Login | Register
 
Message Board | Latest Posts | Your Recent Posts | Rules

Thread: The Wanderer's Tavern

Is this discussion interesting? Share it on Twitter!

Bottom of Page    Message Board > Writers Guild > The Wanderer's Tavern   << [1] [2]

Oh, I'm glad to hear that you've enjoyed of this thread so far, and yes, let us try to keep this thread active and alive!

I'll strive to post something unto here during the next few days, for I've some nice tales in store. Some of them are just in need of editing and shaping.

And thank you for such positive feedback, I hope I've managed in what I've been trying to do all these years. To deliver joy in form of writing to other people. Smile Smilie

So, The Wanderer's Tavern is open once again to each and everyone.

Have a nice monday night.

This is a short tale + poem I made today at work, when I had some spare time on my hands. (And as always, if those little buggers catch my eye, I'll correct 'em.)

Else, enjoy! PS. It's a strange story, I know. Smile Smilie

 

It's called:

 

'A Dead Man's Ring of Power'.

 

Written by: Oerath Windsoul

 

'Not all kings end up good and to rule with great wisdom. Not this king at least. It's said that he was one of the most tyrannic kings in the world's long history, but there's a very good reason why, for ever since his childhood, his father taught him how to be cruel, cunning, victorious and relentless. And those elements built his whole life, all the way to his adulthood, when he befriended a warrior, whose loyalty became his ultimate downfall. The king gave the warrior very important missions, and even named him as his right hand - to rule as second in command by his side. But when the time came, when the warrior needed help the most, and the king could've given it to him, the king chose to step back and let the warrior die.

To him, he was the one who was expendable. Facing a certain death, he simply sacrificed the warrior, his best friend, and watched as his body was completely torn apart by their foes and their weapons of fire. And yet upon death, the warrior was left with three things. His spirit, his shadow and surprisingly, his loyalty. And many, many years later - in another battle - in a similar situation,  the king chose to save himself again. And now with his very spirit banished into the shades of oblivion, the warrior was left with nothing but his shadow and his sadly proven and misplaced loyalty.

Then at some point, the king came into possession of a very powerful magical ring, which granted him unique abilities and power beyond imagining. And soon he realized that he could now break each and all dreams with the ring's might. Mad and drunk with power, the king started a very costly war campaign, which in the end despite the ring he had, also cost him his very life. And even with the king dead and gone, the warrior still couldn't leave his side. And so he buried him with all the little shadowy strength he had left in him, and built a burial site that consisted of a grave, eleven carved stones in the king's honor and some other things. He also chose to remain as it's sole guardian. And the ring.. That he laid down upon the snow beside the king's crown made of iron and human bones.

And there he remained, until the wanderer, a traveling poet if you may, came across the grave and the structure of eleven carved stones built around it. And at first, he didn't even see the warrior, due to him being just a shadow of his former self. But soon, the warrior attacked the wanderer out of the blue, and the wanderer had to defend himself. But the warrior.. He had no idea that this 'foe' possessed very strong magical abilities. And with ease, the wanderer dodged the warrior's attacks and then began to drain his shadow empty. Within moments, the warrior would be no more.

Yet even upon his third and final death, the warrior chose to remain silent, though he bowed to his powerful adversary as a final act of bravery. And once the warrior had disappeared forever, the wanderer, filled with confusion and wonder, quickly approached what the warrior had been guarding. And that's when he saw it in the snow besides the king's crown. A very peculiar ring, radiating with great power. But the closer he got, the more he felt the ring's dreadful touch of madness and will to control it's bearer. His mind trembled of fear, yet his heart almost longed to claim the ring from it's snowy resting place. But in the end, he chose to let it be, and carefully buried it deeper into the snow, so that the others wouldn't likely find it and be lured to use it for evil and wicked purposes.

