achance meeting part 2
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Posted:Jun 3, 2008 7:11 pm
Last Updated:Mar 3, 2009 3:15 pm
1412 Views
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Cerowyn stooped down and gathered a handful of dirt. The land was exhausted, she could plant no more. She stood and flung the dirt from her hand. They would have to move, but to where? They didn't have enough money to start over again. She walked back to the small cottage that she shared with her mother and grandmother. Her grandmother had been bedridden for the past five years and her mother was beginning to show signs of the same illness. Her mother was sitting by the fire, kneading some dough for bread. She used to have a healthy flush to her cheeks, but now her skin was deathly pale. I must do something, she thought sitting at the table.
"So was it bad?" her mother asked climbing to her feet and came over to her.
"Yes, it is really bad, Mother," she replied pulling off her worn straw hat, "I can't plant anymore." Somebody suddenly knocked at the door. Her mother went to answer it but before she got to the door, Seri and his wife, Victra, came in.
"Greetings, Madam Benwith and Madam Galvert," Seri said nodding to each of them, "we have come with good news." Cerowyn suppressed a groan. Seri and Victra prided themselves on being the town's matchmakers. They had insisted that she marry her late husband and they would make a perfect match. He was sweet to her at first and while they courted, he made her feel as if she were the only woman on earth for him. He was much older than her, nearly twenty years, but she fell for him and his charm instantly. They married one year later when she turned sixteen. Cerowyn couldn't have been happier for those first couple of months, but she soon found out that it wouldn't last. The beatings began soon after a year's time. At first she blamed herself. Perhaps she had put too much seasoning in his food or maybe their home wasn't clean enough. Also, she was having difficulty bearing him a . She would miscarry repeatedly. Then she blamed it all on his drinking he did while he was at the tavern. He would be gone for days at a time. Cerowyn knew he didn't spend those nights alone. She went to her mother for help but she was busy taking care of her grandmother. So, she went to his mother. She took Cerowyn in and gently explained to her that Radj was a man and had certain needs that Cerowyn could never fulfill. Cerowyn never went to her for advice again. Then tragically her husband was found dead on the side of the road, his throat slit. Everybody determined that it was bandits, although none of his belongings were taken. Nobody really noticed that Cerowyn was over his death quickly.
"Cerowyn," Victra said sitting at the table, "we have determined that five years is long enough for you to mourn, so we have sought a new husband for you. He does not mind that you are a widow and not virginal." Cerowyn buried her face into her hands.
"I do not wish to marry." She muttered. The room grew silent.
"Pardon?" Seri ventured puzzled. Cerowyn stood quickly.
"I have no intentions on marrying," she replied briskly, "I have work I must do, excuse me." She walked out and hurried to the barn. She was saddling her old mare when Seri walked in.
"Cerowyn," he said softly, but she turned to him glaring angrily.
"Seri, I already…," she started but he held up a hand interrupting her.
"Just hear me out, Cerowyn," he said frowning, "he is not a bad man, this I promise you, and he is a rich man. You have a mother and grandmother who need taking care of; think about them, will you?" She climbed atop her .
"I will." She replied quickly, before riding off. Cerowyn made her way to town. Fall was in the air, she could smell it. Cerowyn glanced over and saw a leaf flutter to the ground. Then suddenly she thought of that man. She didn't understand why, it had nearly been a year, but she found herself thinking of his eyes and the indention on his left cheek and his sun-bronzed skin and hair. Cerowyn shook her head like she could shake away these thoughts of him, but it was no use. Oh, stop it, she thought angrily, he was just a man, and you hardly knew him anyhow. The town was bustling today, more so than usual. She noticed a large crowd was gathered in the town square in front of the wooden platform. She saw a tall, lanky man standing on the platform, addressing the crowd. She had never seen that man in town before. Cerowyn dismounted and tied her in front of the local inn and made her way to the crowd.
"What's going on?" she asked tapping a man on his shoulder. Old Man Rinn turned to face her.
"Oh, greeting, Cerowyn," he said smiling, "there was a wolf attack at Jana Bend, a whole family was killed. They think it might be a rogue pack of wolves; the mayor from the Bend is calling upon all hunters from all over. He wants any wolf they come upon, dead." She lifted an eyebrow.
"How much?" she asked quietly.
"A pound of gold for each." He replied smiling widely. She suddenly grew very interested. Her father had taught her to hunt when he was alive. He actually taught her many things that most girls weren't supposed to do. Hunt, skin, lay traps. He had always wanted a , but her birth was hard on her mother so he never pursued it. On his deathbed, he asked Cerowyn to promise to take care of her family so she did.
"Good citizen's of neighboring Jana Bend, I have come with the most gravest of news," the Mayor began, "a horrendous attack has occurred upon one of your brothers and his young family. The Evesworth family was viciously attacked last night by a pack of rabid wolves. I have come to you with a plea, the pack has moved on to the South Peak of the Loreial Mountains, for any wolf that is killed I will give a pound of gold. We cannot risk another attack," he took a deep breath," so if you wish to participate in this hunt, form an orderly line at this front table and give your name to my advisor so proper payment can be made to you." Cerowyn began to move with the crowd. Even just one pound of gold would be plenty of money for them to move. She was next to get her name signed. The advisor looked up to her and gave her a strange look.
"Yes, madam?" he asked quietly.
"I want to sign up." She replied simply. He set down his pencil.
"But you are a woman." He stated flatly.
"Yes, I know but that does not mean I cannot hunt," she said firmly, frowning, "besides the Mayor said it was open to all citizens." The advisor glanced at the Mayor and he waved her away.
"Next, please." He said looking past her.
"Why can I not sign up?!" she demanded slamming her palm on the table. The Mayor walked over to the edge of the platform and looked down to her.
"Forgive me, young woman, but we will not risk your death," he said quietly, "a woman cannot survive in the wilderness as a man could."
"I can hunt, my father taught me how!" she declared angrily. Somebody suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder. Cerowyn whirled around and before her stood Gavin Vanrythe.
"I can promise you, dear sirs, that Madam Galvert will be more than fine," he said looking to the Mayor, "I will take full responsibility for her." The advisor looked to the Mayor and he nodded. She watched as he wrote down her name.
"Thank you." She said quickly before walking off. Gavin started to follow her.
"I don't suppose Seri and Victra have come to you with my offer, have they?" he asked softly. Cerowyn halted to a stop and turned to face him. So it was Gavin that they wished her to marry. He was a very rich man. He was a trader and merchant.
"Why would you want to marry me, Gavin, there are many other girls in this town," she said folding her arms tightly across her chest, "I suppose many of them are still pure." He smiled slightly as he slowly stroked his beard.
"Well, Cerowyn, I am not exactly sure why I would want to marry you," he replied dispassionately, "you just caught my eye one day." She frowned and started to walk off.
"But, I do know that your grandmother is very ill and your mother is getting the same illness. They are both well-respected in this town." He called to her, but she kept walking.
"Then marry my mother!" she called back across her shoulder. What he said next, made her stop in her tracks.
"I know how he treated you," he called out, "I know he beat you. I can promise that I will treat you better than that." She turned slowly to face him. His eyes were so sincere that she almost hurt. Gavin walked up to her and lightly placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I am going to Calverson Port in about a week," he said softly, "I expect nothing when I return, but just think about it," he smiled slightly, "in a month's time, I will come to your home. Come out to meet me if you would like to marry me." Cerowyn glanced away, then slowly met his eyes.
"I will think about it." She whispered before mounting her and headed back home. When she arrived home and explained her new opportunity to her mother, she gathered a pack for herself so she could start hunting. She found her father's bow in the backroom and his quiver full of arrows. Her mother packed her enough food for two days and filled her deerskin pouch with water. Cerowyn found a pair of her father's old wool breaches and a tunic that didn't fit too badly. She pulled on the old tunic and her straw hat. Her mother gave her a strange smile. It was half sad and half reminiscent.
"If only your father could see you know," she said helping Cerowyn into her pack, "he would be going with you." Cerowyn settled her straw hat firmly on her head and her mother handed her father's old walking stick.
"You look so much like your father," she said softly," do be careful, my little wildflower, and be home soon." Cerowyn suddenly pulled her dagger from her boot and cut her hair at the nape of her neck. She gathered the silky strands and tied a red ribbon around them.
"It would be best if travelers didn't know I am a woman." She explained softly, handing her hair to her mother. Cerowyn headed outside and mounted her . The South Peek of the Loreial Mountains was about a three days journey on horseback. She thought if she rode hard through the day, she could be there tomorrow night. She reached around and felt her bare neck. Her hair had never been this short. Cerowyn rode through Jana Bend without any confrontations, she figured most thought she was a young boy, and took a small path through the forest. It was a shortcut to the base of the mountains. Not many people knew of this path, so she didn’t expect to meet many travelers. Cerowyn knew that once she made it to the mountains she would have to leave her . She knew of a safe place that she could leave her and hopefully the mare would be there when she got back.
