[Story] - Legacies of a War-King, Chapter 1 and 2 revised.

[Archanon8957]

I would first like to say that im a newb to this forum, but none the less let my writing have it. I want even the negative comments. How does that tenet go, be thankful to those who hit you because they made you stronger? lol..ive been out of a good forum for awhile that gives comments on writing. Whatever you guys can offer, negative or positive, it will be welcomed with open arms. So, without further ado, i bring you the first chapter of Legacies of a War-King:


Larok turned the corner to find a neatly stacked pile of bricks which had recently been formed. Sandstorms came every forty five minutes and left mounds of dirt on everything. A boy who looked the age of twelve came from behind him with three bricks in his hand. Without so much as a glance, he piled the bricks on top of the ones already there, and ran back to where he came from to get, as Larok presumed, more bricks. Larok walked closer to the brick pile. Was he trying to bury anything? Or was this just a boy playing with bricks? Why such determination? What was his motive?
He stood next to the brick pile and waited for the little boy to circle the corner. Sure enough, no more than a minute later, the boy returned with three more bricks. Larok stopped him, and in a Gurelian accent asked him why he was doing what he was doing. The boy looked instantly saddened, or Larok just now took notice of it. He looked up directly into Larok's eyes and with an unshakably burdened demeanor said, "My mother has died and went to heaven. I'm building my way to heaven so I can see her again."
Larok was at that moment shocked and now stuck with the question, "Should I stop this boy from dealing with the loss in his own way or try and tell him his idea wont work?" He went with the first option. He was twelve years old. He nodded to the boy and reached in his pocket to give him some leftover's from breakfast. The boy reached out and took the stale bread. He nodded but could not smile without visibly being dragged into despair once again. He picked up the bricks  he had set down to answer Larok's question. and set them in designated places on the brick pile.
Larok tried to reassure himself that he helped, at least in a small way. Though he could not stay here for long. He was running late. He mumbled some words under his breath and instantly a sundial was carved into the sand. He had a mere four minutes to get to his class. Larock pulled out his wand and summoned an air concentration beneath his feet which allow him to hover his way to class, most likely making it there in a faster time than if he was walking. He weaved his way through the alley ways of the rugged town, making his way towards a dome shaped building that dwarfed the surrounding buildings. It had a large blue tapestry draped over the top of the dome with a darker blue insignia and white accents. As he made his way to the door he could hear his instructor's shallow yet resounding voice echoing through a lecture. The class had already begun, Larok was late. He took a moment to shed every ounce of self-blame off of himself and onto the inadequacy of the air-concentration  as a traveling device, even though it was presented to him as such by various teachers.
   Larok pushed the door open, its rusted hinges doing no justice to Larok's ideal silent entry. He took a bow to the class before him, then to the teacher, walked up the stairs to the nearest seat which was not taken  ( which happened to be a seat, to his inconvenience, only one row from the top) and sat down.
His instructor glanced at Larok then continued, "Remember students what your primary focus should be in conjuring your scout. So often I find students trying to call when their focus's are in this realm, when they forget that this spell can only be completed by focusing your attention away  from your surroundings. Let your mind wander into your own world. Then visualize a flying creature. It is true that some students' scouts will be falcons, while others might be butterflies..."
Larok turned to a student next to him and asked her what he had missed. Preoccupied with what the teacher was saying and wanting to respond undetected, she said out of the corner of her mouth, "Nothing really, but your lucky his lecture had such a long introduction. He just started getting to the important stuff moments before you walked in."
Larok thanked her and pulled out a scroll from his pocket to take notes. He checked the other pocket for a felt pen but none was found. That imposed a problem of great difficulty as it was customary for each student to purchase only one pen, and guard it with his or her life. Much like a sword would be to a samurai. Without his pen he defiled the prospect of not just his teacher's class room but of the proud tower of all learning. There was but one option, but it would be loud. After a short sigh he promptly clasp his hands together and  opened up a worm-hole reaching into his room. With a sound like that of thunder  he had his pen. Every head turned his way and murmurs  rippled across the class-room. Of course, such a sound disrupted the class-room immensely, but it also took precedence over blame for his lack of preparedness. At least for a moment. The instructor cocked his head at Larok in a sort of confused irritation. Larok raised his hands, knowing it probably wouldn't cushion the blow enough,   "Sorry, I forgot a pen"
His instructor remained clearly aggravated, "That is.. the second time you have interrupted my lecture. Perhaps Larok  you should save such insufferably annoying and inconvenient behaviors to the particles of sand which always see fit to get in my eyes...oh" he checked a clock on the opposite wall. "In about half an hour".
Larok understood his irritation, which made him feel vulnerable to more rebukes. It was like he was trying to be funny and demean him at the same time. The subtle laughter in the class told him that perhaps a few others were irritated as well. The girl next to him shot him a dirty look and straightened her hair, which had become ruffled from the spell. He countered, becoming defensive " I..Im sorry for interrupting I just didn't have a pen with me. By the way, I'm surprised you speak of annoying behaviors with such contempt. They certainly serve their purpose on the battlefield."
"Oh cheese-fiddles not in the context of a class-room...just hush up."
Larok nodded in a vain act of acceptance.  He almost instantly went over what he said to his instructor in a sort of insecure double-check. With this he realized that, of course, being annoying in a class-room truly had no correlation to being annoying on the battlefield. He had not turned red this entire time but as he realized this he felt the blood rush to his head. He could stand being late and unprepared but he couldn't stand not being right, or taking things out of context.
  He would think on this event later but for now his attention fixed on the Instructor's lecture. His instructor carried on,
"Students please...no fiddling around with this spell I'm teaching you. Visualize an entirely different world which holds the very essence of your person. Construct it with your mind...go ahead, do it"
   Larok forcefully cleared his mind, and closed his eyes. At first, nothing came to him but the back of his eye-lids. But as he began to journey farther inward, fragments of his person began to manifest themselves in a world he had felt and dreamed of but never had witnessed fully. His instructor said something but he didn't catch what it was. He wondered briefly if this was what he was supposed to do, but was so entertained, and intrigued, that he assumed he was doing as instructed. Though if he wasn't, the prospect of obedience just wasn't enough to sway him, especially now.
   Indeed this world of his was something else. He would think a thought and watch the sky turn different colors, each corresponding to the nature of each thought. Each color was so mesmerizing and attractive he felt as if he would fall into it. He looked at his surroundings and noticed he was on a shore, whose waters were the lightest turquoise he had seen. He could see to the very bottom, examining the multi-colored coral or the activities of the sea-life on a whim. A loud, rasping noise that penetrated the sky's told him something was wrong. He assumed, though it didn't make sense, that he had run out of time and his teacher was yelling at him to hurry. He did as instructed, thinking for a moment how his reputation might even sink lower. He imagined a flying creature whose span was that of the entire school room. It was interesting, he noted, that this majestic creature, above all others, was the first to come to mind. The deep hue's of the creature materialized in front of his eyes, the sun reflecting off its armored head and gold- plated wings and feet. It wore an armored chest-piece that was black and seemed deceptively heavy due to its sheer size. Though as he looked closer he realized it was porous so as to not bog the creature down during flight and allow the armor to breath. Its wing span ran the length of the beach, and simply dwarfed and made dull the splendor of his surroundings. He took a single step towards the creature when he was suddenly shaken out of  his world to the stretched and upset contours of the teacher's face. "That is enough. This was meant to be a short procedure. Unless your summoning a crazy zeppelin of a bird...Unlikely..." He motioned to the rest of the class, who mostly had butterflies, humming birds, and pigeons, "Then it shouldn't take that long. I suggest you practice more, it seems you're a bit behind."
Larok at that moment was struck with disappointment.  He had, in fact, summoned  "a crazy zeppelin of a bird", and if it wasn't that he thought it should be called something much greater than that. He would certainly seek to summon him after class was over. Perhaps he could even ride it. Of course, he would have to land once the sandstorm picked up, but for the few moments he could be with this creature, he would take.
The instructor walked to the front of the room and announced, "Ok students either cage the animals or release them the same way you summoned them. And if it happens to die, it will have to be re-summoned, but its important to note your soul-creature never truly dies unless your imagination dies...this can happen various ways. We will talk about this next lecture, which is  the day after tomorrow at the same time. Good bye ."
The students followed suit, gathering their things and walking down the steps towards the door. Some stayed in their seats with their eyes closed, presumably seeking to release their creature in their worlds rather than caging them. This didn't take long- a mere fifteen seconds, Larok observed. He knew in hindsight that his definitely took longer than that. Well, he would  think about this more when he returned home. He heard sands spraying against the few windows positioned at the top of the dome, and he knew another sandstorm had struck.  The sandstorms threat to him lessened over the years, and having the protection of several spells to keep the sand away from him helped. As a child, though, the sand was menacing and gave him nightmares for several days afterwards. It was the relentless presence of sand so thick one couldn't breath without breathing in rough sand crystals. He dared not open his eyes, he remembered, for the velocity the sand was traveling at would certainly tear his eyes and even damage his vision. Even the wind made standing a challenge for a young boy.  Though, when he had reached the age of 16 he was taught a spell that would keep the sands at bay, and in this he was granted permission to travel about as he pleased. He had taken advantage of this freedom frequently since then, had developed  the spell since that age, and traveled through sandstorms regularly. He opened the door and instantly covered his face squinted his eyes, and uttered a spell into the fabric of his torn robe. Immediately a force field surrounded him. Under the protection of the barrier he was also granted with the freedom to marvel at the sheer masses of sand being moved so turbulently around him. What once intimidated him and threatened him, he now was able to respect.
   Summoning the orb of wind beneath his feet  crossed his mind but he figured it would be disrupted by the winds. He was also not in a hurry. He passed by the pile of bricks the child he had met stacked up, which had grown significantly since he first saw it. Something out of place caught his eye resting just a foot away from the bricks. It appeared from the distance he was at that it was a mere piece of trash. Though anything but sand in a sandstorm seemed just so out of the ordinary. Truly,  if it was a piece of trash it would be covered over with sand. He walked closer to it.  As he did so a chilling thought crossed his mind. The boy. He instantly got down on his hands and knees and began shoveling the sand away with his hands from the body. Though the sand storm was so thick that it seemed to replace any sand he moved away. His stress levels exploded he could feel it in his chest, he could not let this boy die. Larok knew he didn't have much time to save him before the pressure of the sands would become so great it would literally strangle the boy to death. He tried plan "b" there simply wasn't enough time to physically dig him out. He recalled a spell that was taught him not longer than a year ago, and raised it to the highest tier. It would take a powerful spell to force such volumes of sands away from his body. With a shaking voice he uttered the spell and a deep explosion penetrated the depths of  sand around the boy and caused what seemed vaguely similar to a tsunami. Though his focuses now were on the boy, whose body seemed at the time lifeless. He felt the need to hope that he could save him still, but something didn't seem right. The worst part of it all, something which had just made his stomach curl into a knot which would not be undone anytime soon. The boy lay sprawled out, face up. This was no accident, he had committed suicide. He turned away from the corpse in despair and lumbered  away from it. Perhaps not towards home, just away.
   The sandstorms still raged on, relentless, like time itself. He didn't bother to look back at the boy's corpse which , within seconds, had disappeared under the sand.  He remembered how he had tried to help the boy, remembered giving of himself to lighten his grievances.  Though it just wasn't enough. Would it have been worth it to skip class to stay with this boy? Would he be willing to sacrifice that much to a complete stranger? Larok knew better but he could not but help feel responsible. He also knew he could not meditate on this for long. He needed any good, strong energy he had left from this day so that he could visit his scout again. Scout, he thought in jest. This was no scout, this creature could destroy armies clad with even the finest armor but he had not the slightest clue how to direct it. The uncertainty fueled Larok's intrigue.
   .
   