And then the wanderer glanced at the king's crown of bones and thought: 'This would make a fine poem, I think. Yes, I shall write a poem about this incident. I know that not many will find it good, but I will write it nonetheless. And I wonder.. That was the ring responsible for breaking both the king's and the warrior's dreams too, despite everything it aided them with. Who knows? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Oh well, some things are better left without a proper answer, I guess.'

And with that, the wanderer departed and never returned back to the burial site of the mad king, who once wielded possibly one of the most single powerful artifacts of all times. He simply just turned his back on it and never regretted doing so. And later, he even wrote the poem, though it's a shame that to this day, only little of it remains intact. Luckily, I was able to piece these following parts together from across the wanderer's old, and a little decayed poetic volumes. And I think I did a pretty good job too. And since the work itself had no real entitle, I chose to give it one. So now.. It bears the entitle: 'A Dead Man's Ring of Power'.

 

An old crown made of iron and bones

Buried deep in the snow

Surrounded by eleven carved stones

Guarded by a warrior's shadow

 

Roots and dried leaves decorate the grave

Of the mighty, yet foolish king of late

And where blood and darkness stains the brave

Is where a mad man of power met his cold fate

 

No songs to uphold any kind of remembrance

And no tales filled with heroic deeds

Just the winter's lonely, bone-chilling dance

And a warrior, whose loyalty prevents him from leaving those cliffs

 

Everything else about him waned a long time ago

Yet his shadow, the only thing he has left, refuses to abandon the fallen king

Crows circle the grave, looking at something gleaming in the snow

For among the crown rests a very mysterious ring

 

Untouched, it awaits just next to the grave

Under the tall, snow-clad trees

A ring carrying the king's name

A ring that bears the power to break each and all dreams

 

One may wonder was it forged, where the sun has long since descended, and where swords don't sing

One may wonder was giving it to an already doomed man the reason, why it even became a dead man's ring

 

A dead man's ring of power, a dead man's ring of power

Lies now deep under the snow forevermore

A warrior's loyalty and honor, a warrior's loyalty and honor

Mean nothing, if the king is rotten to the core

 

A dead man's ring of power, a dead man's ring of power

The cold hands of frost ought to keep it safe

Let no mages past the forest's border, let no mages past the forest's border

Or they could accidentally locate the ring's - to be forgotten - resting place

Alas, the faithful warrior shall find his solitude in the halls up high, yet it is not so for that cruel king. In equal measure will the king suffer the torments endured by the warrior, for a king disloyal to his soldiers is a tyrant, and in death will be bound to the doom chains wrought in the darkness of spirit, weighted down by the shadow of pride, ill woven and tangled with roots of unyielding malice. Quickly it fades from our thoughts, that the king was not always evil, and blinded we become to things far beyond what we are willing to perceive, where an act of evil reaches beyond one Man’s destiny and prevents it from repeating in a future where they are long forgotten. The ring in the snow was by the king left with its true purpose, a piece of art. All of its power consumed by the king’s spirit, and only a heart burdened by such darkness could conquer a thing crueler than itself. Never was it known, even to the king that the ring’s power was ended, except in the mind of Êruvô, whose love is endless, yet unable to unbind such a doom self wrought. Still the spirit of the king by the love of Êruvô was guided, and shown wisdom, and when his doom was fulfilled, he was taken to those same halls as his friend, the warrior. Oerath Windsoul, I have wanted to write something and have been struggling trying to piece together my thoughts, so I decided to add to some of your story, I hope you don't mind! I found it to be very interesting, I did not use the Wanderer and I would be interested in learning more about him!