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the chance meeting part one
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Posted:Jun 3, 2008 6:24 pm
Last Updated:Jun 19, 2008 6:06 am
1238 Views
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It was just a chance meeting. She had no intentions of meeting anyone on her way to the market, but he appeared ahead, a distant dark figure on a . Her old cart creaked and rattled along the bumpy road. She expected that he would turn to Jana Bend at the cross, but he continued onto the market. She eventually caught up to him and somehow they managed to strike up a friendly conversation. She was weary at first, what with all the bandits that frequented this particular road. Then he gave her a warm, open smile and she was put to ease. She could tell that he was a wandering warrior, aimlessly trying to find work as a sword for hire. They talked about the weather and the land. He said that he was on his way to Calverson Port and needed to stop at the market for various goods. She admitted she was a young widow and worked on her late husband's land. He was pleasantly surprised. She was just beginning to enjoy his company just about when they reached the market place. She expected him to leave her, but he continued on with her and helped her load her things in her cart. Victra, the town gossip, spotted her and was on her way towards her, but she grabbed the man's arm and they hurried down a narrow alleyway. The tavern was located down that alley and he offered to buy her supper. Her husband used to visit this tavern many a night…alone. She took him up on his offer and he led her into the tavern. It was just a chance meeting. She knew that after this they would part their separate ways, she back to her farm, and he to Calverson Port. They would probably never see each other again. He was quite the jester, making her laugh and blush during their supper. She had never laughed so much, not ever. Not even with…no, she could not say his name. She dared not to. Repeatedly, she found herself gazing into his mysterious hazel eyes and smiling at the small indentation that appeared on his left cheek when he smiled. She suddenly found herself thinking strange thoughts that she had never thought before. It was not proper for a woman in her position to be thinking those thoughts, but at this moment she didn't care. They workers at the tavern didn't know her; they had never seen either of them. She suddenly found herself leading him upstairs. The room that they entered was dim and stifling. She let herself be caressed as sweat beaded at the small of her back. It was just a chance meeting; no promises were made between them. For just that moment, she wanted to feel. Feel something, anything, to remember that she was still a living, breathing, feeling creature. He ran his fingers through her silky, black waves and stroked the soft curve of her hip as he felt her move beneath him. He marveled at her darkly tanned skin that was as soft as a rose petal. Then, they parted and lay in the darkening room. It was growing late and her mother and grandmother would become worried about her. So they rose silently and dressed. She decided that she would leave first, but before they parted he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her gently, just a mere brush of lips. Then, she left, making her way back to her cart. As she rode home, she made a promise to the setting sun. As it lowered over the horizon, she promised that with the last heat of the sun she would forget that man.
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the hidden fountain
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Posted:Jun 1, 2008 1:39 am
Last Updated:Mar 3, 2009 3:21 pm
1364 Views
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The black stallion pranced hastily into the dark enchanted forest. The rider along with his companion was being chased by an unknown tribe called the Cutta. These disgusting creatures wore a black fitted armor and a dark, spiked mask to hide the ugliness from within.
“Heya…heya,” commanded the rider with a cloak on his back, whipping the black stallion. The reins made a crackling sound every stroke. One Cutta was jumping from one tree to the next, trying to keep up with the as it pulled out three daggers. The black cloak that was on the rider, fell backwards, causing the hood to fall off thus revealing an Amazonian face. She had long flowing fiery red hair. Her eyes were green as the forest, and skin brown as coffee. She took the cloak off as she drew out her bow and arrow and launched it at the Cutta. Instantly, the Cutta turned into miasma, a thick poisonous vapor.
“Heya…heya,” yelled out the rider, kicking the black stallion. He quickly turned around seeing his beautiful princess as she looked at him, staring into his blue eyes that could light up a sky. His hair that was black as night and his tanned skin poking out a whole in his shirt. His attention went back to the dirt path as they made their way to the hidden fountain. Legend has it that one drink will grant internal power beyond imagination. It was the only way to fight a shaman by the name of Rosetta, the one who cursed the forest, making it dark and decayed. The Cuttas zoomed on the trees, moving swiftly as Kitrina turned around lifting up her bow. She fired two shots with one pull. One hit the Cutta on the right side and the other was hit on the left side. Kitrina turned around seeing two creatures called the Nexis in front of the . The Nexis were female creatures with the same type of armor like the Cuttas and razor sharp nails long as daggers. Fearfully the suddenly stopped, sending Kitrina and Dontay flying next to the two Nexis. Kitrina backed flipped her way up as Dontay rolled up. He took out his sword as Kitrina took out two arrows.
“Ashabon E Letros,” said Kitrina, enchanting the arrows with the power of her Amazon sisters. The first Nexis went for Kitrina’s lover which he blocked her attack. The second Nexis attacked Kitrina, but she blocked the claw attack, pushing upward and spin kicked the Nexis in the gut causing it to stumble a bit. As it stumbled she spun around stabbing it in the chest, turning it into miasma. She back flipped away from the poisonous toxin as Dontay revolted and jabbed his blade into the other Nexis. He placed his blade down, running up to Kitrina grabbing her hand. Together they ran, heading straight toward the hidden fountain only to but cut off. As the Nexis that Dontay killed sprouted back to life, it broke one of its nail’s off. It sprinted down the path, throwing the infected nail into Dontay’s back.
“No!” screamed Kitrina as he hit the dirt path with force. Luckily the nail did not hit his spine for the miasma was spreading rapidly. Enraged Kitrina took out one of the enchanted arrows and flipped it in the air, catching the tip of the arrowhead and threw it straight into the Nexis’ chest, killing it for good. She picked up Dontay. Seeing that he was starting to become dazed and his legs were becoming paralyzed. Kitrina looked up seeing the old cracked fountain ahead. She then sensed something approaching. Something beyond her capabilities was coming as she attempted to carry her lover toward the hidden fountain. It was as though time itself was slowing down. Inch by inch it seemed like it took days to get across this dirt path.
Darkness was approaching as the miasma from the creatures that her and Dontay’s killed formed into one huge cloud of poisonous vapors. It was spreading wildly along the pathway. She pulled and dragged, as Dontay’s body became heavier and heavier like weights building and building on top of each other. She knew she couldn’t out run it as a plan formed in her head. She dropped his body and took out the second enchanted arrow and slit her wrist. She got a sample of Dontay’s blood and mixed it in with the enchanted arrow. She took out her bow and with the grace of the gods, launched it with all her might and willpower. It shot like a bolt of lightning into the heart of the miasma. Too Kitrina’s surprise, the miasma transformed into the shaman Rosetta.
“Hear these words and hear this cry, come forth and alive, freeze him up and freeze him well, as I cast this enchanting spell,” said Rosetta, as Dontay’s body turned to stone. Tears and rage erupted in her, but there was nothing she could do. She ran toward the fountain. She finally reached it as Rosetta took her sweet time approaching it. The fountain was empty. Not a drop in sight. Rosetta’s hands started to glow, ready to attack as Kitrina the strong Amazon, started to cry. Her pure tears brought some life into the fountain and it started to fill up with water of hope. Rosetta eyes widened in fear as Kitrina drank from the fountain. Her body started to twitch as Rosetta sent the fire ball at the fountain, breaking it into pieces. Kitrina’s body started to glow a holy ray of light, pure and bright as the sun itself. The light was so strong that it not only blinded Rosetta, but vanquished her from the enchanted forest. The ray of light swept across the forest, purifying it, breaking the decaying spell and a new fountain was born as beautiful green bushes and golden leaves blossomed up in the background. In the center of all this warmth and goodness laid the new fountain that Kitrina transformed into, dripping with water pure and clean.
Rumor has it that Kitrina was blessed by becoming the earth goddess, making the fountain and all around it a sanctuary. While others say the fountain cursed her by condemning her to exile. Like the fountain she can never feel her lover’s touch ever again as the water overflowed and drip down, touching ground, representing her tears. Dontay’s body still trapped in stone, laid to rest outside the forest walls, waiting for true love kiss. Once on a full moon Kitrina is able to transform back into her human form. However, in order to get from there to Dontay, will take her one complete night, making sure she and her lover never touch again.
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one of my favorite songs
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Posted:May 30, 2008 10:10 pm
Last Updated:Mar 3, 2009 3:47 pm
1355 Views
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the words to one of my favorite songs of all time
And it's always little things
That to the surface brings
The comfort in the pain
The fear behind the smile
We lose along the way
The things we leave behind
Along the precipice
Of things we should not climb
And I'm the first in line
There's an anchor around my heart
Dragging me down
Behind the waves in silence I fall
There's a halo above my head
Spinning me 'round
'Cause I don't know if I'm alive or dead
A dagger in my hand
Bleeding me dry
And it's always little things
That to the surface brings
The space you need to breathe
Before the curtain call
The light that leads the way
Before you hit the wall
The mountain that you climb
Just to take a fall
For blind among the blind
There's an anchor around my heart
Dragging me down
Beneath the waves in silence I fall
There's a halo above my head
Spinning me 'round
'Cause I don't know if I'm alive or dead
There's a dagger in my hand
Bleeding me dry
And all we have to lose is time
And what lose we leave behind
Stay around and we will shine
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leave it to me
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Posted:May 28, 2008 9:43 pm
Last Updated:May 28, 2008 10:42 pm
1206 Views
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song
She said "Don't leave this up to me to say that I don't love you anyway"
Just leave it up to me to say goodbye
Because these good times will never last
Keep a handle on the wheel and a foot on the gas
We thought it would last forever
I wish you'd just remember
No
Will anything change your mind?
