Just so it's clear, the origin of Senga's accent is highlands Scottish.

Prologue

Life's Game

"Hurry up, will you?"

"You try carrying all the bleedin' chainmail! This stuff weighs a ton!"

"I told you, you didn't have to bring the real stuff, Senga! Just use a bit of knitting an' spray-paint it silver!"

"Oi! You said you wanted me to make you the real stuff, and you're gonna use it! 'ave you got the swords?"

"One broadsword for you, a flambard for Eric, an' my little Needle!"

"Did you really have to name it Needle?"

"You named your first sword Sting!"

Senga rolled her eyes as she hauled their packs out of the car and slammed the boot. Together they made their way across the rolling field, avoiding the bog at the bottom, and towards the large dormitory at the far end.

"This is seriously going to throw my back out." Senga grumbled as they pulled the bags up the steps and onto the porch.

"Aye, but tomorrow we'll be being variously eviscerated, incinerated, minced –"

"You forgot liquefied."

"– oh, yeah, an' liquefied, an' then you'll be right as rain!"

"You two here for the Cthulu game, then?"

"Yeah," Senga gave the bloke a raised eyebrow even as Natasha eyed him up and down. "What other game do you actively expect to be horribly killed in on a daily basis?"

"Oh, I dunno, I think I'll manage it on the D and D." He chuckled nervously.

"Well, if you want any help, we'll be here all weekend." Natasha offered, a devilish spark in her eye. The young man looked taken aback, but nonetheless pleased, nodding appreciatively until Senga cut him off.

"Yeah, an' in the meantime jog on, we've gotta check in."

Natasha shot her a glare as the young man fled inside the building.

"You know, you can be really rude sometimes!"

Senga made a movement that resembled a shrug and went back to tugging a bundle out of her bag. It was a bright purple sack with a small hole worn through near the draw-string top.

"Um, what's the point of a dry-bag if it's got a hole in it?"

"As a bag-of-holding-things!" Senga snapped sarcastically. "Anyway, you're going on about the hole: it's your bag."

"What?"

Natasha snatched it away and groaned loudly, the shouting match about whose fault it was lasting all the way through reception and up to their rooms. Senga slammed the door when she got there and threw the bag on her bed. God, why was it she insisted on going LARPing with Natasha? Her second cousin was one of the few people who really could dive her up the wall. One might have thought their shared passion for role-playing and a good laugh would've brought them together, but somehow they always clashed. It was fun when they got into the game proper, but Senga knew she wouldn't have peace until she was back with her Great Uncle.

"So, we'll camp here for the night and see what the ides of dawn hold."

"Right. What's for dinner?"

"Magically reconstituted mashed potatoes." Senga chucked Natasha the packet and went down the hill to fetch water in a pan. It had been a good day, everything considered. They'd only lost half the investigators to an acid trap and had actually managed to retrieve the book they were looking for. Natasha was being the flirt and as unhelpful as ever, but for the minute Senga could laugh with her.

At the stream, she breathed in deeply. The night was starting to settle in and the smells of the highlands drifted through the forest; fresh smells, sharp smells. They soothed her in ways she could barely hope for anywhere else. Like she was in a story; an epic of her own. Lovingly she fingered the curved short-sword hidden in her belt. Technically it was illegal to carry a real one – actually, come to think of it, it was probably illegal to own a realone, but she wasn't going to use it in the LARP. She just felt better with it there, that's all. Like the real arrow she had in her quiver of foam ones. It felt more reassuring than the patched up broadsword on her back, anyway, but after all it was just a game.

No harm ever really came from playing a game.

She opened her eyes and let loose a sigh she hadn't noticed building up. Shaking her head to rid it of the sudden irrational disappointment, she made her way back up the hill with the water.

"You took your time. Thought you must have been ambushed by the DM by now."

"No," Senga shook her head and sighed dramatically. "Much to general disappointment, I'm still alive."

She set the pan on a metal stand someone had provided over the fire (and which she suspected was originally a cake rack) before sitting leisurely against a tree.

"Don't s'pose anyone's got any wine?"

Natasha looked at Senga expectantly.

"What? I haven't got any."

"Seriously? You who got pinged at that high school for having vodka in a water bottle?"

Senga nearly fell backwards. With the speed of a striking snake, she got to her feet and glowered at her cousin, resisting with all her might the urge to throw something heavy.

"No, I don't." She snapped.

"You snuck in vodka in a water bottle?"

One of the boys in their party gave her a look which tried to hide shock and disapproval behind curiosity, but didn't quite manage it. The look made her want to spit.

"Yeah, and weed." Natasha supplied without missing a beat. The mood around the circle of firelight could've been summed up in one word: stunned.

"Cool!" Another of the boys actually looked impressed, and that just made things unimaginably worse. The boy who had spoken before cast him a look of undisguised disgust. Natasha was confused – mainly because she lived in a small town where it was strange not to have encountered cannabis, as also due to her inability to keep track of what came out of her mouth. It hit her a moment later as Senga stared at her, unable to keep the betrayal from her eyes. Natasha cowered slightly, even as a stream of defences burst from her, guilt washing across her face.