No, not at all. I'm surprised to hear that you found that tale inspiring. And as for the wanderer.. I think that the true reason why he keeps appearing across my tales, is that he's a kind of trademark of mine. A large part of me. Even as a character, he always has some of my talents, like writing and singing. But with that said, I feel like I've written a bit too much about him. I mean, this is called the wanderer's tavern, one of my newest works is called: 'When the Wanderer answers the White Wolf's call', and then there's the tale about the king, the warrior and the wanderer. Big Smile Smilie

Different roles for a man - who in the end - is never the same man in the tales, yet sometimes reading about him feels like he is. He's me in heart and spirit, a true reflection of me in my tales of fantasy and magic. It's no secret that I add a lot of personal things into my text, for in real life, I'm quite a wanderer, a dream-dweller and seeker of the impossible. Magic, mythical creatures, gods and nature's purity and might.

So, I hope that answers to your questions about the wanderer in some ways.

And, Imwithiel, feel free to add something to it. I'd very much like to see what kind of tale you end up with. If you want to talk about this further with me, just send me a message on the subject. That would be most fun.

And needless to say, I'm also waiting to get to read it too. In this one, I actually enjoyed writing the poetic part. Oh well, no wonder why. Smile Smilie

So I keep thinking, will you add some of those too in your tale? Smile Smilie But hey, it's just an suggestion, you make the final decisions. Have a nice day, and pleasant writing times.

Oerath your writing style had inspired me to attempt building on your story. I found it to be like a small adventure; meeting characters, and seeing lands I never would have imagined. It is a different world, your world; no more will I interrupt your creation. I don’t like much how I wrote about it. Those characters are your own creations, and I do not have the authority to rule over their will; a great evil it is, attempting the judgment of those fates; coveting the destiny of their home, and dethroning the Creator only to annihilate the work of his entire existence.

Well Oerath, what can I say man, or what have I always been saying: you are a poet of the first degree. Stories well, I written a bunch, but you my friend, you need to write books, seriously. Take some time and effort, and get them published nice seeing you again mate, good times dragon poetblush

I would like to hear one of your stories Amras, if you have the time.

As much as I would love to my friend, it's really impossible, If you care about reading one, check out the forum rpg called War in the North Trilogy. It's still unedited, so I stress you do not get to caught up in the story! Sadly, it will probably stay unedited,. But I would love to. See ya PT lords and ladies, all being needing to take my leave soon.

 It’s not impossible, if there are stories that have not yet been made; even if they have similarities to ones existing already; they have no truer meaning than that which the author intended. I will read what you have suggested Amras.

Well said, Imwithiel. Well said. I'd very much like to read more of your stories myself. Indeed I would. And aha, Amras! It's good to see you back here at PT, friend.

And I'd like to second what Imwithiel said. Do try to write us some short story from that war historic mind of yours. Smile Smilie

I'd like it for sure.

PS. I haven't been exploring much lately, but I'm still getting into war history to some extent. I should watch some films/documents on the whole subject and do some reading.

Yeah. That would do. Catch ya both in the chat room sometime. Smile Smilie

I am glad to see you have returned Oerath, and Amras; I read part one of that story and I enjoyed it. I could see the valour of Gildor, and the words of Ecthelion revealing his fate. You did well at displaying the nobility, and courage in the heroes’ hearts, as well as the pain they endure at having to end a life; a pain carried to ensure the safety of all peoples in the city; a pain that never fades, and is never entirely recognized.

 

 