(She said)
A one way ticket was a pretty good sign
(And I said)
Well how can you leave it all?
(And she said)
There ain't much to leave behind
Just say goodbye
So say goodbye
Say goodbye
So say goodbye
Just say goodbye
So say goodbye
Say goodbye
Next time I'll take it slow
And as for you I'll never know
At least next time I'll try to understand
So please don't leave this up to me to say that you don't love me anyway
I'll just leave it up to you to say goodbye
Cuz these good times will never last
Keep a handle on the wheel and a foot on the gas
We thought it would last forever
In case you don't remember
No
Will anything change your mind?
(She said)
A one way ticket was a pretty good sign
(And I said)
Well how can you leave it all?
(And she said)
There ain't much to leave behind
Just say goodbye
So say goodbye
Say goodbye
So say goodbye
Just say goodbye
So say goodbye
Say goodbye
Just say goodbye
Just say goodbye
Just say goodbye
Well, these good times will never last
Keep a handle on the wheel and your foot on the gas
We thought it would last forever
In case you can't remember
No
Will anything change your mind?
(She said)
A one way ticket was a pretty good sign
(And I said)
No
(And she said)
No
(And I said)
No
(And she said)
No
Just say goodbye
So say goodbye
Say goodbye
So say goodbye
Just say goodbye
So say goodbye
Say goodbye
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brothers in the craft
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Posted:May 26, 2008 10:22 pm
Last Updated:May 26, 2008 11:09 pm
1367 Views
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Long ago, in the world called Third Earth, lies a kingdom called Maladune. An evil cult and or tribe called The Iron Fist, sought out to enslave the world of man. In pursuit of world domination they took it upon themselves to seek one of each six Alluminati. Warrior, Ranger, Monk, Necromancer, Elementalist, and Mesmer. They manage to get one of each and with luck on their side; they captured Cynn, the last of the Elementalist. With all four elements flowing threw her vain she put up a good fight, wiping half the tribe. End the end she and the others were all taken to Dragon's Lair. Legends for told that if the blood of the Alluminati was spilled, it would summoned up The Great Beast! They placed the dragon's bones in order, around the ashes and then Alluminati in place when suddenly, Cynn started to glow.
"I say this, by the power invested in me and me alone; I release the demonic spells that will pelage the world. May my death come undone for our powers will be one. Grant my hope and my desirer for the time will came when you will expire!" Cynn rose in the air as if the Higher Beings themselves answered her call as all 5 Alluminati powers zapped into her and she exploded in a burst of bright light. In the Temple of Serenity an elite Monk named Mhenlo awoke to the sounds of The Book of Ages, turning its pages by itself. He got up and looked, seeing the book stop turning to a blank page. What was thought to be the end of time wasn't as words appeared.
"And darkness will devour the light of the world and chaos will erupt. Hope will be lost until a of both Elemental and Wiccan blood come and bring his hope and light shell shine once again.............Dark Ages........" The book closed in front of Mhenlo before he was able to read the end of it. Words appeared on the cover, under the title, "What is written, will come to past!"
Back in Dragon's Lair, the Iron Fist tribe saw nothing wrong and out of the ordinary, so they continued their resurrection. The Dark Priest step forward and read the tablet of Nolani.
"Blood will be spilled and out of the ashes comes forth The Great Beast.....from beneath you, it devours." The five Alluminati were slaughtered and blood was spilled, covering the bones of the dragons. The cave shook as the ground split open. Chains on the left and right side or the liar swoosh down, circling around the creator's arms. as he rose up from the crest, standing on a platform. Eyes red as blood, body in a robe black as night.
With chains around his arm, he was trap.
"You will obey us," said the Dark Priest. The Iron Fist tribe rest up a bit as The Great Beast bowed his head, resting, thinking, planning. He summoned up a Ranger's ability and had the strength of a bear he broke free. Wrapping his hand around the chains and pulled them out of the rocks they were nailed on. The loud noise startled everyone as The Great Beast wrapped the remains of the chains around the Dark Priest's neck, snapping it and devouring his soul. With the Dark Priest soul, he could now speak their language.
"I...am your new master now...I am Dahaku." The Iron Fist tribe had no choice, but to bow down to him. Dahaku made his name known as he spread his demonic ways across Third Earth. Dahaku went to different places where some bosses were. He killed a couple, eating their souls to gain respect from his new army. Once the boss is gone, the creators had no choice, but to follow the person who killed him. Dahaku found out about the scepter of Kratos and the orb of Orir. He marched his army to the castle of Maladune where King Babalon ruled. along with his , he and his warriors and knights prepare for battle.
War broke out as Dahaku struggled for power. In the end, Dahaku failed and the race of the Iron Fist tribe was wiped out of existence. As punishment, Dahaku was sentence to life in the Ring of Fire, where he would be burned for an eternity. Guarding his cell a knight group called the White Mantel roamed. Full with white, red heavy armor, they are a force to be recognized. Dahaku used his illusion magic and corrupted them. Within day's the White Mantel fell into Dahaku's hands and switch sides as they posed as our friends. They took over Thunderhead Peak by capturing the Snow King. Little by little they took over. The took over the wilderness by capturing the queen, Evenia. Deep within the tomb of the four kings, where Babalon lay to rest, lies the legendary Zodiac Stone. It is for told that who ever possess to the stone will have unbelievable power. The stone however disappeared right around the time Dahaku broke free of his prison mint . It ended up in Ashalon, but was transferred to Maladune. Dahaku new plan was to take over the kingdom and spread his demonic power. Dahaku darkness grew as he swept across the world. Killing, converting, and consuming souls, which people had no choice, but to follow and obey him. Dahaku heard of the Zodiac Stone and was very interested in it when he found out that it was in Maladune. He prepared his White Mantel army as they march to Castle Maladune, what they don't know was that four magical babies were born on the attack!
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recreating the world
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Posted:May 26, 2008 10:16 pm
Last Updated:Jun 1, 2008 4:00 am
1224 Views
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and low" said God, "I shall have to move the earth", and as God put the gear into reverse, she crashed into Mars.
"Damn them woman drivers", said an irate passing fragment of cosmic dust. The piece of dust didn't quite know why it had said it, for humans weren't invented yet, let alone cars and the license, which would enable them inevitably to crash into things.
Yes, it is now a common fact, that in fact, women are the worst drivers. No, that's wrong, well, it's not wrong, but it wasn't what I was going to say. God is a woman. Relinquish your frail grip on the misconception that god is a man. She isn't. She is a She. And she can't drive. She also has an uneven amount of stubble, but who is going to tell her to shave her face.
But who cares, she is a woman with a beard, get with the times. "How do you know this?" I hear you say, and if I don't hear you say it then im guessing your retarded and/or I should go to the local Otologist's, because my ears have succumb to that painful illness of old age. Il soon probably be walking around with tartan trolleys shouting "Where's my poodle" before slipping on shit, and finding my first clue. Or was that an obscure episode of Miss Marple I once watched?
The question is answered not by answering the question, but by taking away the other variable. Is god a man? Well, there is valid evidence for this. For example, it's quite obvious to see that a man had to have created the woods. Woods = Paper, Paper = Porn. This is not a watertight theory, and it's also not a correct one. Because God is a woman. Plain and simply, yet not simply plain.
I mean, how could a man have created the minutiae of women? A mans idea of the perfect woman is basically his own right hand but with breasts, so why would he be worked up with making women so intricate and neurotically imbalanced, when he knew that a few thousand years after his was born, he would be on the end of all their violent mood changes. Logically it makes no sense. God is a woman.
The time is shortly before you read this, unless you are a fast reader, in which case it's the past. God had just de-created earth for the second time (she wasn't too happy with the increase in house premiums) so flooded all estate agents. However, due to a large miscalculation in her "wrath" department, the huge tidal wave that took out all the estate agents on earth, kind of killed everyone else. Except for a weird little man named Noah2 and a few thousand animals, but they soon died out, as they couldn't find a place to live.
Anyway, here god was, moving the earth, and crashing into things. She didn't know where she was going, she had chosen a few places before but every time when she parked (on a double line marked Hyper Road) she wasn't quite happy with the position of it,
"Ooh, but I think it looked better over there".
This led to the coming of going of the earth, spanning a distance of around 40 trillion light years, and some peculiar 6 mile wide novelty dice being attached to the Antarctic. Because they were so 'cute and fluffy'. It seems the bible neglects to mention that on days 1 through 6, God had also created a textile factory and produced mammoth novelty car items.