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Interesting story. Promises to go places, if you have places for it to go.

So often I find students trying to call when their focus's are in this realm

focus is a plural as well as a singular. You perhaps mean "trying to call when their focus is in this realm"...

Overall your phrasing in verbal sections needs some work; the rest of the story seems to work well, but the discussion - particularly the lecture - is a bit broken in logic, and, as such, is a bit difficult to follow.

[Archanon8957]

Thank you so very much for reading!
I would agree on the lecture. I revised it some before i posted but it seemed...like an overkill of conflict to me, he arrives late, disturbs the class with thunder, then doesnt get his scout summoned..needs some work.
i appreciate your comment. Im torn between going ahead with the second chapter or fixing some stuff with the first. Guess ill do both.

Thanks,
Archanon

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Might be worthwhile finding someone to beta-read your work before posting it, too.

That way you can catch the trivial stuff, and spend time on the important bits.

[Archanon8957]

Thats a good idea. Normally i just put asterics to identify the problem area but ill look into the beta-read.


Thanks,
Archanon

[Archanon8957]

     Larok turned the corner to find a neatly stacked pile of bricks which had recently been formed. Sandstorms came every forty five minutes and left mounds of dirt on everything. A boy who looked the age of twelve came from behind him with three bricks in his hand. Without so much as a glance, he piled the bricks on top of the ones already there, and ran back to where he came from to get, as Larok presumed, more bricks. Larok walked closer to the brick pile. Was he trying to bury anything? Or was this just a boy playing with bricks? Why such determination? What was his motive?

      He stood next to the brick pile and waited for the little boy to circle the corner. Sure enough, no more than a minute later, the boy returned with three more bricks. Larok stopped him, and in a Gurelian accent asked him why he was doing what he was doing. The boy looked instantly saddened, or Larok just now took notice of it. He looked up directly into Larok's eyes and with an unshakably burdened demeanor said,
       "My mother has died and went to heaven. I'm building my way to heaven so I can see her again."

         Larok was at that moment shocked and now stuck with the question, "Should I stop this boy from dealing with the loss in his own way or try and tell him his idea wont work?" He went with the first option. He was twelve years old. He nodded to the boy and reached in his pocket to give him some leftover's from breakfast. The boy reached out and took the stale bread. He nodded but could not smile without visibly being dragged into despair once again. He picked up the bricks  he had set down to answer Larok's question. and set them in designated places on the brick pile.

       Larok tried to reassure himself that he helped, at least in a small way. Though he could not stay here for long. He was running late. He mumbled some words under his breath and instantly a sundial was carved into the sand. He had a mere four minutes to get to his class. Larock pulled out his wand and summoned an air concentration beneath his feet which allow him to hover his way to class, most likely making it there in a faster time than if he was walking. He weaved his way through the alley ways of the rugged town, making his way towards a dome shaped building that dwarfed the surrounding buildings. It had a large blue tapestry draped over the top of the dome with a darker blue insignia and white accents. As he made his way to the door he could hear his instructor's shallow yet resounding voice echoing through a lecture. The class had already begun, Larok was late. He took a moment to shed every ounce of self-blame off of himself and onto the inadequacy of the air-concentration  as a traveling device, even though it was presented to him as such by various teachers.

   Larok pushed the door open, its rusted hinges doing no justice to Larok's ideal silent entry. He took a bow to the class before him, then to the teacher, walked up the stairs to the nearest seat which was not taken  ( which happened to be a seat, to his inconvenience, only one row from the top) and sat down.
His instructor glanced at Larok then continued,
      "Remember students what your primary focus should be in conjuring your scout. So often I find students trying to call their scout when their focus is in this realm. They forget that this spell can only be completed by focusing your attention away  from your surroundings. Let your mind wander into your own world. Then visualize a flying creature. It is true that some students' scouts will be falcons, while others might be butterflies..."

   Larok turned to a student next to him and asked her what he had missed. Preoccupied with what the teacher was saying and wanting to respond undetected, she said out of the corner of her mouth,
     
     "Nothing really, but your lucky his lecture had such a long introduction. He just started getting to the important stuff moments before you walked in."

      Larok thanked her and pulled out a scroll from his pocket to take notes. He checked the other pocket for a felt pen but none was found. That imposed a problem of great difficulty as it was customary for each student to purchase only one pen, and guard it with his or her life. Much like a sword would be to a samurai. Without his pen he defiled the prospect of not just his teacher's class room but of the proud tower of all learning itself. There was but one option, but it would be loud.

   After a short sigh he promptly clasp his hands together and  opened up a worm-hole reaching into his room. With a sound like that of thunder  he had his pen. Every head turned his way and murmurs  rippled across the class-room. Of course, such a sound disrupted the class-room immensely, but it also took precedence over blame for his lack of preparedness. At least for a moment. The instructor cocked his head at Larok in a sort of confused irritation. Larok raised his hands, knowing it probably wouldn't cushion the blow enough,   
     
"Sorry, I forgot a pen"

      His instructor remained clearly aggravated,
 
"That is.. the second time you have interrupted my lecture. Perhaps Larok  you should save such insufferably annoying and inconvenient behaviors to the particles of sand which always see fit to get in my eyes...oh" he checked a clock on the opposite wall. "In about half an hour".

Larok understood his irritation, which made him feel vulnerable to more rebukes.The subtle laughter in the class told him that perhaps a few others were irritated as well. The girl next to him shot him a dirty look and straightened her hair, which had become ruffled from the spell. He countered, becoming defensive,

" I..Im sorry for interrupting I just didn't have a pen with me. By the way, I'm surprised you speak of annoying behaviors with such contempt. They certainly serve their purpose on the battlefield."

"Oh cheese-fiddles not in the context of a class-room...just hush up."

   Larok nodded so subtly he knew his instructor didn't recognise it, and in all actuality, didn't care to.  He almost instantly went over what he said to his instructor in a sort nervous double check. With this he realized that, of course, being annoying in a class-room truly had no correlation to being annoying on the battlefield. He had not turned red this entire time but as he realized this he felt the blood rush to his head. He could stand being late and unprepared but he couldn't stand not being right, or taking things out of context.
  He would think on this event later but for now his attention fixed on the Instructor's lecture. His instructor carried on,

"Students please...no fiddling around with this spell I'm teaching you. Visualize an entirely different world which holds the very essence of your person. Construct it with your mind...go ahead."

        Larok forcefully cleared his mind, and closed his eyes. At first, nothing came to him but the back of his eye-lids. But as he began to journey farther inward, fragments of his person began to manifest themselves in a world he had felt and dreamed of but never had witnessed fully. His instructor said something but he didn't catch what it was. He wondered briefly if this was what he was supposed to do, but was so entertained, and intrigued, that he assumed he was doing as instructed. Though if he wasn't he didn't care. What had already happened in the class made him feel unwilling to follow suit.

       Indeed this world of his was something else. He would think a thought and watch the sky turn different colors, each corresponding to the nature of each thought. Each color was so mesmerizing and engaging he felt as if he would fall into it. He looked at his surroundings and noticed he was on a shore, whose waters were the lightest turquoise he had seen. He could see to the very bottom, examining the multi-colored coral or the activities of the sea-life on a whim.
       
       A loud, rasping noise that penetrated the sky's told him something was wrong. He assumed, though it didn't make sense, that he had run out of time and his teacher was yelling at him to hurry. He  did as instructed, thinking for a moment how his reputation could possibly sink lower.
     
       He imagined a flying creature whose span was that of the entire school room. It was interesting, he noted, that this majestic creature, above all others, was the first to come to mind. The deep hue's of the creature materialized in front of his eyes, the sun reflecting off its armored head and gold- plated wings and feet. It wore an armored chest-piece that was black and seemed deceptively heavy due to its sheer size. Though as he looked closer he realized it was porous so as to not bog the creature down during flight and allow the armor to breath. Its wing span ran the length of the beach, and simply dwarfed and made dull the splendor of his surroundings. He took a single step towards the creature when he was suddenly shaken out of  his world to the stretched and upset contours of the teacher's face.
   
  "That is enough. This was meant to be a short procedure. Unless your summoning a crazy zeppelin of a bird...Unlikely..." He motioned to the rest of the class, who mostly had butterflies, humming birds, and pigeons, "Then it shouldn't take that long. I suggest you practice more, it seems you're a bit behind."

      Larok at that moment was struck with disappointment.  He had, in fact, summoned  "a crazy zeppelin of a bird", and if it wasn't that he thought it should be called something much greater than that. He would certainly seek to summon him after class was over. Perhaps he could even ride it. Of course, he would have to land once the sandstorm picked up, but for the few moments he could be with this creature, he would take.The instructor walked to the front of the room and announced,
   
   "Ok students either cage the animals or release them the same way you summoned them. And if it happens to die, it will have to be re-summoned, but its important to note your soul-creature never truly dies unless your imagination dies...this can happen various ways. We will talk about this next lecture, which is  the day after tomorrow at the same time. Good bye ."

    The students followed suit, gathering their things and walking down the steps towards the door. Some stayed in their seats with their eyes closed, presumably seeking to release their creature in their worlds rather than caging them. This didn't take long- a mere fifteen seconds, Larok observed. He knew in hindsight that his definitely took longer than that. Well, he would  think about this more when he returned home.
       
     He heard sands spraying against the few windows positioned at the top of the dome, and he knew another sandstorm had struck.  The sandstorm's threat to him lessened over the years, and having the protection of several spells to keep the sand away from him helped. As a child, though, the sand was menacing and gave him nightmares for several days afterwards. It was the relentless presence of sand so thick one couldn't breath without breathing in rough sand crystals. He dared not open his eyes, he remembered, for the velocity the sand was traveling at would certainly tear his eyes and even damage his vision. Even the wind made standing a challenge for a young boy.  Though, when he had reached the age of 16 he was taught a spell that would keep the sands at bay, and in this he was granted permission to travel about as he pleased. He had taken advantage of this freedom frequently since then, had developed  the spell since that age, and traveled through sandstorms regularly. He opened the door and instantly covered his face squinted his eyes, and rasped  a spell into the fabric of his torn robe. Immediately a force field surrounded him. Under the protection of the barrier he was also granted with the freedom to marvel at the sheer masses of sand being moved so turbulently around him. What once intimidated him and threatened him, he now was able to respect.
   
     Summoning the orb of wind beneath his feet  crossed his mind but he figured it would be disrupted by the winds. He was also not in a hurry. He passed by the pile of bricks the child he had met stacked up, which had grown significantly since he first saw it.