Age of Animal: Part One

Prologue

I, Potesti Zuplinsk

I, Potesti Zuplinsk, am here on this planet to purge the earth of a decadent race, to purify is my esteemed mission. Men,...I must sadly time and time again repeat, have been a tyrant and usurper, slowing progressing downwards throughout the epochs of time. Nature, a gift from the creator, is all but spoiled by the wastes of man, who think they have the rights to do so. Men slay each other in petty wars of pettier goals, and human life is as degradable as Lucifer. Men are damned without being sentenced to hell. I Potesti Zuplinsk, am and always will remain a fixed and avid believer of the purification, for I was pushed to be one, by force. I was a professor of genetics in Moscow University when the first horrendous bloodletting began, what is called World War One. I saw the horrors of it, my Russian people and the whole world being reaped by man and it's machines, bent on killing. These memoirs turned my mind on the sole object of forming a holy Crusade, as they had in the days of old. My University was burnt down by revolutionaries, my home and and wife and children were burnt together, and I was routed from the country for my White Russian ancestry. I resolved to stop war and death altogether, so I traveled across Continent and Continent, researching, and successfully inventing a solution. Animals, poached and molested by my human race, were in great need of a savior, a sustainer of life. Their pure, innocent dwellings and lives, were under threat by my race, and I endeavored for both sides to accept peace. Beasts have beautifully complex, but obeying minds. To the vast Elephant and ferocious but brave Lion and to the snake, to the artistically designed octopuses, their world, which I loved, was under the curse designed by the malice and greed of man. In order to save their world I needed to save mine, so I brewed carefully, mulling over my creations and manifestations. My brain is blessed with the desire and compatibility to create new species of life, perfected, beautiful. I took many animals, large and small, and I toyed with their minds creatively. So many were in need of a friend, a loving master! And how I was for them! Too many though were brutal and brooding, lurking in the darkest recesses of the mind. Abuse and mistreatment! Humans, my very own and kind Russians too, are enslaving not only the natural world but their own. They bury their dead, wipe their eyes from tears from the past, and forget, forget. Man is also on the very brink of extinction, and little do they realize it by breaking the natural world into their private playgrounds. Money is desired, money, fame,...pride. My forlorn beasts needed protectors, and I needed (and still need) willing assistants to aid me in my act of the creator, he works his will through me, an unworthy man. So I collected, painfully and impatiently, species from the kingdoms of land, air and very minimal of sea, for the sea would not live up to my purposes. My base of operations, so to say, was Venezuela, a far from developing country with diverse species of life and adequate underground caverns for my plans. My animals, mostly from South America, labored with me in building and designing a vast, almost dwarven hall. The apes were the brightest, mostly delvers, they set about their business with a cheerful attitude. But our endeavors had many hardships and dangers, especially when my marvelous workers foraged for provender,(for my own stock for them was never high in those days) in the rain forest, for many were caught and killed. But more dangerous were the abused beasts, they would slay their discoverers, and news of the killings would reach into the big cities and towns along the coast, till every foolish, boastful hunter set about on catching the beasts, and killing them. I, without even a plan, set about a defense system. I was also a engineer so to speak, delighting in both medieval and some modern inventions. My little creatures were defenseless against the booming guns of the hunters, so I designed the most marvelous armor ever seen on this planet. I dare not to name it, for many corporations would strive to copy it. But the substance of it I can, without further ado, explain. Separately designed for each new specie, was a mesh chainmail suit, comfortable as their own skin. But it was electric, I had harnessed energy(I can not tell where) with the rest of my wealth to give it to them. Boundless, infinite energy. No long cable lines or cords, but running through the beasts as if they were made of it. But all this work was getting to me, even at my youthful age, so I left my cavern hall and sought for companions, helpers, and later, commanders. These I found not in the plenty, for man was against their cause, but they were enamored by me, they adored me as a God. It was a vast following, 30,000 helpers, homeless, but fanatical. They had joined me out of pure joy and with a willing spirit, for I desired no one to be forced out of fear, for fear is not the strongest bond. I promised them they would be perfected, in mind, body, and soul. Oh, and they were. Their goal to was to save the world from the perspective of both the animal and man, and all of them were avid listeners to my instructions. Many hand been prominent in their respective countries, and they brought out of their pockets gold, coins, cash, bonds, and stock. All of this supplied my work, for the time being. I set about perfecting them. With taking the genes from different mammals I gave them better strength, adaptability. But more, I shot them up with immunes for every known disease on earth, all of them were perfected. The apes made them mesh suits according to their design. Once they were perfected, I was pleased. My funding was all gone, so I sent an emissary spy to collect the stock. It provided some, and finally my glorious helpers, much enhanced, set about helping me. One more important detail I have left out is this: I genetically copied my brain cells and gave them mine, so they are intelligent, brave, and loyal as I am to myself. They can never more reproduce, for my order of living no longer needs that: They will never die, shells, bullets, shrapnel, the most destructive weapons could barely do damage, which mostly results from the mesh suit and my followers perfection. We worked on the beasts, birds, and reptiles. I found a pathway link, of the most painful, intricate, code into every animals mind, and I can give a telepathic vision to them, thanks to my amazing servants. We also enhanced their bodies too, making them more aggressive to any one but us, and stronger, smarter. They were three times smarter than normal humans. This took a great progression of time, forty years to be exact. And I had lost all personal connections in the world except for my Balancers(I named my men servants the Balancers) who told me that another war had happened years ago and that it was far bloodier than the rest. War after war followed. Animals flocked to South America in greater numbers, listening through the mind connection to come there. Human greed increased, and pollution became so much worse that whole life sustaining rivers had become cesspools. At that time I faced no other option: to destroy mankind with my troops and to build another, more glorious world. My animals, who were now so intelligent they could almost speak, built tunnels in the earth, all connected to the home base in Venezuela. It was difficult to supply them with proper food, but they were treated well and so stayed in good working order. My aquatic inventions, which were limited to octopuses and squid only, were quickly becoming the most admirable, finest and adapted of all my creations. I became especially fond of one mammoth octopus, which I named after me