After traveling for millennia with Adam2 and Eve2 in the Garden of Eden constantly asking "are we there yet" God gave up, and parked the earth in the most boring, desolate place in the universe. What man has come to know as 'the solar system2'. The fact that intergalactic traffic wardens kept clamping the earth to passing meteorites had much to do with the abandonment of trying to find the perfect place.
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part three and final partof my story
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Posted:May 23, 2008 5:15 pm
Last Updated:Jun 9, 2008 4:53 pm
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"Look me in the eye, demon!" snarled a tottering soldier, as he leaned over and squinted at a man sitting quietly at one of the inn tables. The soldier blinked lethargically and rocked backwards on his heels, attempting to regain focus. The man spoken to sat hunched over a cracked jug of ale, tearing scant pieces from a stale bread-loaf. He dipped the pieces in his ale to soften before handing them into the shadow of the heavy grimy hood which concealed his face. He had a curious bulge along his spine, beneath his cloak like an escarpment, its highest point being around and above his shoulders. The room the two men occupied was dim and large, though it appeared much smaller due to its low, squatting ceiling and the greasy smoke which filled it like soiled cotton-wool. The room was crowded with shapes of all sizes and description, huddled about the various tables like wraiths in a fog. The collective buzz created by the raucous conversations, the click of dice, and occasional grunts and squeals mixed naturally with the warm blanketing of sweat, ale and urine.
As the soldier spoke, the tables nearest to him fell into expectant silence. Like a pebble dropped in a pool, a ripple of tension passed outwards from him. Soon the whole room held its breath attentively. A chuckle or two were rapidly muffled and, in the silent fog, expectation prickled like cold needles on the skin. Sensing the sudden change in the atmosphere, the drunken soldier revolved slowly on his heels to scrutinize the room. From within his inebriated muddle, all he could glimpse was a blurry mass of huddled, expectant shadows in the smoke. Grinning and emboldened by his perceived audience, the soldier swung violently around to face the sitting man, drawing his sword as he spun. In his precarious state, though, he could not help stumbling as his momentum collided with the back of his tottering legs. A whisper of amusement tickled the room for the briefest of moments, though for time enough to reach the soldier’s ears. Enraged, he drew up desperately, hefting his sword majestically above his head.
He started in bewilderment.
Where the hooded man had sat, the heavy clinging smoke massed as if filling a hole the stranger’s abrupt departure had left in the air. Before the soldier could fully register his astonishment though, he heard, in a detached fashion, the whispery sound of steel grating on bone. To his continuing astonishment, and sudden horror, he then noticed the point of a sword protruding mockingly from his chest.
The hunched traveller slid his sword from the unfortunate soldier’s back. The briefly bemused man slumped forwards onto the ground to rest face down in a rapidly expanding pool of crimson. His executioner knelt down briefly next to the body on one knee, murmuring something unintelligible under his breath with his clenched fist held to his face. The stranger then carefully wiped both sides of his sword on the hem of his filthy cloak, which suddenly appeared to have been employed to that purpose more often than could ever be necessary. Rising to his feet, bent slightly under the hump of his back, the stranger gazed around the room from under his hood. An unspoken challenge hung in the air as his sword disappeared mysteriously among the folds of his dark, muddied cloak. Stooped even as he was, the stranger stood a good head taller than any man in the room. An aura of impenetrable ferocity ensconced him like a shield. His face was shadowed in its entirety and his eyes invisible under the heavy cowl, yet an intense, focused violence radiated from under his hood with the singularity of a light-beam. As the stranger’s gaze swept the room, everyone in its path attempted clumsily to feign nervous ignorance of the murder. The room remained anxiously quiet. Only an occasional whispered comment was heard, abruptly strangled whenever the stranger’s gaze passed. The traveller picked up what remained of the stale loaf from the table and tucked it into the dark folds of his cloak. Without another glance about him, he made for the door of the inn. As he pulled open the heavy door, a wave of solid icy air gushed in, mingling with the smoke in the room and swirling about the stranger like a localised wind-storm. It then shot out into the night, as the door slammed behind the stranger.
Following the departure of the hunched stranger, a taut strand of tension clung to the room. Nervous patrons avoided each other’s shifting glances, and coughed guiltily. Then a raucous laugh burst from somewhere within the dull haze, bouncing off the low ceiling. Within instants a din had raised itself once more. The inn-keeper, a tired and drawn-looking man, sighed. Wiping his hands on his soiled apron, he raised his eyebrows expressively to catch the attention of the surly-looking inn guard, who had remained inconspicuous throughout the whole incident. The inn-keeper glanced meaningfully to the spot where the soldier lay. He came out from behind the bar and headed over to the body, shaking his hands irritably by his side as if drying them. With a helpless shrug and a plaintive gesture of his palms upwards, the guard followed the inn-keeper to the body. The inn-keeper was not much worried about the body. In these days of war and murder, nobody would make particular efforts for justice concerning the corpse of a drunken soldier found in the woods near town, what with a particularly cold winter coming about and fear of the approaching Vampyre.
"Just another bloody hassle,” he thought to himself, as he directed the guard in removing the body.
Unnoticed by anyone in the inn, a slight figure, completely draped and hooded in a dark, worn cloak, rose from a table in one of the murkier corners of the room. It crept to the door without seeming to physically pass through any of the intervening space. Similarly, the figure exited the inn without the door appearing to open, or even close.
*
The hunched traveller stepped out into the cold night. Turning away from the inn, he silently walked a dusty, moonlit path away from the town. He wound down a rocky foothill, where the moonlight shone upon the boulders like diamonds sparkling in the sea, until he finally reached the murky shadows on the outskirts of a wood. Shaking his hands free from the folds of his cloak, he reached up and pulled back his hood, and gazed up at the stars in scarcely contained rage. Hair so dark it melded irretrievably with the shadows fell down upon his shoulders, where it massed in heavy curls. A small cloud of dust briefly formed a halo around his crown as he shook his hair completely free of the hood and, gazing in silent fury at the night sky, he was lost in thought, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He pondered the confrontation in the inn; knowing he had reacted too suddenly, far too violently. He growled in frustration with a sound like a rockslide and, reaching into his cloak, drew out his sword. The sword weighed more than any normal man could possibly wield in battle, but the stranger handled it with grace and careless dexterity. He gazed at it. It was about five feet long in its entirety; from its formidable point to the end of a plain handle bound in a motley selection of rags and hide-scraps. It was an unremarkable weapon; the traveller kept it always sharp and clean and, apart from a few etched letters on the blade, near the hilt, there was nothing outstanding about it save its enormity. He had taken it from the body of a fallen giant many years ago, during the Dracun Mountain war. In those glorious days past he had been a mercenary in the army of the High King of Men. Alongside a contingent of men and elves he had aided the slaughter of those colossal, clumsy creatures. With their ugly faces and shy ways it made only sense for men to kill them. The stranger did not fault men though, for he was only happy in war.
The traveller stood utterly still, oblivious to the biting cold, and even the sharp breeze flowing purposefully toward him from the direction of the town could not disturb him. Rather, it carried the warm breath of sleeping and lulling mothers, which offered him a sense of proximity to mortality he could never truly experience. In the trees above him the cold wind punched harshly through the branches, and they shook and swayed and threatened to snap with tortured groans. The light of a full moon shone down and, through the breaks it could find in the sparse autumn foliage, flung through a beam or two which winked in and out of sight, shifting from place to place like faeries dancing, as the branches of the trees swung back and forth in the wind.
The traveller stiffened.
A new smell infiltrated his nostrils, mingled deceitfully with the odours of the town. A smell he knew well and distrusted. Shouldering silently out of his cloak he glanced about warily. Then, with hardly a rustle of movement, he disappeared into the trees.
*
The elf stepped out of the inn just in time to see the hunched figure disappear along the path. She pulled her hood down further over her face and silently, like a swan across a lake, glided away after him. She was quite certain that he would head for the woods; she wagered he would not stay the night in town. Creeping down the same moonlit foothill as the stranger had used, she flitted amongst the scarce shadows of boulders, keeping the stranger only just in sight. Even at that distance, she could sense his aura, like an invisible barbed wall, pressing against her body. Reaching the outskirts of the wood, she crouched beneath a tangle of bracken. Looking out, she searched for the stranger, and was unsettled to find an empty clearing, though she could clearly sense him nearby. Thrown askew, she gazed searchingly around at the trees but, even with her sharp sight, could see nothing. She climbed out from under the bracken and crept carefully into the clearing.
A sudden cold tingling caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise, but it was too late. An arm stronger than any she had ever felt before snaked around her neck and another about her waist, lifting her into the air as she gasped and writhed in pain. The arm around her neck and face was wrapped in some filthy cloth which made her gag as she attempted to bite down on it. She was held from behind, yet she knew it must be the stranger. A voice like a sword scraping across stone bit into her ear.
"Be still, or I will snap your spine."
Realizing that these words were more of a promise than a threat, she ceased her struggle, despite the almost unbearable crushing pain.
