its divine guidance,
Onto the listener,
Heart attuned,
To,
The beating of another.

They came for me, yet, what they did to me was probably worse than death. They placed me in broken and rent armor, strapped a shield to my arm, and gave me a rusted sword and strapped it to my almost useless hand. It seems I was to be fodder, an expendable soldier in the armies of Neverwinter. Oh, but they did not know the power within my soul, the power within my mind, the power of magic that had lain latent until this moment!

To everyones surprise, I did SURVIVE! Through magics I did not know I had possessed, I began to slowly heal my hands. I dived into my role as warrior and killed. I fought like a demon possessed, bearing witness to the most brutal conflicts of Neverwinter's history. And I did SURVIVE......

I escaped the Neverwinter army after one savage battle that left little standing but me and a scared, weathered tree. I was grievously wounded, yet fled the field of slaughter, bandaging my wounds as best I could as I moved farther and farther from Neverwinter.

*As Elric puts down his quill, he remembers one last thing...........a Nobleman of Neverwinter lying in torment as magics assail his mind, casting fear throughout his being, imprisoning him in a cube of fear that he would never be able to escape.*

LH: (+250 in-game XP)

[Leaving Hope]

Please vote for the best short story above! The winner will receive 1000 XP to the character depicted in their story.