     Something out of place caught his eye resting just a foot away from the bricks. From the distance he was at that it appeared to be a mere piece of trash. Though anything but sand in a sandstorm was  out of the ordinary. Truly,  if it was a piece of trash it would be covered over with sand. He walked closer to it.  As he did so a chilling thought crossed his mind. The boy. He instantly got down on his hands and knees and began shoveling the sand away with his hands from the body. Though the sand storm was so thick that it seemed to replace any sand he moved away. His stress levels exploded he could feel it in his chest, he could not let this boy die. Larok knew he didn't have much time to save him before the pressure of the sands would become so great it would literally strangle the boy to death. He tried plan "b". There simply wasn't enough time to physically dig him out. He recalled a spell that was taught him not longer than a year ago, and raised it to the highest tier. It would take a powerful spell to force such volumes of sands away from his body. With a shaking voice he uttered the spell and a deep explosion penetrated the depths of  sand around the boy and caused what seemed vaguely similar to a tsunami. Though his focus was now on the livelihood of the boy, whose body seemed rigid* as a board. He felt the need to hope that he could save him still, but something didn't seem right. The worst part of it all, something which had just made his stomach curl into a knot which would not be undone anytime soon. The boy lay sprawled* out, face up. This was no accident, he had committed suicide. He turned away from the corpse in despair and lumbered  away from it. Perhaps not towards home, just away.


     The sandstorms still raged on, relentless, like time itself. He didn't bother to look back at the boy's corpse which , within seconds, had disappeared under the sand.  He remembered how he had tried to help the boy, remembered giving of himself to lighten his grievances.  Though it just wasn't enough. Would it have been worth it to skip class to stay with this boy? Would he be willing to sacrifice that much to a complete stranger? Larok knew better but he could not but help feel responsible. He also knew he could not meditate on this for long. He needed any good, strong energy he had left from this day so that he could visit his scout again. Scout, he thought in jest. This was no scout, this creature could destroy armies clad with even the finest armor but he had not the slightest clue how to direct it. The uncertainty fueled Larok's intrigue.

Ch.2 Yin's Cry

      A watery, crystalline orb slipped away from the ceiling of her prison cell. It fell amidst a puddle where her foot carelessly lied. She had not given them the information they wanted. She would resist unto death, if it meant the secret to her once great empire was kept away from her enemies.  Five years the queen had stayed at Durhg, with no next objective , no next plan, just a maddening solitude  that was only made worse by the hairline crack in the cave ceiling. She almost thought the guards did that on purpose, either to rob her sleep or just to drive her insane. Her ligaments were stiff from lack of movement, her once beautiful, radiant skin blackened with the sooty mires of prison which she had once been so far and protected from. Her once gleaming locks were now thick with grease, and fleas.

    She had once lived far away from this, separated by vast classes of people. She once sat on a throne and commanded great armies to destroy for a cause. Indeed, she was once a warrior-queen. Her kingdom grew vast in her time, dominating less powerful peoples by means of force, plague,  and economic suffocation. Though, this empire of hers relied heavily on one particular type of wood. Her kingdom sprung out of  the presence of Yuksah tree, which, when tempered, could produce a wood so dense that even iron would bend and torque when the two clashed.

    Truly, as the Warrior- Queen experienced first hand, the Yuksah tree was the key to the vault of dominance on both land and air. The wood would make impenetrable ship hulls, and arrows that punched through both chest plates and mail. It was the staircase, the offer, of greater things for the Gurelian empire. Then the Aultratians stumbled upon oil in their waters. They allied with a band of weaker tribes, which included the barbarian race to the south who would stop at nothing if it meant attaining power. The Aultratians hired them out, corrupted by the smell of wealth and renown,  to set fire to the trees using their newly discovered weapon, the oils of the Rehugikk gulf.
     
    The wood weapons began to wane. Slowly, the Gurelian soldiers noticed metal weapon's in their barracks, and not the wood they had fought for so long with. It was truly the face of their fighting force, the accompanying superiority to the spirit of their empire and their people. But, it was  fading. Soon only the generals were granted  weapons made of this precious wood, and when the soldiers questioned their sword-smiths, a select few chosen by the Government to craft and repair weapons, they were lied to. They said that their fleet were requiring more and more wood, as the war brought a huge need for a superior navy, one that soldiers were not needed in. It was a disgusting lie, as everybody who experienced the war first hand knew the enemy was pummeling the Gurelian's ground troops and did not even bother with the ships.
     Indeed, their empire was in need of more ground troops more than anything else, and the size of their fleet could use a down-size! Another, more depressing  piece of information left out was the relentless forest fires from the south. It left trees smoldering for miles. Though, more interestingly,  it was in the middle of January! Truly, the Gurelians were a bit naïve, and perhaps too proud, to look into the secret workings of other nations. Their nation withered at the loss of the Yuksah tree, their prized weapon, and eventually collapsed .The people were released to the less populated areas of the Aultratian Nation. The barbarians were lacking people but, as the Aultratians knew, they also sacrificed humans daily to their gods.
     It made no sense to save the people from being killed by  soldiers and then send them to be killed elsewhere. No, the Aultratian king knew he needed people, and also, wanted to know the secrets of a particular tree. Among those interrogated was the Queen herself. Another water droplet splashed in the puddle. The sounds of the water droplets echoing in the cave was an accompanying sound to the filth, and the severity of her situation. It was an unassuming servant to all that is vile.
   A sound skirted the entirety of her cell like a group of rummaging spectres in a mad search for some dark and sinister residence. The sound grew, followed by footsteps. The Queen once writhed and shook the jail bars in protest upon the interrogator's arrival. At least, when her spirit was still alive. The sheer time that she had been there withered, rusted, and rotted away at her shining Gurelian Spirit. It was the slow way to defeat a warrior- kill their spirit. Their footsteps came to a halt at the prison door into a chamber with three prison cells, both of which were empty. One of the interrogator's jeered,

  "look at the hag...Hail to the Gurelian Queen, ruler of the maggots and  filth . She disgusts me, look at her."
   He motioned to the other who was with him, who just snarled, his large hooknose contorted in an ugly sneer. She could hear their mail shifting as they walked over to her, an intimidating dance of steel and intent.

  The armor clanked against the jail bars as hooknose rasped out a sinister laugh. The Queen's fixed gaze was downcast, blank and lifeless.

    Hooknose gargled and hoarse voice was heard first, "You have heard the offer before. If you tell us how to grow that little tree of yours, we.... "I have made my decision a long time ago", the Queen' frail voice interrupted. "And it was final".

   Hooknose shifted his weight, rotting teeth exposed in a severe scowl, "How dare you interrupt me!!!"
His voice sounded like it was from a man three times from within the cell, its echoes like demons to his aid.
The interrogator to his left spoke, a man of small stature,  " You have a new offer from the king himself today. Should you decide to teach Gerkkao, king of the Aultratians, the secret of your little plant, then he will appoint you Queen to reign with him for as long as you live."

    The Queen coughed what was meant to be a laugh, "Id rather ....die in this cell...then be a leader of maggots." The interrogator's dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand, "Fine, then die. Your offers have run out, and your fate is sealed."

   They both turned away and walked back to the gate before a tunnel, hooknose sliding the lock into place behind them. The footsteps retreated, growing fainter, and fainter still. Nothing, then, was heard but the leak in the ceiling once more, left to torment her before her appointed time.

[bill]

Please, please, please, please, please put line breaks between your paragraphs, and line breaks during dialog. It makes it so much easier to read.

[Archanon8957]

oh...my bad. I will fix it.

This is chapter 2. enjoy.

[Archanon8957]

Please, please, please, please, please put line breaks between your paragraphs, and line breaks during dialog. It makes it so much easier to read.

What about just double spacing it?

[bill]

Double spacing every line might help a bit, but you really should separate paragraphs, and not just the text as a whole. Some people (including me) also like starting a new line for dialogue lines.

[Archanon8957]

Double spacing every line might help a bit, but you really should separate paragraphs, and not just the text as a whole. Some people (including me) also like starting a new line for dialogue lines.

Alright man is that alittle easier to read?

[Archanon8957]

Ch.1- Psychology and Omniscience
"Can anyone tell me the reason why the inhabitants of earth were never satisfied"?
I woke up mid-lecture, to find a fine-haired man who I had recognized as my professor staring directly at me with spectacles that had a constant glare on them. This particular transition from sleep to reality was abrupt, and it irritated Curian Immensely.  The professor gave the class sinister grin, and said, "Ah...Curian! How nice of you to volunteer!"
He repeated the question, "Curian, please Enlighten the class. Why did humans never find peace on planet earth? Was it the various wars? Was it dissatisfaction with their own person? Tell us."
Curian took a moment to gather himself. He had been in these situations before, and he was hardened enough to think while under pressure. "Chapter 7, verse 3 of The Foundation tells us that humans had a knack to believe in established subjectivity. They assumed that since others believed the same thing , it made the belief credible. What they failed to realize was that the others were just as helpless as they were."
The professors eyes softened . " Well, let us see what the book sais. Class, do you think he is right?" He paused to lay his eyes on a deep-colored book on his desk, and after countless moments, an orange hologram of a page levitated from the book. "Lets see here, Mr. Yari."
The hovering hologram exacted in its middle section, and soon Curian was observing the exact passage he had just quoted.
"Very well done, Mr. Yari. A central theme to humans is that they all had the innate necessity to believe. Without their belief, there was no person."
Curian sat there, eyes fixed on a passage in a book he had never read. He had simply grabbed the passage out of his professor's mind. It was a slight expression on his face. So slight that nobody anywhere near normal could perceive it. But Curian knew he knew the answer to his own question, and thus Curian knew it.
Much of Curian's classes dragged on in this manner. It was simply an extra opportunity to sleep. But with this Curian still had the upper-hand. Being part of the royal bloodline and carrying with him the Eshamah Hakodesh seal burnt into his temple was a sure way to get the teachers off your back. They were knowledgeable in all the bloodlines of the school, some were lesser than others, but Curian in Particular was just a person who did not need advice, or even sociability. Why? Because he knew everything you were about to say, before you said it, and it would seem rather redundant to him to be told everything twice. Most of the students in the school found his perception offensive, and because they also envied his power, they disliked him. It was a certain look in his eye. The piercing green that seemed all so dark, yet it invaded its inferior's eyes with feelings of psychological nakedness, and incompetence. It was not necessarily all in his eyes either, but it was the knowledge that to approach him is to retain no secrets of one's past, or thoughts and feelings of the present.
   The bell rang, and excited steps and loud noises soon invaded the placid hall-ways. Curian hated how people operated on such a shallow level of Awareness. Curian loved things that were silent, and left to interpretation. It seemed stupid and callous of the students to not appreciate the silence of  the hallways.  Perhaps inanimate objects were a relief for him because they had no thoughts to read. It was a reprieve to think on shallow terms, sometimes. Curian pushed open the door, and walked towards the tallest building in the city. The Mecca for his bloodline.