"Good..." scratched the voice. Falling to an icy whisper, it spoke, "And what do you want with me, elf?"
The voice spat out the word ‘elf’ like a sour grape.
"Release me and we’ll talk," she gasped through the blur of pain, her spine feeling like a dry twig about to snap.
The stranger laughed brutally.
"And why do you imagine that I should rather talk to you than kill you?"
For the first time that night it struck the elf like a stinging blow that she had possibly committed a grave error in following this violent beast. He seemed willing, almost anxious, to kill her. She wondered only why he had not done so yet. He was toying with her like a cat, or rather a lion, with a mouse. She needed to get away from him, or at least bring them to equal terms, though she did not know how. She resolved to keep him talking.
"You knew I was following you?" she stuttered, through clenched teeth.
"Of course, you little wretch!"
She had succeeded in incensing the beast, for better or for worse.
“Did you think you were clever?” hissed the stranger, “I choked on your stench immediately!" He shook with anger. "You elves are all far too smug in your-"
The roar of primal rage that erupted from the beast’s chest almost stunned the elf into shock. Yet she managed to roll out from his grasp and a good distance away from him.
She rose to her feet, dropping the bloodied dagger which she had plunged deep into his stomach. She raised her crossbow, which she kept always strapped to her hip, to bear on the wounded man. A gasp of awe escaped her lips.
Their scuffle had brought them out of the shadows of the trees and into brilliant moonlight. The silver light glinted off the beast’s massive sword, which had materialised in one hand, and off dark blood, darker than any mortal or even elven blood, yet bright as a mirror, which slicked his stomach. A creature stood before her as the elf had only imagined should walk in mortal planes. He towered above her, over seven feet tall, and his physique was that of the two most powerful and graceful men she had ever seen made one. Yet what held her transfixed was the realization of what the hump under his cloak had been.
Brilliant white wings, streaked with grey and gold in the feathers, were in his distressed state raised and spread about his shoulders like an eagle about to take flight. Each wing was, from arch to tip, longer than his body. They grew out from between his shoulder blades in graceful, beautiful arcs. She had never seen anything akin to it before. She experienced an unnatural urge to caress and kiss those beautiful downy wings. She almost did, then noticed him set into a crouching posture. The beast lowered his wings and spread them almost parallel to his shoulders, pointing slightly downwards and towards her in a threatening fashion. It put her in mind of a scorpion arching its stinging tail toward an enemy. He brought his other hand onto his sword and grasped it menacingly in both hands, wings set. She imagined he must terrify his opponents in battle. But she kept her mind focused, and raised her crossbow to bear between his eyes.
"As you know elves so well", she taunted, "then you can imagine that I should not miss this shot."
A gust of wind suddenly blew his hair from his face, but she took notice of nothing now but his eyes. They were completely black, with no iris. She could not even guess where he was looking, or what he was planning. They were deeply unsettling. Still, she sensed that she had his attention. A long moment stretched out, and he said nothing. She began to feel extremely disconcerted. His eyes like bottomless pools of dark rage seemed to bore into her own like fire brands, and her eyes began to water. But she could not look away and hand him the advantage. She noticed, on the edge of her vision and with another part of her brain, that the blood on his stomach was clotting normally, but that the wound seemed to have vanished. As if it were as unsettled by this strange creature as she was, the wind took up an horrific wailing and began to scream through the trees again, and short gusts of it spiralled about their feet, blowing up clouds of dust. His eyes still bore into her own. She became aware of something unfamiliar within her mind. She tried to grasp at it, like a thought that floats to the surface of the pool unbidden, but sinks like a dead-weight when one attempts to seize it. But this was no thought of her own. Like a yawning chasm opening in her stomach, she realized in despair that the winged creature was probing her mind. She had entirely lost the advantage in this challenge.
As if he had waited only long enough to follow her last slip of thought, the creature lowered his wings with a derisive grunt. He stood up straight and slipped his sword carelessly into a huge sheath strapped to his back. He gazed down at her dismissively and spoke.
"You may caress my wings if you wish."
She felt the anger and embarrassment welling up within her about to explode like a volcano, but would not give him the satisfaction. Strapping her crossbow to her hip, she shrugged and held his eye briefly with a coy smile, laughed amiably, and said nothing. The winged man grunted again, in absolute disdain of her.
"As you wish, I shall not repeat the offer again."
Despite herself, the elf felt a minute pinch of longing in her chest but, burying it deep within her, brushed her forehead lightly with the index finger of her right hand, in traditional elven recognition of a warrior and, bowing only slightly so as to keep him in sight, spoke quietly.
"I am M’Len Taleal, of Nan Mund'eal.
To her surprise, the giant put his palm to his chest in acceptance and, brushing his forehead as she had done, bowed confidently without caring to keep his eyes on her, for which she almost blushed in shame. He replied in polite baritone.
“I am Aramen, of no home or allegiance; as I suspect are you, Our Silent , formerly of Nan Mund’eal.”
This winged giant surprised M’Len, though she assumed he knew of her exile from Nan Mund’eal from probing her mind. Yet he had known the truth of her name in the old-elvish tongue and had recognized, and even responded properly to, elvish courtesy.
"Well then, warrior! How do you come to know the ways of elves?" she inquired amiably.
"I have slain enough in my time."
"Yes, I believe you have. But dead elves would hardly instruct you in courtesy!"
Aramen's face remained rigidly uninterested.
"Wisdom from beyond the grave doth instruct the grave man."
"Is that so? Anyhow, your ways are yours to know, and the learning of them too."
At that the warrior grunted darkly, in what M’Len would learn was one of his most common approximations to a laugh.
"You learn me quick, elf! That aside, what do you wish of me?"
Confused once more, M'Len eyed the giant darkly.
"I’m afraid I don’t understand what you-"
"You pursued me with a purpose?"
"Ahh, yes… I had almost forgotten…"
She glanced inquisitively at the sombre creature.
"I thought you could plumb my mind? You don’t know why I came after you?"
M’Len was anxious for his response. She eyed him expressively. Aramen gazed back at her impassively, but his prolonged silence gave her the impression of a difficult decision being reached. Eventually he growled, almost in resignation.
"I am no mind-reader. I can... feel. Thoughts. Intentions. I would know if you lied to me."
M’Len gazed at him with a new respect for his sincerity, but also a new understanding of her defensive position with him.
“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, softly.
“Anjii do not lie,” he replied.
“Really? Who would have known…? Anyhow, listen: I have a proposition for you.”
When she had finished speaking, Aramen quietly nodded his acceptance of the task at hand and they agreed to a fee to be paid him, and then said their goodnights. Aramen, who appeared still to be utterly oblivious to the cold, laid his cloak down upon a dry patch of grass and sat down on it like an oak tree bending. He brought his soulless eyes to bear on M’Len.
"I sense there will be more to this venture than can be expected," he whispered.
Lying down then, he wrapped his great wings about his curled body and slept.
Having set a fire to keep her through the chilled night, M’Len wrapped herself in her own cloak with a shiver and gazed across at the sleeping wanderer, wondering at his final statement. Watching the great warrior, curled in on himself like a helpless foetus against an unkind world, she could not prevent a perplexing wave of pity from washing over her.
"We are very much alike," she thought to herself.
*
As the first rays of the dull morning sun fell to earth like sleepy drops of rain, splashing hints of colour on the grey landscape, M’Len drifted out of sleep with a tremor of cold. The ashes of her fire, long dead, lay pathetic and damp next to her. A few morning birds chittered cautiously amid the branches of the wood, and a rustle or two of the waking woods could be heard amongst the mist-hung trees. Soon it would be far too cold to bed down out of doors thought M’Len, with the cautious calculation of a sleep-numbed mind. She and her newly acquired travelling companion should begin the long journey to Gulen-on-Sea as soon as was possible. There, as she had explained to the winged warrior the previous night, she had need to meet with a certain merchant she knew only as Snell, and deliver to him an item of great value which she now carried carefully bound and concealed within her worn leather jersey. She had been employed by Snell to retrieve it from a dwarf of Dracun Mountain. To her bitter surprise, she had found the bounty guarded in a dwarf stronghold on the slopes of the Mountain, and had barely escaped with the prize and her life. Now she needed desperately to deliver it to Snell in Gulen-on-Sea before the dwarves found her. And the journey there was a dangerous one, no less. Nor did she trust the merchant. Hence her need for a capable bodyguard, who would show no sensitivities to the involved parties as long as she stayed alive to pay him.
It briefly crossed her mind that such a powerful creature as Aramen need not work for what he could so easily take. Indeed, it could even be that he had some code of sorts. M’Len laughed softly when she thought that. He was hardly a gentlemanly knight of the realm. Having thought of him, M’Len gently pulled her cloak from her face, and looked around. Gazing about as her eyes became comfortable with the morning light, she espied him standing on a boulder, like a guardian colossus, not twenty feet from where she lay, his back to her, facing the brightening sun. As the sun rose majestically in the east, a dazzling wave of light seemed to flow from it, splashing over Dracun Mountain and the vale between, coming at last to crash upon the boulder upon which Aramen stood; and as he spread his wings high, splash light over them, illuminating the white and golden feathers shimmering like a brilliant vision of the heavens. Poised like a great eagle upon the rock, he seemed ready to take flight, and M’Len held her breath in anticipation. She felt almost disappointed, in a childish fashion, when those great wings folded upon his back and he sprung down from the rock with cat-like grace.