Unbidden, the image of the principal when he read the report her teacher came up with after the vodka incident swam before her eyes. The report that had her addiction in it, and her father.

A wave of loathing hit her like a blowtorch.

Defensive, but guilty and…pitying.

It filled her up like a black tide, eating at her until the words were forced up.

"You all have a problem with that?" She challenged, voice barely above a growl. "Go fuck yourselves."

Natasha's voice followed her through the trees, but she was well gone. She walked for what must have been miles through the thick forest, losing her friend as easily as the sounds of whispering behind her. Silence crowded down, yet still she walked. She'd probably gotten herself stupidly lost, but right then she couldn't care less. All she wanted was to get away; to find some distance between her and real life.

Fuck.

She'd thought she was past it, thought she was separate, but oh no! It was like a ghost that followed her around, invisible until the moment she thought she was safe.

Far away from anywhere, she stumbled upon a stream and collapsed down by it, the night air cutting through her shirt and the chainmail beneath. She looked up at the stars and tried to calculate how far the heavens had moved – what time of night it was – but it was nearly impossible with the forest canopy. The summer had been good and the leaves were broad on the birches and beeches, almost tinkling as they rustled in the breeze. It picked up her long hair as well, the dark waves curling under her chin.

Hiding the scar.

Not that it was easy to see, but she knew it was there. The loathing rose again in her throat, but she couldn't tell anymore whether it was for him, or just for herself. For the fucked-up person she was, dragging the dirt around like war paint. With a roar that was more like a sob, she snatched a stone from the bank and threw it hard into the water. It cracked against the other stones and skittered into the darkness. Tears welled hotly in her eyes and fell before she could stop them. Slowly, she sank to the hard ground, arms wrapped around her middle. For a long time she cried: silently, bitterly, wishing she could stop and move on.

The trees rustled and seemed to sigh, a melancholic tune of wind and leaves. It occurred to her that she was all alone, completely alone. As if the rest of the world had packed up and left. It was cold under the stars, though for some reason it felt better than the thought of going back.

What would her Great Uncle say?

Well, that at least was an easy answer. He would tell her to stop moping and march at whatever was troubling her with the forging hammer. The corners of her mouth twitched suddenly. She shut her eyes tight and imagined she could feel the heat from the old blacksmithing forge he had in a shed at the end of his lands. When she'd asked why he still did it – why he still worked the medieval looking forge – he'd explained that there was nothing like the feeling of forging something for yourself. And then he'd proceeded to teach her.

Her eyes snapped open. She shivered in the cold, and knew it was probably time to go back.

"Trust your feet, girl, because they will obey only your heart an' won't lead you astray. But trust your fingers most of all."

She couldn't move. She tried to concentrate on the feeling of the hammer in her hand: the weight, the power; striking untempered metal, but got stuck on her Great Uncle's voice as they sat together in the firelight.

"Now I know you don't believe that things can get better, but they will."

She was fifteen, shivering with withdrawal in a thick blanket.

"How can you say tha'?" She whispered brokenly. The man had a long grey beard and large, scarred hands – hands she remembered from before…before…

"Because you are much stronger than you think. You've got spirit, the like of which I haven't seen since your mother died."

"Since she got married."

Her Great Uncle closed his eyes for a moment. Her actual grandfather had died in an accident years before, though if she screwed up her memory she fancied she could remember a pair of quite beautiful eyes, liquescent green. Or that might have been her mother, she could never be sure.

"You've got something special in you. It's going to get better."

"How come you and Peg never had kids?"

He chuckled.

"Ah, unlike my brother and sisters I was not set on populating the lowlands. An' Peggy never warmed to the idea." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a smile. "No, I was perfectly content to watch my little nieces and nephews grew up and have broods of their own."

"Must have been pretty disappointed with me, then." Senga felt tears sliding down her face, but her Great Uncle turned her firmly to face him.

"Never ever." He intoned so seriously the fire seemed to dim for a moment. "Lassy, you are my kin, whatever evil you think you've done or what's been done to you."

He was always talking like that for some reason.

"You are of us, and always will be. Never forget it, whatever happens."

She could only cry more in response, burying her face in his beard.

"In fact," he continued, a smile sparkling in his eyes. "As the eldest child an' first before your father, an' since you have no-one else closer, you might as well be mine. For the time being, at least. My heir."

"Great Uncle…people don't 'ave 'heirs' anymore." Senga said with the expression of explaining something world-shattering to an ignorant. The man merely laughed and shook his head.

"Ah, Senga, you will be my heir an' to prove it, I have something for you."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small golden locket on a long golden chain. She'd never seen anything so intricately made; the etchings of flowers flowing over the surface were mesmerising and like no flowers she had ever seen. The elliptical shape was perfect to the last measurement, but she could tell just by looking at it that it had been made by hand. As she held it, she could feel a minute line running the way around, but no hinge.