 

 

Chapter One:Mission in Afghanistan

“Seal team 3 this is Union Jack, do you copy Seal 3?”

“Seal 3 to Union Jack we copy, over and out!” The hill is all alone in a scrubby, parched land. I look around me, Cyrus, Isee, Ghasa, and our radio man, William Nargley standing or crouching next to an all terrain desert camouflage Humvee. “Color Sgt. Cyrus, there are 100 insurgents on that hill, Seal team 3 is two miles to the right of us, our enemies are oblivious of our presence, and they have no communication, take Isee and Ghasa up the lower skirts of the hill, when you get close, crawl. Stealth is key,” I say.

“Yes sir Lieut, take em up, got it.” I take out my binoculars, and survey the hill. Lights are up there, shining dimly and hazily. Scouts patrol the top, I locate their dirty brown turbans. “Will, call in to the Seal team, tell em to approach the right side, slowly, they got it.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

William is a young mate, about 23 years old, but he's a good soldier and a excellent technician. Ghasa and Isee, Indians by birth, are on their first mission. A dangerous one too. “ How do you think we get on top of this one, eh Nargley?” I say absentmindedly.

“Well sir, I clearly think that you have never led us down a wrong path,” says William, rubbing his chin. “But well, I don't exactly know, there are alot of guys on that hill, I say we take it slow.”

“Thanks Will, you reassure me,” I say half jokingly. “But seriously,” I think to myself, “this looks really difficult.” I scan Cyrus and his mates crawling up the base of the hill, their silhouettes hardly visible in my night vision glasses.

With Nargley checking the guns to see if they're properly loaded, I stand up, the chill wind blowing across my face. I wrap my scarf(sent from my wife) around my face, it smells like home in Birmingham, and I fill greatly alone. This will be my last tour in the SAS,and then I'll be home soon with Sarah. I can hardly wait to be back there, Worrine street, back with Sarah, Just in time to see the first little one. The crackling of the field phone alerts my mind again. “This is Seal team 3 to Union Jack, Lieut. Mancroft, we go now?”

“Go now, wait for my signal to assault the hill, I want to catch them completely unaware.”

“Right'o, over and out!” Williams looks at me anxiously, he is afraid, poor man, but we got to go now in order to receive Cyrus's report. I wonder what the number tally will be up there. “Will, pack up the gear, were going in. It's okay, you'll be home soon, don't you think I feel scared too, with a wife and a child?”