Curian approached the Town Mecca, which was lavishly enclosed by many shops, and training schools. Curian never minded those places. He figured all he had to do was simply talk to his instructor, and he would know what the instructor knew, and thus there was no reason to spend the money. Most of his time was spent either in the Mirror- Chambers to the west of the central tower, or in the meditation rooms, which was at the bottom floor of the tower. Non- nobility were allowed to visit the Mecca, but they could not buy or sell, and, most importantly, they were not allowed into the Tower. They could easily be picked off from one of the several Guards surrounding the tower, so not many even went near it. Curian loved the meditation rooms. The walls were so thick that not even a faintest whisper could be heard of the outside world. This was where Curian did most of his deepest thinking. But he would not go there today. A much bigger question was beginning to nag at him, one which would require the mirrors, one that Curian could not answer for himself. Curian turned west as he approached the towering black spire, smiling as he saw it out of the corner of his eye. At the west end of the plaza, he took one long glance, and continued down the end of the branch. The Mirror Chambers were very small in comparison to the spire, but experience told him that this building housed answers. Entering its high archway, Curian felt a familiar sense of peace and sacredness come to him. He always felt like that when he came to this place. Curian perceived that it was the building's spirits sensing that he was of the highest nobility, and thus the feeling of peace was their protection, but he was not certain. Curian reminded himself of the answer he gave his professor earlier that day about the subjective nature of beliefs, and this quieted his speculations.
Curian entered a room filled with several puzzles, all made with mirrors. They were to reveal the  only question Curian could not answer for himself. He knew that he was all-knowing, but he did not know his purpose, or why he was the way he was. His perceptions failed him in this area, but in this area alone. He ventured over to the largest mirror and instantly the mirror formulated the color of Curian's Aura. But he did not want to revisit himself. His self-awareness made it seem redundant. Curian concentrated on other people, and with clarity thought, "Why do I know everything?" The mirror swirled as it recalled several time periods, but, after searching the history of mankind on earth, and several other time periods on different planets, the mirror came up with nothing. The result was a blank blue background which conveyed nothing to help Curian understand. Was his query obsolete, useless? No, he thought. Thus, Curian's question was unanswered and his search would have to continue.
   He decided that he would go home now. His parents, as his perceptions told him, were beginning to speak to each other with tones that conveyed more tension, and he knew that he was the cause of it. It was not, obviously, that his parents were nervous of his absence, they just wanted him to still be son, and themselves to be parents. They felt his omniscience should not exclude him from the family, and though he was capable of destroying the whole Mecca, they still wanted to be respected and obeyed as parents. They wanted the control.  He walked through streets that had just begun to get less crowded, whose faces were blurred by the vibrant purple sky, just arriving to stamp and seal the day. Curian loved the Mecca , and it was only second to his home. From the Mecca , Curian traveled northwest down a much smaller, and , as one could tell, much less trodden path. It was rather narrow, and late at night the buildings cast deep shadows in its midst, making an eerie scene which Curian had almost fallen victim to. He recalled these few moments in jest, as his perceptions were much more powerful now, he could walk through those alleyways blindfolded and manage not to touch even the insects, that seemed to have a vague attraction to particular alleyways such as these.
Curian could now see his home, its rounded contours casting an ominous shadow on the ground and  happening passers by. Curian motioned towards the door, which he did with ease. No lights outside his house were required. His parents kept this in mind and had learned that it should not be a matter of concern. Curian grabbed hold of the ornate metal handle after pausing a moment to admire its grandeur, and opened the door and stepped in.
Instantly, Curian perceived food. There was not any particular scent in the air, and this is fitting, as the kitchen was tucked away in the northeast corner.
His father, as he knew, was upstairs meditating on a great tension. And his mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Both of his parents had developed a habit of not speaking to him, as they both knew that he knew their thoughts. They could just think what they wanted to say. It was the same situation at school, and though his parents tried not to take offense to his knowing, the same resistence to anger was not found at school. Curian had learned to remain detached around people he knew did not want to be probed, but, at the same time, the poeple did not know if they were being read or not. This was, at times, was Curian's great amusement.
           He felt his mother try to show civility, and though Curian knew her true feelings, he still appreciated the effort. She, as Curian knew, had developed an emotionless psyche in an attempt to bury her thoughts so that they could not be read. Unfortunately, this only made her thoughts easier to read, because of her intense effort to be rid of them. This, oftentimes, caused a seriously conflicted expression on her face instead of an emotionless one, and Curian knew why. It was because she herself knew that Curian should be loved, and when she tried to hide herself from him in shame she thought this was depraving him of her assurance and love. Never the less, Curian knew her past was dark, and did not blame her for wanting it to be hidden.
   Instead of talking with his mother, he walked upstairs to see if his Dad had any interest in seeing him.
This of course, was not an abnormal behavior for his parents. It is hard dealing with a person who knows everything yet is morally imperfect. Raising Curian was interesting too. A mark of nobility normally arrives at the age of ten. This is also when the noblemen is granted a very basic and undeveloped power, which the nobility is expected to grow and strengthen as he or she grows older. Curian's power, considering its nature, developed at a pace four times that of an average nobility. Thinking using his intuition was something that comes natural to every person, whether nobility or not. The fact that Curian was exercising a much larger muscle than just his mind every time he used his intuition, allowed him to progress at an inhuman pace. There was no teaching Curian. He learned how to write with one thought of a pencil, and most importantly of all, he learned the fragility of lesser minds  . His perceptions, always, held him above others, and from this there was no escaping. Curian became trapped in this globe where fire and death reign all around him, but never touched him. He was protected by his intuition.. He could witness others wallow in self-pity, or deteriorate themselves in self-doubt, while he would suffer the question of  why he never had to experience it for himself. He couldn't help them either, an added torture, because he knew this would only further the problem.  The others knew what they were thinking about, and if they saw Curian try to give them advice then they would know that he knew their shameful struggles. There was not a drop of privacy between others and Curian, and it was all forewarned with the Eshamah Hakodesh seal carved into his cheek. His father was standing by a desk that had a mug of hot coffee steaming on it. He watched the steam rise peacefully from the top of the mug. He, as Curian knew, loved the small peaceful, unchanging things in life. He valued them as if they were the only trust able absolutes that this world had to offer, and, as ironic as it may be, Curian's dad saw such absolutes in the steam rising from his coffee.
Curian walked up to him, and almost instantly, knew that his father was conflicted  as well.
His dad grabbed his cup of coffee, which he cradled in his arms as if it was his very hold on sanity, and walked downstairs to join his wife.
From upstairs, Curian both heard and knew, "Is dinner ready, honey?"
A smaller voice replied, "Almost...Is that coffee in your hand? Didn't the mystic tell you that you have been a little...excessive in your coffee drinking?"
His father felt annoyed, "Listen, im not gonna let some mystic tell me what I should do, that right is reserved for me."
His mother understood completely. They had a shared understanding how much coffee helped calm his tensions. Curian's father was a bit different than his mother in that his concern was justice. Was it just that Curian should know every single detail about both of their lives? Was that at all ethical, or moral? Curian's father's dilemma was how could one be gifted as his son was, and yet not hate people for their wrongs and weaknesses. 
   From downstairs, Curian felt her concern melt into understanding, and she gave him a peck on the cheek without words.
Curian stayed on the top floor, pondering the question that he asked the mirror, "Why did he know everything?" All it did was destroy the people he loved, he thought.
Curian walked downstairs 4 seconds before dinner was served, as usual. His mother and father were, like the front door, not concerned how adequately he was informed. Curian was, in all honesty, the all-knowing one.
   Dinner smelled really good, and Curian tentatively sat next to his mother, concerned yet at this point accustomed to his parent's stress's. They began eating. After they were finished, Curian knew that his parents wanted to speak with him, but were uncertain on how to start. He took the opportunity to ask his parents the same question he asked the mirror. The question was bothering him, and he knew letting his parents know that he wasn't quite at peace in knowing everything would help them see Curian's perspective.
"Can I ask you guys a question?"
Both of his parents looked surprised, and of course Curian knew why. They assumed that he would know the answer to it, and such would be true, if it was any other question besides the question he was going to ask.
"I know, you guys think I will know the answer to it, but...strangely, I do not. It is a weird feeling, to not know after growing accustomed to knowing all that comes my way...or doesn't come my way."
His parents stirred, and his father spoke, "What is it son?"
     "I want to know why I know everything. I know my purpose is not to torment my family and people at school. How can I do good with my talent? Let me use you guys as an example. Since I came home you both have been really stressed. What have I done that would cause you both to lose trust in me?" Three seconds later. "You both fear an all knowing person with a fallible soul, this makes sense, but to lose function at the very sight of me is just not logical. The other nobility cannot lose function at the very sight of another. The most important thing of all is that though I know a lot, I still require your love and support, which right now my mind tells me is not quite there. I need to know that you guys are here for me. Ill let you say it. His mother took a deep breath, but said nothing. Curian laughed, "Well then, though I understand perfectly what that deep breath meant, I believe you both have some thinking to do. For the record, I love you both very much, and I am thankful for, at the very least, your financial sacrifice in purchasing this home. You have fed me, and cared for me for my entire life." He scanned his mother's memory and laughed. "You even changed my diapers when it was hard....really hard. For that, and through that, I can see that you guys love me, even if right now you feel extremely conflicted around me. I feel we can strengthen our bonds through these types of talks. And now for my question, which I know you do not know, but just so that you guys can know what's on my mind.  If you care at all: I have no idea where I got my power, and what purpose it is to serve. This is rightly a question I do not know, because nobody else knows. I know objective facts, but only through mediums such as books, or people. Though, not one book was made about my power's history so that I might see what my ancestors did with it, and not one person knows what I should do. His parents as he knew, were not at all motivated to speak. What was the point? What were they expected to do with a son who knew their every thought? In this scenario, to think was to communicate.
Two seconds later, "No, I have read every single mystic's mind in every town on every continent in both the mainland and on this island. None of the nobility bear the seal of the Eshamah Hakodesh. There are none who can help me in this case. The only thing that is keeping me from losing hope is, ironically enough, the uncertainty involving my origins. I seek to find what my ancestors did with a power that they should have considering mine. Ha! You see there it is! Im uncertain! Finally some diversity!" Both of his parents laughed, which of course did not surprise Curian, but it did bring hope in regards to their relationship.
    After giving time for his parents to soak in his dilemma, Curian turned and left, knowing that this was the end of the conversation.
Curian walked up the steps, and hopped in his bed, just three paces away from the edge of the staircase. His room was pretty blank. It was painted in a stark white, severely contrasted by a brown desk and a bookshelf, which had no books on it. This again was because of his intuition. There was no reason for books because his mind had access to them all already.
Curian pondered searching through this labyrinth for something to read, but after looking through all the books, decided to instead just marvel at a certain sunset three hundred thousand miles away, taking place just now, off the coast of Yuam.