"It's…"

"I gave it to Peggy when we got married, but as an heirloom of our family it was always meant to go to the children. She agreed that of all my various relations, it should go to you."

"An heirloom?" She questioned, turning it over in surprise. "I would've thought you'd made it."

"Aye, I made the locket to fit around it."

He smiled at Senga's confusion, closing her hand over the beautiful object.

"What you do," he whispered, so quietly Senga had to strain to hear over the crackling fire. "Is press the bottom whilst twisting the top, but only gently. When you're all alone, open it up. You'll see."

He said no more as he got up and left, leaving behind a truly stunned Senga.

It was the locket she clutched now. She'd done as he'd said, though it took a bit of doing. And once she had…

Senga didn't know what to think about it. She'd gotten used to it hanging over her heart in the handful of years since, but it still made her spine tingle at the thought.

Because stones were NOT magical and DIDN'T glow.

It was only a sliver of a stone, sheered from what she could only assume was the rest of the gem. Was it diamond? It had to be diamond. But it was beautiful beyond reckoning, beyond anything as mundane as a diamond, and she was sure if she stood in a dark place…

"Where did it come from, Great Uncle?"

"From your Great-grandmother."

"And where did she get it?"

"She was given it by a king."

"Oh, come on, now you're pulling my leg."

"No, I swear on my forge, it was a king that blessed her line with that gift."

"'Blessed her line'?" Senga choked on the words as she laughed uproariously.

She stood suddenly and kicked the water, sending the stones upstream with a hard splash. She knew she had to go back, but being childish felt ludicrously good. Then again, was it so childish to run away from pain? That didn't sound childish at all. Just…human.

With a groan, she rubbed at her face to get the tears off, washing away their grubby tracks with water from the stream. The water soothed her burning face, though it numbed her fingers a bit. Yes, she needed to go back.

But why though?

The thought came into her head with no invitation at all.

You're in a valley, you could just go downhill and follow the stream back to the lodge. Lost is relative. Isn't adventure what you want? Why you do this?

Aaaand most adventures end up with me slogging it through a bog, she answered herself in annoyance. All that's gonna be over the next hill is more trees and a steep ridge; I can go backwards and have that.

Then why not just see it?

BECAUSE I HAVE TO GO BACK!

She felt like taking her brain to a tree and bullying it into deciding. She had already come a long way and the night was aging, but something nagged at her. She picked up the foam broadsword she'd discarded from her back and spun it in her hands, half-wishing it was real. Her mind worked hard until it finally ground out the culprit: her Great Uncle. What he'd said before she'd left with Natasha in the car.

"Have you thought more about what you want to do? No? Well this is important: do what your heart tells you to do. Doesn't matter what anyone else says or thinks, find what your heart wants an' swing at it with all you've got."

Her heart dragged her on, not back. For some insane reason. Was she running away? Or searching – she liked 'searching' better. For meaning?

A meaning to her fucked-up existence? Or just the next hill?

She couldn't explain it, but the pull onwards was like a hook in her chest, tugging incessantly at her as she stood by the stream. The air was suddenly still, but the leaves still moved; she could hear them. Rustling without wind. And the trees felt closer, as if they were listening.

Oh, right, now I KNOW I'm going batty.

She couldn't fight it however. And what harm was the next hill?

She was moving before she realised it, holding the broadsword boldly in front of her. She would have been far better with the short-sword against her thigh, but she wasn't really thinking about that. With feet far surer than she felt, she stepped through the tinkling water and onto the opposite bank, feeling the earth's incline as she walked. She climbed, higher than she'd been expecting, until she came to the steep crest studded with slabs of dark rock. Before her was the forest, bathed silver in the harvest moon, and then the valley walls rising steeply beyond. There was a nearly sheer drop back to the forest floor on the other side of the hill, though. Difficult enough in the daylight and nothing short of impossible, not to mention stupid, in the dark. Senga sighed.

Well, she thought, that's the next hill. What was I expecting exactly?

The rocks shifted treacherously beneath her feet, but not enough to make her lose balance as she walked along the ridgeline. It was a beautiful view. She wouldn't have minded staying there all night but for the fact it was getting very nippy.

Back then?

It was then that things started to go wrong.

A.N: LARPing is 'Live Action Role-Playing' where you dress up and do Dungeons and Dragons (among others) with rubber swords and generally pretend as though you're really doing it (as opposed to with dice at a table). First Mary Sue I've written properly, but before you throw yourself off a cliff, I am going to TRY to make it palatable at least. I've had a decent idea, and I'll write it as best as possible so it's not crappy like a lot of 'insert brainless normal person' ones.

I've put a lot of thought into the character as well. She's young, but she's got a hefty back-story that'll get revealed as the story progresses.

Thoughts so far? (mmm, reviews, precious!)