“No sir, well I mean maybe sir, because your a great captain, and even some really great leaders get afraid too...??”

“Well Nargley exactly, do you think I gave up my degree at Oxford ten years ago to join the military, we face this kind of action. Isee and Ghasa feel even worse, their first mission, don't worry, if the King won't keep ya safe I will, okay.”

“The King won't, he's half the world away,” chuckles William, but at least we can bag some more Afghans before our journey home, ya know?”

“Yes, let's make the notch on my gun 101, okay?!”

I and Nargley make it up the hill, the insurgents on the hill are still there, guarding the ammunition dump. Cyrus's group met ours an hour ago, saying two hundred were on the hill, all heavily armed but with outdated weapons, dating from the 80's. Seal team 3 is somewhere to our right, a little bit lower, they will be the hammer stroke. “Cy, when should we go for it, ten, fifteen minutes?” I could tell this was a tough question for Cyrus, his face could be barely seen but it explained his answer.

“Twenty, let's wait twenty, there are a helluva bunch of insurgents on that blasted hill, and they could see us, now, they have just changed the guards, they probably don't expect nothing, but all the same let's wait Lieut Mancroft, let us wait.”

“Nargley, radio the Seals, tell them to wait, we don't want this operation to go wrong, or else the newbies Isee and Ghasa could get a bad name,” I say, smiling at the two Indians.

“Right away sir.” The radio is brought out of Will's pack again, and the crackling is heard once more. Ghasa and Isee sit hugging their legs, even though they moved to the UK and have been living there for awhile, they could and still can't get used to the cold. I love it.

 

The cries of those silly Turks awake me, they are on their prayer mats, shouting some garbled language that sounds to me like the flushing of a toilet. That reminds me...

Isee, who loves to smoke,(both the dangerous and the semi dangerous smoke) produces a cigarette. Looking about as if no one notices, he takes out a match book. Pulling his helmet over his mouth and hands, he lights the cigarette. Little does he know that I saw it from the corner of my eye.”Isee, cut that out now man! Cover it!” There is yelling up on the hill, and that awakens the dim witted Isee.

“Dam-” Machine gun fire is sprayed down on us, and when I say fire, I mean it.

“Down the hill Cyrus, Nargley, get going, roll roll roll!” Bullets clip the dust all around me, tiny explosions burst into the red earth with a dig. There is no time to return fire, except for the Seals still unnoticed by the enemy. They luckily see us and provide cover fire for us, and we scram into a hollow in hill, barely enough for adequate cover, and we exchange rounds. The rebels are now onto the Seals, but luckily for them they are in safer ground. The enemy doesn't know how many we have at the moment, and that is a good thing.

“Corporal Isee, you lost it man! Give me those cigs and quick now!” The young naive Indian was looking hurt. “Isee, you endangered us and blew the entire plan, you simply can't do that here, this isn't a joke, we or our allies could of gotten killed!”

“Um,... you know how hard it is for the urge to go away, sir.”

“Cyrus, keep a watch on the hill, make sure they don't try anything,” I say eruptively. “I am really furious, a mistake in battle fighting the enemy is one thing, this is another. I told the general you were not ready yet.” Isee brooded contemplatively. “You will be punished.” I was in a bad position, the plan had been destroyed by Isee, who rocked the boat.

“Seal team 3 to Union Jack, what was that about Union Jack.”

“One of our team members lit a cig, sorry mates, this is a done one, call it off, get back to your Hummer,” said Nargley. I could fill the disappointment, it steams over me. Now that Oxford job would of been a better choice. My last go at it and a...failure. I could not go home as a loser. What would Sarah say? My love for her and my pride won't let this happen. I am sure.

“Copy, will go back, you guys bummed this one, nice job.” That last stinging remark from the radio is too much. I am going to take the hill, now. “Ghasa, you know that Scorpion you got in your pack?”

“Scorpion, yep, I got it.”