Pulling out of her cloak, M’Len rose to her feet and stretched cautiously, sparing her bruised spine. She then shuddered and drew quickly into herself as the morning air bit into her, despite the already bright sun. Picking up her cloak, she swung it about herself as Aramen arrived by her. Looking up at his face for the first time in the morning light, she realized that she had expected him to be quite ugly, as had been her first impression of his manner. Instead, despite a deep scar across the bridge of his nose, he was quite beautiful, in the manner of an attentively sculpted statue. He had sharp, strong features like the Hellenic warriors she had seen on the great war-ships which sometimes docked in the High-King’s port town of Calon, and his thick dark hair fell in noble curls upon his broad shoulders. His looks were only somewhat off-set by his inscrutable white-less eyes.
"You will go into the village and procure two horses, and supplies enough to keep us for the journey."
"I trust you slept well too, warrior?"
"I make haste for your sake elf. It will not be much longer before the dwarves trace you here and discover our destination."
"Fair enough. I expect you don’t intend to return to the village yourself?"
"I do. I have other matters to attend to."
"Right. Where will we meet after?"
"Outside the barracks."
"The barracks? Are you sure that’s wise? After what happened last night I mean..."
M’Len trailed off under the withering gaze she received.
"As you will, of course,” she said. “We’ll meet there then."
Aramen simply grunted darkly and pulled his cloak on and over his head, before stalking off towards the town.
*
"Are ye an imbecile, or just insane!"
Aramen stood inside the town barracks, in front of, and very much higher than, a very aggravated sergeant. Their relative proportions seemed suddenly to become evident to the man and, taking a nervous step backwards, he raised two coarse, trembling fingers to the bridge of his nose in utter disbelief. He felt very much unhinged. That morning the body of a soldier had been retrieved from the outskirts of town. A clear case of banditry. Of course the sergeant knew full well that the man had been a violent drunk, and had most probably been killed in a tavern brawl, and all the better he felt for it. With a war in progress, law enforcement could turn a blind eye to the unfortunate demise of useless troublemakers. What he had not foreseen, and certainly not hoped for, was that a gigantic, dangerous-looking hunchback should stroll in and confess to the crime. And ask to see the body, of all things! Carefully measuring his tone in contrast to his earlier outburst, he looked up at Aramen.
"Look... I understand full well the context of events last night, and am unwilling to hold ye culpable. But there are... procedures-"
The man lowered his tone and glanced quickly around the room; then satisfied that no one around had understood the context of this event, he continued.
"If youse are willing to take back what ye just told me - and keep it to yourself - I’m sure we’ll be good, eh?"
He grinned plaintively at Aramen.
Aramen stood glaring at the increasingly nervous and shifty soldier, and wondered just why he had come to the barracks. There was no precedent for his actions. Yet a nagging impetus in the deep recesses of his mind demanded he see the soldier’s body. He could not have said why but, like an uncertain dream, his memory of the drunken soldier was overlaid with a shadow of unease; of something he had seen but not registered. However, glaring at the sergeant, he realized full well the risk he had taken with this impetuous action, and the recklessness of it. With a frustrated growl, he turned to leave. The sergeant behind the desk began to heave a heavy sigh of relief when a shout cut across the room.
"You! Turn about."
Aramen had been facing the door out, but now turned to a corner of the room, where a dirty soldier had been sitting quietly on a bench, picking his teeth with a dull, scratched dagger. The soldier slowly lowered the dagger and grinned menacingly at Aramen.
"Hehe… You’re the hunchback from last night, right? You killed poor ‘oul Jerry." He tutted, as if to a misbehaving . "Poor ‘oul Jeremin, never did anybody no harm, eh?"
The sergeant at the desk had rapidly taken on a distressed pallor again and, glancing at Aramen, called out tremulously to the soldier.
"Look here Dak, the man’s not done nought worth us bothering about, you hear? Isn’t that right, eh?"
He looked nervously at Aramen.
"No."
The sergeant almost experienced heart failure.
"No", repeated Aramen. "I have not done anything worth you bothering about."
His darkening glare never once faltered or left the soldier the sergeant had called Dak. He was sure the man had not been in the inn the previous evening. He would have noticed someone so… lupine. The sergeant seemed revitalised by Aramen's last statement nonetheless and turned to nod at him.
"On your way then..."
He indicated the door.
"Of course," growled Aramen. He held the man Dak's gaze until the soldier coughed and looked down at his dagger with a frozen grin.
"I’ll be seeing ye then," muttered the soldier murderously, but he was unable to meet Aramen’s gaze again.
With that Aramen strode out of the little room and into the barracks courtyard. He was pushing through the crowd of soldiers and assorted criminals and traders towards the exit to the street when a cold shiver at the base of his skull made him throw himself to the ground.
*
M’Len wandered through the streets of the little town and wondered briefly at the immense number of people up and about their business so early on such a cold morning. But she figured quickly that, nestled at the foot of Dracun Mountain as it was, the town was probably a busy centre of trade between the Mountain and the rest of the country. There were a lot of soldiers out too, not individuals loitering, but patrols and troops marching around to the curt barking of their sergeants. It was a surer indicator than any other that war was heading this way. Amid the jostling, yelling crowds she eventually managed to locate a likely-looking young lad and strode up to him.
"You there, boy, look sharp!"
The young street urchin looked sullenly up at her but, despite the aggrieved look accentuated by the grime on his face, M’Len recokened he was a trustworthy enough lad.
"Do you want a copper?"
The boy looked suspiciously at her, the knowledge clear in his mind that he was not getting a copper for nothing.
"What ye want me to do?" he rattled, his eyes shifting nervously to the dagger at her belt, barely concealed by her cloak, and then back to her face.
"Find me two good horses at a nice price, for a journey. Then meet me outside-" She glanced around until she spotted a distinct-looking inn, "-that inn over there, you see? And then we’ll go see them. If you’ve made a good find, I’ll add a decent meal to your fare."
The boy looked her up and down again. Then, apparently satisfied, touched two fingers to his brow.
"Right ye are milady, I’ll be waiting there."
He darted off into the crowd.
Smiling vaguely at the boy’s sudden enthusiasm, M’Len set off about the stalls and shops to stock up for the trip.
*
A scream issued from the spot where the crossbolt that had been heading for Aramen’s skull finally lodged itself. Ignoring the sound Aramen sprung up into a crouching position and his neck snapped back and forward like a hunted animal. The door. The roof. The door... Aramen glimpsed a dark figure retreating into the room from the doorway he had just left. Aramen leapt forwards with an agility irreconcilable with his size and was at the doorway. The room was empty. The sergeant lay sprawled over his chair, sightless, with a crossbolt jutting from his throat like a hungry stem. There was a door leading from the small reception, which Aramen assumed led to cells or offices. It was the only other exit from the room and he rushed through it.
He found himself in a dark, damp corridor from which several doors offered exits. But now he could smell his attacker, the man Dak. He could follow the trail. He careened down the hall and up a flight of stairs. He crashed through a closed door into a little office. Another soldier lay sprawled on the floor, his face twisted horribly. The shutters of the room’s only window smashed violently against the inside wall, splintering themselves in the fierce wind rushing in.
Crouched upon the window-sill was the soldier the late sergeant had called Dak. His head whipped around. He snarled ferally at Aramen before launching himself off the sill. Aramen dashed to the window in time to see the man sail through the air above the busy street and catch impossibly on to the sheer side of the building opposite. The figure scurried up the wall like an enormous spider and disappeared over the roof of the building.
*
Having done all the shopping she felt was necessary, M’Len headed for her designated meeting-spot with the street-boy, with a heavy bag over each shoulder. As she approached the inn, she spotted the boy who, noticing her, jogged over with a mischievous grin.
"The Lady’s looking like a bit puffed, eh?"
Irritably, she swung one of the bags at him.
"Extra copper if you carry this too. I’ve got my eye on you and so has my bow, so don’t think of running off with it!"
"Excusing the Madam’s pardon, but would Rod ever do suchlike?" He grinned teasingly.
"Watch yourself boy. Rod, is it?"
M’Len straightened, stretching her back, appreciating the lighter load.
"So, what about the horses?"
"Well, it’s like this... I’ve found youse a sweet deal on the nags, but I was wondering as to after all my troubles I wouldn’t be getting a wee bit-"
The look M’Len hit him with derailed him, but with remarkable ease he slid back on track.
"Of course the Lady appreciates a wee spirited banter, eh?"
"Show me where the horses are, Rod."
Weighing his options, the boy decided to err on the side of caution and nodded his head towards the street.
"Come on this way then."