Ch.2-The Trek
   Curian woke up to know that his parents were downstairs having a fight. Why this early, he thought. Today was his day of swords practice, but he didn't  feel like going. It was not necessarily because of the fight, he was just feeling as if it would be an ok day to break free of the norm. He was better than his instructor anyway, and he was so since he was ten years old. What a humorous visual, Curian thought.
   With that, Curian pulled himself out of bed, slipped on some clothes, and headed down to breakfast, which Curian knew had been sitting there for 13.22 minutes. He tried to ignore his parents glares. He thought to himself, Did last nights talk mean nothing? He knew that they were trying to imagine all that he knew about the situation, but Curian merely smiled. There was nothing new about his power, nothing new about people, and nothing  surprising with what they were arguing over. Though he knew his parents were trying to "probe" his mind just like he did their's, he knew it was mere speculation-nothing in comparison  to Curian's mastery. Breakfast was a lukewarm bowl or oatmeal, and a room-temperature piece of toast. Though Curian ate it eagerly for hunger gnawed at his stomach. His mother looked at him, and Curian responded, "Im sorry mom, but I really don't feel like going to sword-practice today. Besides, im better than my instructor anyway,"
She shrugged, and before she could speak, "I really get the feeling like im gonna discover something important today...perhaps." Unsureness. He only faced unsureness when it was in regards to why he was all knowing. Now he could be certain. "Mother I think I am going to discover why I am all knowing today."
She raised her eyebrows, and his father turned from his newspaper which he had gotten into in the brief moments that the fighting between his wife had stopped.
Two and a half seconds. "That is right, I am all knowing. Nothing will happen to me and if something does happen to me, you can be assured that I will be back by dinner time."1 millisecond. "Thanks mom."
With that, Curian determinedly pushed a whole piece of toast down his throat, got up from the table, and walked over to the coat rack. This morning, as he read from a person happening to walk by their home, was a bit chilly. He mumbled goodbye, and left his home, on a trek to discover the only thing he did not know. His parents as he knew, were little disappointed at the abruptness at his leaving. They expected little more civility at his leaving, and maybe a second or a third "thank you." But Curian's spirits swelled within him at the intrigue of this new trek. Though he could not shake the uncertainty that surrounded this adventure. No mind could tell him what an all knowing person was supposed to do with his knowledge.
   He decided he should go to the meditation chambers to try to find where, at least, he should go. The guards at the base of the meditation spire looked half-dead from the night of standing there. Curian knew the other three shifts that were supposed to show up during that night were detained for excessive drinking, and they could not find back-ups in time. Unfortunate for these guys, Curian thought. After lifting his head slightly so that the guards could see his mark, a particularly sleepy guard heavily moved to the side. Curian opened the chambers thick doors, and stepped inside its deep, dreamy solace.
   The rooms were beautiful, but it was not necessarily all in the items of the rooms, it was in the feel of them. He thought of the feeling he received at the front of the mirror-chambers. Though beliefs are subjective, this experience cannot be shaken, Curian thought. There was no bright lights at all, just light enough to see.
   Curian, with a little strain, spotted a pillow on the ground, and he used it to sit on while he assumed the position of  "the star-gazer", designed when in awe or wonder. He closed his eyes, and soon distorted images came cycling through his mind.
   He, as he now learned, would have to travel to the edge of his Mecca, right off the Trident coast. There was a cave that was literally consumed with uncertainty, and Curian found himself for the first time tentative with what he must do. Uncertainty meant answers, yes, but uncertainty is silent. What if receives an answer that he does not like? Though, Curian had taken the day off for this event, and he saw it fit to carry through with his plans. Locking the visuals in his mind as if a physical imprint, he slowly rose from the pillow, and walked out of the meditation spire.
   The trident coast was a fair distance away. Any normal person would certainly consider packing food, or perhaps extra clothing, but Curian knew his capabilities well enough to know that he would reach the cave in approximately three hours, so long as he kept a steady jog. The other nobility would second guess themselves when considering six  hours of jogging, broken only by the landmark of the cave, but Curian found himself not caring about the distance, or about his own personal fatigue. If worse came to worse, he could just scan the minds of the elves, located at the very bottom of the mainland, right on the coast. Their knowledge on breathing techniques were inhuman, and allowed them to travel such distances without fatigue
. But, not now. His mind was too engrossed in what he might find in the cave. With that, he begun his journey, heading for the cave just southwest of the spire.
   He found himself day dreaming for the first hour of the jog, but he appreciated that, because if he had any sort of track of time he would absolutely hate the trek. His mind was assuming what the elves called, Utepetra, which literally meant when the mind traveled away from the body. In essence, a day dream.
   Another hour passed. Curian found himself fixating on his aching joints, knowing that the pain was inescapable, and that all that he was jogging he would have to do over again when he came back from the cave. This knowledge gnawed at his mentality. He fought to ignore the pain as best as possible. He forced his mind to go someplace else, and even made himself believe that he was sleeping and this was his dream, and he would soon wake up. After another half an hour passed, Curian felt that he had done enough damage on this own. He quickly tapped into a particularly knowledgeable elf off the coast of Yuam, where Curian had watched the sun go down the evening before, not knowing which person he had tapped into.
   The elf's experiences came hoarding through his mind like a rampage of charging bulls. This happens when faced with intense people. They emanate more energy, and thus more vibrance  when it comes to mind-probing.
   The technique, as he now knew, was called in elvish, Otopul'thra.  It did not translate exactly within the human language but idn essence it meant to kill one's own personality so he no longer recognizes pain as pain, but as the greatest pleasure he could ever receive. This required that he literally break his own psyche in half, so that he could mold it to his own will. This process, as Curian knew, would have to be reserved for later when he really needed it. But as of right now, the cave was only thirty minutes away and he knew he could last the rest on his own
   The last half an hour was more painful than the first hour and a half, but Curian thought it was well worth the effort. The cave literally breathed uncertainty. It had certainly not been discovered yet because if it had then Curian would simply have to scan a mind, but because it had not been visited, he would have to learn the old-fashioned way.
   Curian could feel his mind tingle as he creeped closer and closer to this black-hole of a treasury. He would certainly discover what he had been looking for this day.
Ch.3:The Cave
   Awkward learning and using  actual reasoning skills as it was, he found he adapted quickly. It was simply a different glove he put on for a different job, or a different shirt for a different occasion. It also occurred to him that he could scan various other's minds and use their reason, instead of his own. He did not search through the cave long before he started missing his all-knowing identity and confidence as such.
For the most part, the cave was pretty ordinary. A echoing drip-drop every now and then, Cool air and dark corridors. It would have felt more damp if Curian had not have lit a torch, whose flame seemed  to camouflage the feeling of the moisture. Of course and as expected, there was Curian's threatening  lack of confidence, like a lion having to hunt just after getting its nails and teeth ripped out, or a once tall and mighty lumberjack's job given over to a little boy who is expected to produce the same work. It was the same way with Curian. Though in this he kept his dignity as his core was a rock and his all-knowingness did not spoil him.
Just then  something pinged his mind. Like the sound of the cave waking up or rolling on its side, or even waking up and greeting him. For the first time he did not know but aided with the logic of a powerful Tepotura in the east coast,  he knew there was absolutely nothing to fear. He pressed on through the cave searching for what he was about to find.
   A glimmer of color lit up  on a wall opposite of him as his torch reflected off its wet, drip-stained side. He walked over to it, and as he did the little speck of color grew to a large map, with writings underneath it and on the sides of it. This was mostly done in red. The vague metallic smell gave Curian the chilling feeling that his may have been done completely or partially in  blood, but  the  Tepotura thought not. His chills subsided.
He passed the torch over the maps surface. It was breathtaking. Whoever had made it certainly had the time do so.
Several colors were used throughout the map representing different oceans and different landmasses, but this had been done before. Why travel to some cave to duplicate so ornately what has already been done to only be seen by the person who happens to pass by it? He moved his torch toward the large, cursive writing below the map.
   "Extremity follows that of the Eshamah Hakodesh. Either the best or the worst, to the abundance or the destruction of those who come across them.

Curian was taken aback that within the first line it had mentioned his nobility, but was overwhelmed that the writing continued on it in a detailed description of the writer, where he came from and why he came here. The best part,  the writer knew of the Eshamah hakodesh. His origins were right before his very eyes!
He read on.

"My name is Gano, son of the most blessed and most accursed father, Drakkus. He was the reason I had to come here to this island. He was blessed with near-godhood, yet he has chosen to align himself with evil. It is implied what kind of power the Eshamah Hakodesh seal houses. There will be no other record of this because he has gained access to all other minds, and with this he has the ability to kill them. He will know where and who gets the information if anybody does. A subtle reassurance that this man was now dead  and Curian was the descendant of his family line quieted the abrupt thought of him getting killed on the spot.
He read on, "He has forced the people of his empire to worship him as a god, and of course the only other alternative is death, or a life of torture. I managed to escape him to this island with a women that he did not approve of to start over from the very beginning. I cannot explain if this was Drakkus's intention, and I cannot see why he would allow it, but her and I are here. We do know that our family line has Eshamah blood in it, and so there is a definite chance that there will be one like my father again, and should he come across this cave, then he should be mindful that thousands of people's lives are balancing on a plate, and  he is the only person underneath them holding it up. Should he choose a life of self-pleasure, then that plate will come crashing down and those lives will be lost. If he instead decides to learn from my father and hold those lives in balance  while improving them, then their will be abundance, and blessing will be on the people's side. This island will trust him and he will be its protector.
I hope my wife and baby survive, it is the only way prosperity can be birthed out of  the hatred and control of my father."

Mixed feelings  filled Curian's mind. He was joyful that he had finally discovered his origins, but depressed that he was related to somebody like drakkus. He was expecting to feel liberated but instead felt burdened by what he read. It was as if he had just been given a  giant mallet, one that he felt he can hardly lift. With this he is given a choice to fight for himself or for the people. Both had their appeal, and he felt gridlocked or torn between the two. He thought to himself, How can my all-knowing power help me now? He knew that the problem did not lie in what he knew  but in the qualities of his person. For this reason this choice lie heavily on him. It was not that he was necessarily drawn to the idea of enslaving everybody, it was just that he never even considered that as an option, much less chosen by somebody just like him. With becoming the people's protector, there was a certain lack of motivation that scared him into assessing which  life he truly wanted to live.
Ch.4 Dark Foreboding
It was somewhat anti-climactic if he took a step back and viewed this dispassionately. That all of his problems be boiled down to a moral decision  to serve the people or to have the people serve him. Of course, the source of his tension lay in the fact that he had to pick one. Yet, it was so simple and so human. It seems, Curian thought, even those who know everything are bound to the absolutes of morality. All he had to do was look through the several histories of mankind's existence and he found time and time again, when the people lost perspective, they got burned. The map did not explain what happened to Drakkus- if he was overtaken or if he simply died from old age. Or Drakkus's son even  witnessed or heard of his death since. Never the less,  Curian knew he did not want to be like him, but at the same time did not know that he had the option of proclaiming himself god. And, if he somehow discovered an anti-death  concoction or a spell from the mages, what was to stop him? Chills descended down his spine. Was he actually considering this? A voice echoed from within his core, Would it matter, if it was you?
He refused to respond because it was getting late and he had promised his parents he would be back by dinner time.
   The elf he had tapped into earlier was just now retreating in his hut, calling it a day. The thought of breaking his psyche in half just didn't appeal to him. Besides, that just wasn't his style. Something instant , he thought. He located an Arch-mage meditating in a grand spire in the mountains to the north. He had a long and powerful beard which was tipped with frost. His eyes were squinted hard and his brow furrowed, like he was concentrating  on something. On what? Curian would come back to him purely out of interest when he got back home but at the moment getting home was his first priority. The mage was very knowledgable in teleportation, which Curian used to blink himself home in less than a second.
    His mind was filled with what he had found as he gestured to his parents, sitting down to dinner.
"See? Told you I would be back."
His parents, as he knew, had witnessed the discordant, intense flash coming from the family room. Both looked alittle flustered. Curian was vaguely able to pick out a ruffle in his mom's hair that could have indicated a jump in her seat. He did not have the interest in really finding out though.
His father raised his coffee mug, which was now filled with water for formality's sake, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Curian pondered at light speed, "Yes and no."
Moments passed and Curian did not want to come off as being cold so he articulated, "It turns out I had a mass-murderer-god as a great great grandfather, and his son is the only reason why all of us exist on this island.  Wanna know the best  part? The grandfather had the same power as me, it runs in our family line."
Both parents looked overwhelmed. There was no debate or "are you sure's" . But an interesting truth it was to discover.
His mother tentatively spoke, "What of  your great great grandfather? Did he have a choice or was the evil a part of his power?"
Curian smiled. His mother had  already identified the core struggle.
"There was a choice involved. What I found has offered me a choice. The choice is to serve people in love, or enslave and  torture people in hate. My power is of the two extremes and nothing in between."

