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With Wicked Intent
Jacen Balthazar
Custom Title:
The Bastard Son of Hades
Character Race:
Take a guess.
Wherever trouble brews, or is already overflowing
Character Portrait:
Character Portrait
Professor of Personal Thaumaturgical Design, Harker's Dueling and Defense Academy
I tried to keep it a secret.

I guess the problem with having a secret is you have to be the only one that knows it.

It all started when I was twelve, you see. It was just me and my mom then. My father...well, he'd never been around, and Mom never really talked about him. Which was fine with me...the two of us got along perfectly well.

But back to the first time.

So there I was, in a dark alley, surrounded by these gang-banger types. All of them had some sort of weapon, and there had to be at least twelve of them. As they closed in, I laughed as my vision turned red and I felt the anger taking over...

...okay, I'm kidding.

I was in my front yard, actually. Just an ordinary, peaceful summer night, laying in the grass, looking up at a crescent moon and wishing I was at my favorite swimming hole. Closing my eyes, I could hear the chirp of spring peepers, smell the mossy-sweet smell of the shoreline grasses, feel and taste the moisture on my tongue...

Imagine my shock when I sat up and was sitting next to - you guessed it - my favorite spot. I even slapped myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

What really made it bad is that my house was about eight miles away, and I had no idea how I got where I was.

It was a long walk back, in which I tried - unsuccessfully, again and again - to wish my way back home.

It's a good thing it was summer vacation. I got home around four in the morning, and since mom had to work, she didn't notice that I slept until noon.

If I had been older - and, admittedly, a bit more ordinary - I might have chalked it up to some weird imagining or dream.

But I was twelve, and far from ordinary. I just didn't know how far.

With a little bit of reading and some practice, I found out a few things.

The first was that I could teleport myself to anyplace I could envision.

The second was that having this particular power was a lot of fun.

The third was that bouncing from place to place wasn't all I could do.

The problem is...well, like I said, I wasn't the only one that knew I had a secret.

Imagine my surprise when I came home one find my house empty, except for a pair of duffel bags and an envelope containing a letter and a picture.

The letter was a shock, naturally.

But even at nineteen, I trusted my mom. She'd never tell me to do something that would get me killed.

I hope.

So I followed the instructions... I'm here.

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Wed Jun 29, 2011 2:56 pm
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It is better to be hated for what you are, than to be loved for what you are not.