M’Len followed the boy through the crowds, down a few streets until the throng began to thin. Eventually they came to an area along the outskirts of the town where the houses seemed better built and the streets a little clearer and a little cleaner. Motioning with his elbow towards the stables of a large inn, the boy jogged up to the doors. He rapped on them with his fist and then pushed them open with his foot, slipping inside closely followed by M’Len. Inside it was pleasantly warmer than on the street, if one dismissed the smell, and in the gloom there was the rustle of hooves on hay and tails on flanks to be heard. The boy called out. An amiable-looking man, just entering old age, appeared from behind a haystack, rubbing his hands on the sides of his jacket as he walked over.
"Ah, Rod." He nodded towards M’Len "And our potential customer, yes? hmm..."
"I would like a couple of horses, for a journey to Gulen-on-Sea." M’Len smiled at the old man.
"Gulen-on-Sea, eh? Be a bit of hard going this time of year... hmm? You’ll need good horses - won’t be cheap. But Rod says you look like money. An adventurer of sorts? None of my business though. Anyway, I’m sure we can arrange something."
M’Len followed the old man along the stable as he pointed out horses and prices to her and the boy, Rod, tagged along, offering expert advice and pointers at every opportunity.
"This one’s a smelly, eh! Bet ye that one’s a kicker, yeah?"
They strolled along the stables chatting amiably. M’Len had begun to relax and enjoy herself when a buzz they had been vaguely aware of outside suddenly turned into a commotion. The old man looked irritably towards the door.
"Rod boy, go take a look outside and see who’s disturbing the peace-"
The doors of the stable burst open. Two swarthy and angry-looking dwarves stomped inside, searching about furtively as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. Ducking behind a haystack, pulling the old man and the boy down with her, M’Len listened to an exchange between the dwarves.
"Sure as a bleeding head wound I saw her come down this way."
"I hope youse are, ‘cos I’ll be giving ye a bloody head wound if we don’t find her and get into trouble with the local arms."
The first dwarf grunted and waved away the threatening one.
"Let’s just have us a good look."
The two separated and began to stalk around the stable.
Behind the haystack the old man threw M’Len a quizzical look. Opting for simplicity of meaning, M’Len pointed in the general direction of the dwarves, then at herself, and then made an immediately recognizable gesture with her finger sliding across her throat. Not looking much surprised, the old man seemed to sigh silently, and then looked around searchingly. Finding his quarry, he gestured for M’Len to follow his pointing finger. Across the room from them were three horses, ready saddled, most probably belonging to patrons from the adjoining inn who would be leaving soon. He indicated that M’Len should take the ones she needed. She looked at the man questioningly, but he shrugged irritably and pointed meaningfully at the aggrieved dwarves. Appreciating his lucid understanding of the situation she began to fumble for her money purse, but the old man pushed her away with a grin. Giving the old man one last grateful smile M’Len turned to the young boy. He was gone. She had only begun to wonder when he burst noisily from another haystack, tossing clumps of damp hay at the dwarves.
"What ye doing here youse dirty buggers!" he shrieked. “Out!”
The dwarves froze, startled by the display. Grateful for the distraction M’Len sprang from her own hiding spot, gambling on being able to make it to the horses despite the weight of the bag she had chosen to hang on to. But the dwarves were enthralled. Rod pranced about like a lunatic monkey, hurling clumps of hay and incomprehensible insults like ammunition. M’Len reached the horses and, tying the bag on to one, she scampered onto the other, holding the reins of each in a hand. With a kick and a yell she set the horses thundering towards the door and managed to knock one of the stunned dwarves over on the way out. Bursting into the open, she almost collided with a group of another five or so dwarves waiting outside. The other tried to pull away from her in a panic, but she held on to the reins like a vice and, pulling them both away from the dwarves, charged into the town, scattering the market crowds like flies.
*
Turning away from the window Aramen let out a roar of frustration. His assailant had escaped and he had questions, troubling questions, that needed an answer. Something was very wrong and Aramen could feel it as clearly and entirely as he felt the anger that surged through him even as he tried to pinch the flow - at the very least focus it. He was panting savagely. He looked down at the dead soldier, noticed that this one had not been shot. Dak would not have been able to, bursting suddenly into the room as he had done. The man’s throat had been torn out. It was the reaction of a savage and surprised animal.
Aramen had begun to form an image of his attacker in his mind. Dak’s smell stuffed his nostrils. It was a sharp stale smell, like dried blood. A soldier burst suddenly into the room. He stared at the dead man and then up fearfully at Aramen. With a strangled hoarse sound he backed away from the sight of this immense, lurking creature and stumbled away down the corridor, shrieking tremulously for help. Analysing his current situation, Aramen knew that only the worst conclusions could be drawn from it. He had only reached the reception room when a purposeful cry erupted from outside and the clatter of running, armoured men could be heard drawing to the door. If he were trapped in the room he would have little hope of surviving the onslaught. He charged the exit. Aramen met the soldiers head-on as they careened into the doorway. With a snap he spread his wings wide. He spun on to his shoulder and collided with the soldiers, sending them sprawling in a jangle of confused arms and legs. Managing somehow to spin on his heel and land on both feet, he had withdrawn his wings beneath his cloak before the confused and battered soldiers could even notice them. Aramen held his sword poised. But he realized the futility of it, for there where far too many soldiers for him to fight, and latecomers to the fray were racing up behind him. In a single motion he spun and ran, desperate to reach the street before the soldiers could encircle him. There was a patrol running straight at him from the direction of the street and again he met them head-on, using his considerably greater weight to literally trample the men directly in his path. Yet as he stumbled to the street, Aramen realized that his last collision had earned him several shallow thrusts to the chest and legs and one particularly violent gash across his stomach. Squeezing one great hand against his belly, he felt as if he were holding his insides together as he struggled towards the street.
Aramen fell heavily onto the gates of the barrack enclosure and crashed through in the same instant as a frantic parting of the crowd heralded M’Len’s clattering arrival. Suppressing his agony, he swung on to the free with his last gasp of strength, and wrapped his arm into the reins as the street finally blurred and reeled as he lost consciousness.
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part two of my story
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Posted:May 21, 2008 7:18 pm
Last Updated:May 26, 2008 10:34 pm
1254 Views
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In a high pass through the Northern Mountains, drowsy morning sunlight washes down upon a track of gentle, flowing grass. It caresses the cold grey and brown rocks of the gully-side, cajoling them into the warmth of day. The air is quiet and still, and it smothers the chattering of tree-birds in the forests far below, and the cries of hunting eagles in the sky far above. Not even the crick or crackle of a wandering insect disturbs the expectant, taut silence. It is as if the mountains held their breath.
On the narrow horizon of the pass, the air is suddenly distorted and shimmers, and quickly darkens, as a pall of dust pollutes the morning. Emerging ahead of the cloud as black-ant specks and growing larger as they approach, a troop of riders a thousand strong appears slowly, menacingly. The riders are cruel-faced and proud; attired in sullen black leather which almost dulls the brilliance of their finely-woven mail vests and the sharp swords and spears by their sides or in hand. They pass voicelessly, and are followed by an ethereally silent host of countless thousand soldiers on foot, dark and vicious. Everywhere their swords, spears and helms glint breathlessly evil in the morning sun, clamouring silently for blood-shed. Their feet seem almost not to brush the ground, and the grass cedes resignedly to their passage.
The last booted feet leave the passage and the grey dust settles. The grass unbends with an imperceptible shiver. The mountain expires a sigh of relief which breathes upon the grey rocks like an artic chill, and numbs the brown soil.
*
Emerging on a wide ledge on the border of the Northern Mountains range, the riders come to a halt. They sit patiently while the host flows to a stop behind them. Separating from the mounted troop, five shaded riders slowly sway towards the edge of the plateau, which commands a glorious view of the morning light kissing the sleeping forests and plains of Xeratum awake, far below. They stop and survey the landscape laid out before them with clinical, calculating eyes. They remain in this manner for a long while; the host, the mounted troop and even the mountains; they wait patiently with slow, delayed breath. The sun rides across the sky and reddens, swells, casting thick shadows beneath trees, rocks, brows. The leader of the riders speaks. His voice is clear, quiet, yet it bites into the bones of any who listen, like tender-hooks.
"We have arrived. I give you Xeratum."
Another of the riders, who tirelessly bore the host's standard in rigid hand all the long march, turns to their general with an almost disguised growl of disdain.
"We will conquer this land? pah... Forgive me my lord, but is it worthwhile?"
The general's eyes do not shift from the landscape, do not blink. His expression remains icily bare and cruel. Yet a minuscule hint of displeasure, like a single rain-drop disturbing the sea, enters his quiet tones.
"I ask you Morbaine. Is this land worth our conquest? Tell me. I have no feel it. Have you?"
The flag-bearer's lips curl back momentarily, displaying disturbingly elongated canines. His scowling gaze falls searchingly on the side of his general's lupine face.
"I know what you speak of, and once more I renounce it utterly. I am the Sword-Bearer of you, my father, Prince-Warden of Karscu and General of the One Army. I will follow your conquest and obey your command. And I will die, if you wish it so."