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

*mergeymergey* *tidytidy*

Be worth your while checking the rules for the Tower of Art, Archanon. Just a quiet hint. ;-]

[Archanon8957]

ok so i cant have multiple threads for different stories? Im not trying to be rude or anything im just curious...but yes ill read the rules...

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Oh, you probably can, if you don't go overboard. But a one-off post of the second story? I'd put that in the main thread.

The major reason for merging them was simply the lack of a correct naming scheme. If you'd done that, I'd probably have let it slide. ;-]

[Archanon8957]

hrm...well hakodesh descendants is a completely different story. Thats why i had multiple threads. But its all good.

[Tapewolf]

I trust you will be continuing with Legacies?  It made for an interesting read.  Put me in mind of Morrowind.

[Archanon8957]

yes i will definately be contining with loawk. If people like the premise of hakodesh there is a chance i might continue it but i really dont want to-im too lost in what will happen with legacies.

Did you read it man? did you like it?

Dying for some feedback....
Just when you can if you want to, no big deal.

[Archanon8957]

Alright so i gave the second chapter to a couple of other people to read and they basically said the story was hard to follow, didnt make sense, and though they were interested, it drained them.
So...im starting from scratch again. It seems my creativity is floored but its limited all the little things that dont make sense. Im confusing my reader.

I wrote this little shortstory, or snapshot, if you will. Ill make anyone who reads it a a deal. If you read it, i will critique and review anything you write, draw, or what not for a whole week. Deal?
Here it is:

A  little boy wandered the deserted and dark streets of Aen, guided not by torch or magic but candlelight. The clouds were illuminated by a bright moon, revealing the toxic red, the color of blood, that all war brought here. He had not bothered to change out of his pajamas, nor even take off his moccasin, a gift his father had given to him after he came back from the war. With his father back on the warfront, he needed the hat to give him a sense that he would come back- that he wouldn't die.
   A gust of wind ruffled the few bangs of hair pressed on his head from the hat. He shivered. It was in the middle of Tetretaurus, the season of winter. His thin pajamas did nothing to keep him warm, and his bare feet quickly grew numb in the snow.
   A dire curiosity pulled at the boy. He had heard a noise when he was sleeping, and after that, a subtle creaking of the door. And now, he was following footsteps to some unknown location. He had not seen his father for months, and if somehow the sound and the footsteps meant he was around, he wanted to know things would be ok. The footprints in the snow  turned the corner, and led to a small building just off the side of the road. A yellowish glow shined from within that building, leaving the shadows of two forms, appearing to be talking. The little boy followed the tracks to it, and as he did , he started to hear voices coming from the building. It was his mother. He crept up to the side of the building and sat against its side, pajamas cold and wet from the snowy ground. His mother spoke again, "I cant let you just leave me again.."
At the sound of words like this the boy knew it was his father. His heart skipped a beat as he opened the door expecting to see a worn and battle-scarred face happy to see him. Instead, a polished man taller than his father stood seeming taken aback to see a little boy up and about, and most importantly, interrupting their conversation. The man turned to the little boy's mother, who stood paralyzed. "Mom, who is he? Where is dad?" 
The man touched her on the shoulder, " Is this your son? You have a son?" She could not answer. She dared say a word.
The man said something quieter to her, hand on her shoulder, then dropped down to the little boy's level. His voice seemed burdened, and his eyes welled with feeling, "Im sorry."
He stood and left, walking off into the dark, cold night.
"Mom, what's going on, what was that man doing here?" The little boy's face contorted in confusion and sadness. He felt utterly vulnerable, his own mother, turning somehow an enemy, a source of hurt. Though he didn't know where his dad was, or how he was doing. Tears rolled  down his cheeks,  and his tiny brow twisted in pain. "What happened to dad?" His words were broken and garbled, fearing the worst.
His mother knelt next to him, heart pounding and crippled with shame.
"Cedric....he.. is in a much better place now."

[Jairus]

Sounds like a good deal.

Okay, first impression: not bad at all. Well written, not many typos, it's got a few problems, but a nice little story.

Okay, now for some things I caught.

Is the ground/snow/area stained with blood? You might want to make that clearer.
Um, a moccasin is a type of footwear, so you might want to change the name of the hat. I also doubt that anyone would go outside barefoot. Even in a fairly temperate climate like California, I wear shoes outside in winter, so the kid would have something on his feet to avoid frostbite or something as bad.
I think that the yellowish light would be more accurately described as "shone," but I could be wrong.
Double check your punctuation: I caught a couple of dropped apostrophes and extra spaces in weird places.
Um, near the end, Mom "dared say a word"... should it be "dared not say a word?"

In short, it needs a little work, but since I'm guessing that this is an early draft that's to be expected. Um, does the story have a name?

Don't forget to get a second opinion: trust me, always get a second opinion. Why do you think I post my ideas and stuff? And yes, your first thing was a little wordy. You don't need to cram everything into the beginning. I'm working on that problem myself.

[Archanon8957]

I have to admit i deeply appreciate your comments on it.

lol..moccasin...i meant that hat with like the little tail at the end of it...not sure why i said moccasin.Wow.


and yes dared not say a word is what i meant. My bad. I will fix it.

Hrm, and about a title...Does something this short deserve a title? i mean, i think i fool myself if i think i can title something like this. Lol..im just used to having huge ideas, things i happily title, that people are interested in but are confused by, which typically ends in me questioning if i really want to do this for a living. That perhaps i should change my hobby so i dont invest too much thought in one thing..which might, in the end, turn out unprofitable....Lol, i can title it tho if you want.


I thought perhaps that if i had him not put on shoes that would show his desperation to see his father. He's possessed by his caring and child-hood need to know that he is ok. He is also a child. Sometimes they dont think straight? If im totally off someone tell me.lol. But your dead on in the fact that in the winter, especially in the snow, he needs shoes. Though his need to see his father has shaken his reasoning....again, tell me if im off and ill fix. I really appreciate you pointing this out..much appreciated.

Now, my end of the deal-> i will critique and comment on your writing/drawing/ you name it for a week.
is there anyway you can post the threads you have stuff on ...or just like copy and paste the address?


Once again, thanks a ton for commenting,
Archanon

[Jairus]

Well, you might not need a title, but just to help you keep it organized in your mind. Even a single word could help. One little advantage that I find with coming up with a title is that usually it encapsulates what I want to do or get across when I write.

Okay, I can kind of understand the logic (or lack thereof) regarding the shoes... but even when I need to run outside really fast I'll just pull something on. Even a little kid would probably at least grab something. Again, try and get some other comments - I'm not exactly a good median choice for reviewer.

As for where my stuff is... it's in the thread titled "[Writings] (technically) - Jairus' Fantasy World-Building and Other Insane Stuff." Have fun.

[Archanon8957]

you know what man i just read your ideas and they rock..Go for it man. Im serious.This was for a book you were writing, yes?

[Jairus]

you know what man i just read your ideas and they rock..Go for it man. Im serious.This was for a book you were writing, yes?

More like books. And the scary thing is that Terra is only one of the stories I want to tell. All of that stuff has been floating around in my head for years, and I'm finally getting it all out.

[Archanon8957]

dude, i couldnt have said it better....
I will quote you, "all of that stuff has been floating around in my head for years, and im finally getting it all out".
This is why im starting my life's work, at age 19...i dont know what the title will be...but it will be complex as HELL itself..
lol

[Archanon8957]

          A glistening orb of fire lay in front of a boy, stretched out over water's which gleefully reflected its magnificence. No, this wasn't the sun, as it was in the middle of the night. It had originated from, well, him. That amount of  energy took him weeks to generate, though, it was energy he ambitiously gave.He truly wanted to break the presupposed limit of what he could, and couldn't do. He desired the power of complete control and mastery over magic. This boy's name was Xelfuras.
   Taking one last look at his makeshift sun, he turned and walked back to his cabin, a rooster crowing prematurely. His parents, who would soon wake up, slept in a different cabin. It was naturally larger than his, but never the less, Xelfuras liked being set apart. He had constructed his own cabin when he reached the age of ten, which he had built with not tools but with magic. It was a fairly simple task.
   Just as he was about to enter his cabin, a harsh grumbling came from within his parents housing. Xelfuras laughed to himself, his convictions were right, they would not stay asleep for long. Xelfuras decided to stick around outside his cabin, waiting for somebody crawling out, stumbling as he went, hair unruly from a night's sweat, eyes drowsy and tired having been woken up in the middle of the night.
   Sure enough, just as he anticipated, his father came crawling out. "Gahhh! Wha... what is It morning already?!"
Xelfuras laughed, " Sure enough! Wakey wakey time to start the day!"
His father collapsed half-way sticking out the cabin door, exhausted. His mother's voice could be heard behind him. Xelfuras gave them a chance to wake up. He would prepare them breakfast. During breakfast, he would tell them the truth about the imposter in the sky. He was left to wonder what they would say.
   A boat rocked back and forth on the shore, tied to a wooden contraption. He untied it from its anchor, and pushed the boat out to sea, jumping in just as it begun to glide along the waters on its own. He stood up on the boat and closed his eyes. Moments passed. He was trying to feel the fish he knew were swimming beneath him. Once he could feel the fish to the degree that he felt like he was the fish, then he could control it, bringing them to the surface. Three fish darted under the boat  not more than six feet below the surface.  They happened to be playing. Their movements were erratic, impulsive cuts in the water, with no reason or conscience just  raw, natural processes. He submerged himself into their minds, taking on their impulsions and their erratic, spontaneous movements- their very essence. Soon, Xelfuras saw three fish heads poking out of the water, as if they were unassumingly responding  to a question. He laughed slightly. A subtle wave of his hand commanded them to jump up on his boat. The three heads disappeared under the water. Moments passed. He could feel their presences moving away, and then, at some random point, cutting back sharply and swimming at top speed. The three fish suddenly speared out of the water and landed on his boat. He released himself from their minds, and with another motion of his hand, killed them instantly.
    A sound from the shore caught his attention. It was his dad. He waved with both hands stretched above his head like he wanted him to come in shore for something. Xelfuras gathered the dead fish together in a pile then used the oar to paddle his way into shore. The expression in his father's face became more and more detailed as he came closer. It wasn't the most uplifting, or encouraging. He seemed gravely concerned. The boat pushed onto shore, rough ground making a coarse noise against the bottom of it. Indeed, his father was clearly angry. Before he could even get out of the boat, he mentioned something that Xelfuras was not ready to talk about.
"So, son, I want you to look at the moon in the sky."
He did so, pretending not to notice, "Yes what about it?"
"O certainly you are not so clueless. I knew you were working on something that involved large-scale energy and what not. The moon and the sun never coincide like that. Look at them, they are right next to each other!"
As much as Xelfuras would have liked to be the one to bring it up, there was no escaping it at this point. He had to confess. "Ok, It took gathering energy for weeks. But yes, that sun is not real. It was my doing." His father, fighting off looking impressed, deepened his tone, "Don't you know how many people will be upset about this? They wont know that it was due to an ambitious boy off the coast of Gladehmir.  Who knows, some religious groups might even find away to call it a prophecy. You have great talent, my son, and I support you in developing that talent, but remember to be responsible with it. Xelfuras nodded.
   His father's grave tone grew more casual. "Now...Ill take those fish from you and explain all of this to your mother. For now, I want you to remove your sun before the real sun rises. Two suns burning at the same time will reap havoc on our planet. Hurry."
"I understand , and I will." Xelfuras grabbed the fish and gave them to his dad,  frustration fused in his face. He truly wanted things to flow in the manner he anticipated. Not being able to foresee something always caused something dark to stir in Xelfuras.
His father turned with the fish and walked back to his cabin. So he was left in the silence of the night, which due to his ambitions, was day.
    He looked up at the fiery luminescence in the sky, his hand shading its stinging radiance. He would have to cast the same barriers as he did before to protect him against such vast amounts of energy . Even though it was his own energy, protection was imperative. He would also need additional barriers to protect him from burning up in the atmosphere, as he knew from past experiances. Xelfuras could also not manipulate his sun at such a distance, he would have to go to it and physically drain its energy. With this final thought he levitated powerfully off the ground, casting a impenetrable barrier around him to protect him from his world's atmospheric pull.
   In a blink of an eye he was among the clouds, leaving his hearth which now was the mere size of a peanut. Immediately he turned his focus onto his ball of fire in the sky. It looked the same size as it did on ground level- he had a while to go. The pull became more intense as his altitude increased. Fiery cuts running the length of his spell-barrier began to form. The streaks of flame joined at his feet which left an even more distinct trail of fire behind him. The pull was that of an elastic band which would stretch only to a certain point, as he knew, then it would break. He was determined to get to that breaking point, though, fire surrounded him and his clothing smoldered  like a volcano after an eruption. He needed another spell, and fast, otherwise he would be burnt alive.
"Morgorok!"
Water materialized to his left and right then came together tightly around his body, sizzling as he came in contact with his clothing. That would do for now, for the water seemed to hold form and didn't evaporate. The fire become so intense around him for a moment it was all he could see from all angles, then suddenly, silence. The fire died out, leaving nothing but blackness around him and in the distance, freckles of pulsating white.  The water around him grew cool, which felt good having been so close to death by fire.
His attention now fixed on his sun, getting closer but still a distance away.  It was below the slightly larger moon,  vying for power in an epic clash of luminescent  radiance.
   Seeing his own work make the moon look not-so-large gave him a chilling sense of accomplishment. Though, something was different. His whole idea had deflated after speaking with his dad about it. The monument to his name suddenly seemed transparent to him, and he wasn't sure how he had changed so quickly. He would think on this later.
   Xelfuras  shivered. He could see Ice crystals forming in the water making it a slush of sorts. He had to rid himself of the water and warm his body to avoid the risk of hypothermia. "Exultermia!"
The water  suddenly thinned away to nothingness, leaving the clothing underneath damp.
In a gathering motion he then condensed a ball of flame over his head, reminding him depressingly of his  former dilemma. The flame coated the barrier in a thin blanket, warming him to the bone.
   He was now almost upon his imposter, its bright light starting to burn his eyes. He  opened his hand and  slowly brought it across his eyes, dulling the piercing color of his sun. 
   Coming but a few feet from it he reached out a hand , which within moments began to shake uncontrollably under the strain of handling that much energy at once. His work had begun. This part was truly an internal battle. The situation was such that he needed his mind cleared of all distraction or he would not have the strength to reduce the size of his energy-moon. Moments passed where he was locked in an energy equilibrium between himself and his creation.  His focus magnified, and slowly, he could feel his old energy start to come back to him. He lifted his other hand, and a radiant light suddenly lit the tips of his fingers up as if he was holding five mini-suns.  He channeled his sun's energy outward. His mini-suns elongated into penetrating beams of fire that shot into the darkness of space, running on forever.
   He would purge his mistake, and he would spend more time pondering his motivation. It would not be power to live with the shame of effecting so many people in a negative way. It would not be power if he left his sun in the sky as a monument to his name. Power, he thought briefly as he plummeted  back to a night-fallen  planet, is in the acceptance of one's own current state, and a love for oneself in the present. Any deviation from this, he thought to himself, summons a consuming fire.



Note to anyone who reads: the policy is give me even the insults. Dont hold back, lol. If it sucks tell me so. Anything said is appreciated

[WhiteFox]

Hm. Not bad at all.

You've got some weird diction in a few places. "...as it was in the middle of the night." Would sound better if you took out the in.

Some of the dialogue feels a little stiff, like the characters are simply divulging facts rather than holding a conversation.

A few sentences go on for a bit when they could stand to be broken up or shuffled around.

There are a few errant grammatical errors, missing spaces or capitals, but that's almost inconsequential.

By the way, I'd have to say that you're in the top 10% of writers on the internet if only for the fact that you're taking your presentation seriously.

(PS: Disclaimer: I'm in the Earnest Hemmingway/Steven King camp of "The more concise better" writing. That might weigh my comments a bit. Not to mention, I'm a better commentator then I am a writer.)

(PPS: You mention that you want people to give you "Even the insults" There's a difference between an insult, and constructive criticism. "It sucks" or "You suck" is an insult. "It sucks because of X, Y, and Z" or "Your X, Y, and Z sucks" is constructive.)

[Archanon8957]

I have to say, Fox Leblanc, your comment is deeply appreciated.

And i understand what you mean in regards to the constructive criticism, but...id rather somebody say "You suck", or "It sucks", than not say anything at all. Constructive criticism is ideal for now, but,
If somebody was to pay money to read something i wrote, and it sucked, they will not think for a second about giving constructive criticism. They will go out and tell their freinds about how bad it is, and will be dissuaded to buy anything else i write. I reap what i sow, if its sucky writing, i will get a sucky rep.

This makes your constructive criticism golden, to me...
If u have any stuff you want a comment on, let me know... and ill take a look at it

Thanks,
Archanon

[Archanon8957]

Ok, i have to confess this has nothing to do with the fantasy genre.. Its about the revolutionary war..I hope i havent broken any rules by doing this...lol
i kinda had this vision of three boys kicking a rock between each other in a feild of wheat...That's where it started from.




   Three boys played in an open wheat field, kicking a stone back and forth between each other. Such was the usual pass time for kids of this particular age, the age where mother let them go out and play. Among those three boys was a kid by the name of Tristan, son of Samuel and Molly, and  the youngest of the three. As the youngest there was a particular hierarchal arrangement which Tristan eventually learned to accept.  It Wrought Jokes, being teased, and also being harassed for not playing "well enough". This such day was a repeat of the same. However, this day revealed something different.
   The rock bounced off of Aaron's shoe,  then onto Eric's, then back to Tristan, who kicked it back to Aaron.  Such was the game, and however repetitive the game itself might have been, for Tristan, it wasn't about the game at all. It was a sad thing, but Tristan's concern was to live up to the older kid's skill in the game. When he thought he succeeded in this, he allowed himself to be confident, and his reward was equality. Then there was those times when he missed the rock, like this particularly breezy evening, which could only mean...
   "Tristan i thought you said you have been practicing...what's going on?"
"Im sorry ok? This is just a game" Just a game. This was a quote from his parents. However true it might have been, Tristan was too hard on himself to accept it.
Eric stood next to Aaron, who still remained puzzled. Tristan started off the circle again and  it passed on to the two others. Tristan ended up clipping the rock with his toe, sending it spinning back towards Eric, who grabbed it with his hand.  A smile came over his face and he started tossing the rock up and down  in his hand. "You know what they say about losers.... they say the redcoats like to kill them first."
Eric, reading Tristan's expression, "Havent you heard?"
   A voice sounded behind him. It was his dad calling him in for dinner. Eric handed Tristan the rock, whispering in his ear, "practice", right before leaving the two of them.
Aaron sort of stood there with his hands in his pockets, smug expression on his face, and when Tristan offered to play with him, "With you? I cant the redcoats might mistaken me for the loser, and not you." There it was again, the redcoats.
"W-wait the redcoats? Who are they?"
Aaron snorted, "Are you serious? Have your parents not told you anything?"
"Tell me wh..." A strong voice interrupted his query. It was Aaron's turn to come home. Aaron turned and left without any regard to his question.
"Wait!"
Though Aaron had already disappeared into the evening shade, not a sign that Tristan had ever asked him a question at all. A door creaked open, the closest house to his right. A yellow glow shone from inside, casting his mother's form in shadow. "Its time to come in, Tristan" He turned and did so, gaze fixed at the ground in a disappointed contemplation. What did they mean? Who were the redcoats?
   As he walked in the door his curiosity plagued him, and so when his mother asked him to wash up for dinner, which was already on the table, he could not but ask.
"Mother.. Today when I was playing with Eric and Aaron, they mentioned something about...redcoats? They said they liked to kill losers. What did they mean?"
His mother stared wide-eyed at him for moments, then her head sunk in her hands, which brushed over her hair. "Tristan ...wash up"
"But mom who are they?"
His father came from around the corner, responding to the question as if it were asked him. "Son you will do exactly as your mother says."
Disappointed as ever, he bit his lip and washed his hands in a bucket set in the corner of the dining area, murky having been used by his father.  A towel rested beside the bucket. He dried his hands off, and sat in a chair next to his parents, who had already sat down.
   His father started grace a moment later, "Bless us Lord, and keep us safe through the night, that no danger might come to us. Thank you for a good harvest this year, Amen."
Amen repeated twice, stronger from Tristan's mother, and a faint whisper coming from Tristan.
Both his father and mother started eating, without a word, and they ate like it would be their last meal.
Tristan did the same, but his curiosity nagged at him every time he looked at his plate to observe his parents. Their behavior, it seemed to him, was the only source of information he would have.
A look of strain came over his mother's face, then a brow so furrowed it blotted out the humanity in her eyes, then tears like none Tristan had seen. His father put a hand on her shoulder, "Molly...we will hold out the night. It will be ok."
Tristan could not believe what he was hearing. Just before he was going to ask the question one last time, his mother's voice, like a gentle stream starkly contrasted to her strained expression, "Tristan can you go to your room for a minute?"
Tristan nodded, and went to his room. Though, something was strikingly wrong. It was his father's prayer, asking for protection. It was his father telling his mother that they would hold out the night. Most of all, it was his mother crying like she had just seen hell, giving Tristan a dry mouth beyond anything he had felt before. It was his mother sending him to his room. They didn't want him to know something.
   From behind his door, in his darkness of his room, he stood listening. The faintest murmur, what could it mean? A harsh sound from his mother, and then a word that sounded only too familiar to "shot-gun". Why would he mention that? Tristan knew of the shotgun his father kept in the cabinet, in fact his father had taught him how to shoot it. The only reason why he would be mentioning a gun, was if he wanted to shoot it. At that moment, in an overwhelming circle of connection, it all clicked. Tristan slid down his door helplessly, crying so hard he was sure his parents had heard. Though he didn't care, his mind was someplace else. A few moments later, a new urgency plagued the boy. He had to get away. If the redcoats were coming to his house, him and his parents have to leave, and fast. Before he opened his door, it was opened for him on the other side.
"Dad! We have to leave! Come on lets go!" He tried to run over the table to grab some leftovers before they left, but his father held him still.
"No...Tristan..." When Tristan still struggled to break free, his father held him stronger. "Tristan! They have us surrounded. There is no way out. Lo...."
A series of gun shots gave them both a severe flinch, and Tristan buried his face in his father's shoulder, crying uncontrollably. "Look at me Tristan" He did so, cowering from what could happen that very next second. "Promise me..." The door started rattling and his mother grabbed a kitchen knife with shaky hands, barely getting out, "They're coming!!"
His father's gaze was fixed on his son, "Promise me, my boy...That you will not fear, and that you will learn to love."
The door burst open, hinges creaking under the redcoat's cruel neglect, bayonets protruding rigidly into their home, their hearth. His father threw him to the side, and slammed the door shut, reaching for his shotgun.
     Twice, the shotgun fired, a final roar of his family's spirit, and then overcome by a barrage of rifles. Silence, and then footsteps towards Tristan's door, which opened swiftly. He then stared into the eyes of one of them, a redcoat. It was his eyes that caught him first, not the rifle barrel aimed dead-center at his head.
   The red-coat then took a deep breath....