Xalin the Soulless, Prince-Warden of Karscu and General of the One Army, finally tilts his head slightly towards his and heir, Morbaine, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. His eyes, though, remain dead.
"Well spoken Morbaine. I will command you to fight and, perhaps, to die. Yet what I know surely is that our conquest will be complete and our dominion total. I will drink the blood of Xeratum, and it will fall on bruised knees and implore of me ‒ ‘Drink again master!’"
With that, Xalin the Soulless erupts with a throaty, ear-rending roar. The host behind him lifts its voice for the first time in unholy bruising cacophony, which crashes against the flanking mountains like storm-waves on a cliff and falls upon Xeratum below like a stinking cloud. Striking their swords against their shields in accompaniment to the scraping, pounding hooves of the great rearing horses, they cry.
"To Xeratum! For Blood and Xalin! Tremble Xeratum!"
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my writings
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Posted:May 20, 2008 4:41 pm
Last Updated:May 26, 2008 10:35 pm
1227 Views
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i am hoping that everyone will enjoy my writing and leave me some feedback on them. tell me what you think of it no matter if it is bad or good. opne to suggestions on them also
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the start of a book i have wrote
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Posted:May 20, 2008 4:38 pm
Last Updated:Jun 3, 2008 2:01 pm
1317 Views
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A lonely, vengeful winter scowls over Nan Mund’eal, the ancient home of elven kind. It spreads a thick soiled veil of snow over the gasping forest, like an abandoned bride might lay a smothering veil on a sleeping . But now even the snow is black underneath dark clouds, invisible save for their faint silver outlines sketched by the dying moon. A cruel, chuckling wind rolls over the landscape, tickling sleeping creatures with fingers of ice, even those snuggled cosily within their hovels and dens. If it is at all possible, an even darker shadow rides upon this wind; a hidden passenger with silent and focused intent. As the wind and its secret passenger pass, simple men turn in their sleep with an unsettled murmuring. The next morning, they shift nervously on their stool and ask of their wives, "What’s that feeling you get, you know... the one where they say an angel flew by?"
Their wives shiver on their stool by the fire, half-remembering an intangible dream.
In a large clearing in the forest a great dark tree, somewhat like an oak, but much larger, jets forth into the sky like a magnificent black fountain. Its bark is spotted with little flecks of light from the windows of an expansive, yet low, building constructed around its base, like the foundation of a mighty pillar. Outside the simple entrance to the building, a troop of maybe five or six men stand in complete silence, their features cast in stone. They are unimpressively attired for a Council Guard, for that is what they are. Yet, from the light and sure touch each one keeps on his sword or bow, and the stern unquestioning sheen in each one’s eye, it is clear that any attempt to disturb their watch could prove fatal at this darkest hour of the night. From within the Council building there comes the muted sound of a young woman’s weeping. Suddenly, a desperate shriek is heard. The guards do not hear it; they have been ordered to be deaf tonight; and so they are.
“No, no! You can’t do this- You know you can’t do this!”
In a large and vacuous hall within the building, sparsely lit by a few dim candles, a young woman falls imploringly to her knees with a hoarse cry, her silver-blonde hair flailing madly about her. She is dressed in a simple white frock despite the cold, as if she has been pulled from her bed. She stretches a slender, desperate hand towards the hunched and retreating back of a hooded figure, who ignores her. The hooded figure shuffles over to the side of a hawk-faced old elf perched hungrily in a small wooden chair. The hooded man is carrying a small peaceful bundle which the seated elf glares at devouringly for a moment, before turning away with a grimace of disgust. Around the old elf stand several others, some hooded and others not, and they flick disguised glances at the bundle, as if it were something temptingly obscene they cannot resist peeking at.
Upon her knees, the young woman’s hands fall into the shape of a cradle in her lap. Rocking gently back and forward, she murmurs damply to herself through choking sobs. The hawkish elf in the seat lifts a trembling talon-finger at the girl and, in spiteful, uncontained rage, he shrieks to the gathered assembly.
"Look! The she-is insane, completely insane... Pah! Take her home, give me that-"
A guard had detached menacingly from the shadows, towards the girl. She releases an animal shriek and hurls herself at the old elf with disturbing agility; a barrage of bared teeth, nails and maddened eyes, toppling him over his seat, tearing at his face. The hall explodes in a quarrel of confusion, fear, and pain. More guards materialize from the shadows and fall upon the flailing girl, like ravenous wolves. Panicked council members stampede about, tumbling over themselves and each other. Forgotten and unnoticed, the hooded figure holding the bundle steps into the shadows and is lost in the fray.
Stepping from the hall, the bearer throws back his hood and screams at the men guarding the doorway, gesticulating wildly inside.
"Murder! The Elder is killed, get inside!"
Unquestioningly, the guards spare the briefest second to duck their heads to this senior member of the Council, then they rush inside, swords ready in hand. Grim-faced, the old elf gently brings out the bundle from the inside folds of his cloak, and gazes at it awhile. He feels remorse and no end to pity for the poor girl inside, torn to pieces like a sacrificial lamb at this her most tormented hour. He sighs. Yet he knows that sacrifices must be made, and one day he will mourn her. The bundle in his arms shifts dreamily and he hears a gentle breathing. He cannot help but smile at the beautiful tiny , inexplicably untroubled and asleep at the center of a hurricane of conflict. Covering the sleeping to protect it from the chill, the old elf is again grim. With no thought but to the future, he sets off into the forest, for he knows his purpose.
He plunges through the deep forest; he is old but nimble, and his feet dance escapingly across the treacherous black snow which would swallow another man’s legs. He is not bothered by the absolute darkness, and his movements are guided by a tickling of whispered breeze, drawing him to the chuckling wind like water returning down the beach to rejoin the tide. Emerging into a small clearing, he knows he must now wait. Seating himself against a slender fir, he wraps the into himself to maintain its warmth. After a lifetime of training, he does not acknowledge the cold himself, and he sits patiently, listening to the ’s murmuring breath mingle with the soft whispering of the wind. He does not wait long. Lifting his head, he feels the chuckling wind pass over him, but he is impervious to its tickling cold. The wind passes, but it leaves behind its passenger. With a fluttering like swans alighting, a dark and powerful figure steps gracefully from the air, before the old elf. Folding its magnificent wings upon its back, it strides up to the old elf.
"My lord."
The old elf is on his feet, and bows his head reverentially to the tall, bearded, winged figure before him.
"Muriel."
The winged creature acknowledges him, and his piercing, radiant gaze settles upon the bundle in the old elf’s arms.
"The girl is dead."
It is not a question. The old elf bows his head sadly and replies.
"I could not help her. It was so... Here is the -"
But the winged man puts out a hand in rejection of the proffered bundle, and his voice is as light as a falling feather, yet firm and commanding.
"No. I have spoken with your King. Take the there. Raise him, teach him, protect him... love him."
With these departing words the winged man springs into the air with a slap of his great wings, black on black, and is gone.
The old elf, Muriel, stands and gazes upon the . He smiles, for he cannot deny that this is what he has secretly wished for, though he himself had not known it. He brushes its sleeping brow lightly and thinks; "I am no longer Muriel. I will take this to the King’s house, and there he will be raised. And there I will teach him."
Filled with a warmth of love and purpose, the old elf who was once Muriel again sets out into the night, guided by a different wind; a wind which caresses his heart.
to be continued
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a rare love
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Posted:May 17, 2008 11:56 pm
Last Updated:Jun 2, 2008 1:27 am
1226 Views
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At moments like this I remember the night,
when we held each other oh so tight.
The stars from above gave us life from with in,
the ocean caressed the sand, as you caressed my skin.
The love that we shared
was so precious and rare.
I just wanted you to know I remember the time,
when all of heaven and earth was yours and mine.
Now heaven is yours
and earth is mine,
but we'll be together again for one final time
this one is very special and very dear to me
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no matter what you think of me
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Posted:May 15, 2008 6:49 pm
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2015 9:26 pm
1154 Views
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No matter what you think of me,
Will not change the course of my destiny.
Nor will the anguish of accomplishing my tasks...
On this path.
Where obstacles remain.
Where they for me,
Seem to last.
To sustain each day I grasp and pass.
Perhaps if I sought your approval,
I could gain some rest from that rejection.
Your lack of acceptance,
Would enhance my own dejection.
But no matter what you think of me,
Will not change my destiny.
I've toiled on this journey too long.
And what you perceive for me to be wrong...
Will not affect my insight.
I have struggled to maintain it.
With a faith that has kept me strong!
Days long and sleepless nights.
And no matter what you think of me...
There have been others who have thought far worse.
God had placed them on my path,
First!
To rehearse any emotions felt.
To conquer and to rid.
Knowing too well how now they must be dealt!
Alone...
Within me.
And without the thought of seeking outside approval.
From either open or closed eyelids.
Mine, yours or others.
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To link to this blog (hooiserdaddy69) use [blog hooiserdaddy69] in your messages.
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