[Archanon8957]

   A ravaged city whose roads were obscured, and  in some cases, blocked off from collapsed buildings  slept soundlessly through the night. This city had collapsed months ago from a war that stretched across the entire continent- some have said it was a global war. The only thing that hindered the war escalation was starvation, and both sides being short on supplies. The food and weapon shortage was due, very simply, to the vastness of the war, for which this particular city was a microcosm. The pain experienced on all sides- extreme starvation and lack of supplies and shelter- eventually lessened the pain of opposition. One pain lessened another. Nobody knows the stimulus for such a war, as there have been more religious answers than scientific, more songs and poems than theories. Some have said God caused it, others have said God allowed it. And then, there were those few who said that they did it. Whatever the people's speculations, they have remained such at least for the time being. The survivors' top priority was not necessarily  to know why the  war happened, but how to live through it. They slept in buildings which were remnants of the war's active hatred, dominated by soot and brokenness. They were lucky, however, to find a building that wasn't completely leveled to the ground.
       On the ground were pieces of blackened concrete, cruel fragments of steal beams and twisted rebar, and an occasional corpse which was just as black and marred as the structures. The Survivors also could not travel far, for a haze blotted out vision of more than three meters, thus compounding the possibility of getting lost. The haze also brought a stench that wreaked of sulphur and death, which etched away at their sanity.
   However  massive this war was, there was a few, a mere handful, who led the rest. One of these few was a  sixteen year old boy by the name of Aurelan. His mother and father had both died when he was very young, which was twelve years before the war. His uncle took care of him in this city, though he died in his office from a suicide bomber during the war. Aurelan was struck with the deepest sadness and depression. At the time, he felt like his uncle was all he had left. But through the war he met three others, and that quickly became his family. Together, they would survive this beast.
    They lived off the remaining food in supermarkets, who also brought food back to the other survivors. They felt it a  calling to, if just for a few hours, sustain others' lives. Aurelan could not see another person die. It would  be too much for him to take.
   On one particular day, something quite different happened. Something that nobody had foreseen, something that broke all prior arrangements, plans, and objectives. It was something extraordinary.
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   The early morning light  illuminated the blanket of haze, making it a toxic green in color, and somehow making the stench of death worse. It was as if the heat put the death-blanket at liberty, spreading the smell. Aurelan put a bony hand over his head, blocking out the dimmed brightness. Him and his friends had gotten so used to things being dark that even the slightest bit of light hurt their eyes to look at. Aurelan rolled over away from the light with an irritated groan. Somebody stood up, a rustle of clothing, dust being  brushed off. Aurelan cracked an eye. It was Toro, his tall gaunt figure looking like that of a ghost in the haze.
   Aurelan laughed a little, and shading his eyes from the brightness, " Early start?"
Toro jumped, "Heh...you scared me." He turned, " Yea...I..Im starving."
"Me too brother."
"Coming with?"
Aurelan groaned and rolled back on his back, "Yea, just give me a sec. Can you wake Stacy and Jim?"
"Yep, where did you see them last?"
Aurelan pointed  up to a pile of rubble just a few feet behind him.
"Ok um, ill wake them."
Aurelan laughed, "Not what your thinking man."
Toro smiled, and as he disappeared in the haze climbing up the pile of rubble, said "Ok, if you say so."
   Aurelan was left seemingly alone, encapsulated by the green haze. He took hold of a large piece of concrete and hoisted himself from the ground, feeling groggy and weak from hunger. He had spent three months living like this. All around him, dust, haze, rotting corpses, broken buildings. The chaos of the war left nothing untouched. Aurelan wondered how much longer the four of them would be able to survive.
   He then heard faint voices which the haze made into dull murmurs from its thickness. Not much later, the three of them returned, Toro leading them.
Aurelan addressed all three, " Well, who's hungry?"
Jim jumped out at (and nearly fell from exhaustion) Aurelan and exclaimed, "I am!"
"Stacy what about you?"
She gave a glum look
"That's an answer enough...Toro, you ready?"
"yep."
"Good, then lets go find ourselves breakfast. Also remember to take back enough to feed five other survivors. These people they're just as starved as we are, if not more."
   They made their way down into the road, weaving in between the rubble and sharp metal objects. They would have set markers up to help guide them to and fro from the supermarket, but they were afraid they would be followed. They did not want another group to use the markers to take away the food that Aurelan and his friends found. They had to use piles of rubble and buildings as landmarks, an effective improvisation.
   Nobody spoke as they walked through the toxic mist,  and they stepped silently, so as to make as little noise as possible. They didn't want to be tracked, or noticed. Once the other survivors found the location of the supermarket, its food would be gone in an hour, and the four would have to find another place to find food.
   Approximately twenty minutes later, a dirty supermarket sign broke through the haze, and the contours of the building became recognizable.
"Step in silently" Whispered Aurelan
   Stacy walked in first, followed by Toro, then Jim, and finally Aurelan, who looked around outside the door for any sign being watched.
   The inside of the supermarket was filthy, covered in ash and dust, with a scent that was even worse than the haze outside. However, it was their only bet. Besides, the four were only after the bagged and canned goods, the ones sealed away from the elements. Jim found himself in the chip aisle of the supermarket, while Stacy and Aurelan checked the canned fruit. Aurelan wasn't certain where Toro had gone but the last he saw him was next to the canned beans.
   Aurelan grabbed a can of pineapple off the shelves and cleaned the dust from it with his shirt. He then walked over to a corner of the shelving unit and started banging the can against it. Toro walked next to him with a mouth full of beans, and said, "I think I've told you before...they have can openers for that".
Stacy and Aurelan both laughed. "That you have. Do you have one on you?"
Toro grabbed another handful of beans before reaching into his pocket and saying, "Sure enough. Here you go pal." 
"Thanks"
   Aurelan took the can opener, and pressed it into the aluminum and turned the crank until the lid separated from the rest with ease. Stacy walked up behind him with a can of fruit salad, "Can I see that after you?"
"Only if you remind me to use that next time instead of the corner of an aisle. "
Stacy laughed. Aurelan handed her the can opener, then heard footsteps coming from another aisle.  Jim walked  towards them all with three bags of chips in his hands.
Toro mumbled through a mouthful of beans, "You really intend to eat all of that?"
"You kidding me? Of course I will. Im starving." Jim opened up a bag and dove in.
   Aurelan suddenly heard a light thrumming noise from outside. At first he dismissed it as his own food depraved mind playing tricks on him, but as it got louder... he couldn't ignore it.
He turned to the others, who were too busy talking and eating. "Guys do you hear that?"
"Hear what?", Toro said, clearing his mouth of the beans
Jim gave him a puzzled look.
"You guys stay here ill be right back." A couple of "ok's" sounded behind him as he walked towards the humming noise.
   He slowly emerged from the dirty supermarket, first checking the buildings outside for any sort of device that could be making the noise. His eyes quickly went from building to building, pile of rubble to pile of rubble. Then, in a moment that sent shivers down his spine, his eyes fixed on the misty sky. A luminescent object stood hovering, shining blue over the thick green of the air. Then suddenly the object disappeared, then reappeared on the ground in the form of a human. The humming stopped, and the form started walking towards him, its blue radiance piercing the grays and the distasteful greens. It opened its arms, and a  distinct voice  cut through his Aurelan's shock, "You can put that can of fruit down, the starvation is no more." The figure's mouth did not move. Aurelan stood still shocked. Moments passed,  then suddenly a dozen questions came pouring out from him, all the while the fear of dying at that very moment from this thing dominated his mind.
"I...im...im sorry, but who are you?"
The radiant blue figure laughed without opening his mouth, "Im God."
He could not speak...he was dumbstruck.
A scream sounded from behind him. It was Stacy. Aurelan walked swiftly over to her saying, "Look I think its ok...its ok.. I don't know what the hell is happening either...just, uh..." Toro and Jim followed her, eyes going wide and legs buckling.
The figure's head turned toward Aurelan, "Tell your friends im here to save them. It might spare them some of the fear. I would tell them myself but I can only communicate this way with you."
"Why me?" asked Aurelan out loud.
"Your questions will be answered....eventually.. but for now, I think your  friends could use some assurance." In all actuality, Aurelan didn't even know if he could trust this...this being... at this point, but he did so anyway.
"Guys...look, he says he is here to help us...He.."  Aurelan looked back at the radiant blue form, "He says he's God."
Jim struggled to lift himself up from the ground, "God? H...How?" After a few moments of studying the being, Jim spoke again, "Ok, so he's God.
Toro and Stacy walked slowly up to it, shielding their eyes slightly from the being's brightness. It opened its grand, long arms, "Tell your friends im here for them, im here for all of you. And in just moments, this world will become a utopia and you and your friends will never go hungry again." Aurelen shed a bitter tear, on the verge of believing, but not wanting to believe. Aurelan told his friends what he had said.
Toro dropped on his knees before its blue, God-like radiance. The being took a knee and embraced him". Tell this one his two younger brothers are safe in my arms.." Two younger brothers? Aurelan had no idea he ever had two brothers. "Hey... Toro he says your brothers are safe with him. And that you shouldn't worry." Toro broke down in tears. Stacy stood next to it, studying it,...calculating...trying hard, as it could be seen on her face, not to lose control.
   "Enough crying on ash and dust, I would rather see my people crying tears of joy on plush grass under the shade of great oaks. Aurelan are you ready?"
"I am...so many have been affected by this war...so many have suffered"
"Their suffering and your suffering will be no more"
   The being levitated from the ground then ripped the top section from the bottom part in a discordant noise of steel tearing under force.  Once it was completely off, he levitated higher in the air with it before he tossed it away from the four. It disappeared into the blanket of haze. God's light grew brighter than it ever had been, and in a great voice, one that silenced every single noise in the back of Aurelen's head, roared out at the skies. Aurelan, being the only one that could hear it, cringed from the being's voice. The other's reacted as if they heard nothing at all.
   Instantly, the thick green blanket above the skies peeled back, revealing the authentic blue sky they had missed so much. The stench was replaced with the smell of flowers. The buildings disappeared completely. Green grasses covered the ground,  and trees replaced the piles of rubble. Never once before had Aurelan been bombarded with so much emotion at one time in his life. He was shocked, overjoyed, afraid to believe, and questioning all at the same time. However, as he looked across the newly formed horizon, he could not help but feel that his great being changed worlds on a regular basis, and if that he was willing to help them, he was trustworthy.
A voice penetrated Aurelan's mind. "This is not a free ride out... you still have a duty, and there is a point to all of this. I want the beginnings of my new army as comfortable as they can be. Though for the time being, recover."
And God blinked out of existence,  leaving the four shocked  beyond all thinkable measure.