“Everyone. Gather around. Listen. Ghasa here will stay in this hollow with the Scorpion, Will, Cyrus, and Isee will go up the hill. Will call the Seals, tell em to get back up here. Me and Cy will go up the right, Isee and Will up the left. Ghasa, that's you, you aim through the center of us. Hit the hill with the three shells we got, hit them hard.

“Got it sir,” said the heavily accented Ghasa. I sensed the tension and anxiety of a new prospect of death.

“Who knows, maybe Isee will get the chance to redeem himself.”

The dark sky is turning purple, the orange hues getting lighter. Myself and trusty Cy are moving low to the hill, Isee and Will are opposite to us and they advance too. Hopefully Ghasa has a true aim. Wouldn't want to get my head blown off by my own man! If the Seals are coming with us they better come quick, I can't see them anywhere. My mind is racing. The dawn gets brighter and the guards are more alert. We crouch down and aim our guns, Cy produces a short distance grenade launcher, he is the signal for Ghasa. “Fire, Cy, give em all you got mate!” Cy's finger clamps down on the trigger. Explosion after explosion hits the hill, which is disorientating the enemy. Success, success! Lets finish em. “Go! Go! Go!” Spraying our machine guns, we mow down what's left of the guard. Ghasa releases his artillery. Napalm rends the earth,explodes the dump, and the cries of the attacked are put into a frenzy. More insurgents pour down the hill. I shoulder my M-4, and aim my sights a little above their turbans. Not a single one is still on his feet. “Charge, up the hill, take it! Give it all ya got!”

The ammunition dump is burning, the explosions killed every rebel there, and we finish the job by sips if Sherry. “Tell you what mate,” I say to Ghasa, “those shots were perfectly aimed. Isee, you were redeemed, but I strictly forbid you from smoking ever again...” Isee's eyes darken. “...On the field.” They lighten back up. Cyrus and Will, excellent coordination and fire cover.” We laugh and drink and we take a stroll amongst the flaming ruins, to look for anything to take prisoner any still alive. I am so positively relieved,...I am going home...with 134 under my belt and a victory in the bag. This is pure happiness. Never again, no more war, bloodshed. To settle down once and for all with my new family as an Oxford Don. Lucky Mancroft. I see Cyrus and Will coming towards me, and I know our mission is done. “Get in the truck boys. Cy get Ghasa and Isee. There already heading down to the Humvee? Okay, let's get out of here.”

The Humvee whirs to life, the key in the ignition. Cyrus takes the wheel and I go with Ghasa and Isee in the back. Will takes the mounted gun and we travel the thirty miles back to camp.

We have barely start the engine when Will hears a faint cry coming a mile away to the east “Lieut, we got something out there, I can hear it, sounds like a human voice!”

“Well Cyrus, take the wheel, drive by Nargley's guidance. William direct us there.” I have a very uneasy feeling about this, a lone cry in the desert, the Seals not showing, it's all very funny.

“Were getting closer sir, wait, what in hell's name is that? Bodies, swerve! Swerve!” The Hummer tumbles out of the way precariously, of the bodies.

“What the devil was that?” exclaims Cyrus, as he puts the engine to a stop. I think I know all too well the truth.

“Seals, their down.”

“Sir, and we got some moving shapes advancing, one sec...this is terrible...they're lions! Lions!”

“Mow them down Will, shoot em!” I say. The machine spits out the rounds, we can see through the windshield a swarm of dozens of lions, roaring and jumping. Will guns them down, spurts of blood with each new shot. They all fall.

“Lions, feasting on those bodies,... lions killing men like that.” We get out of the vehicle, and what we see appalls me. The bodies of six Seals grotesquely prostrate on the desert floor. “Lions too, were there. “Let's see if these men were ambushed by the Afghans and scavenged by the lions,”I say.

The lions are the killers, it is plain to see. “Cyrus,” I suddenly exclaim, “one of those men are still alive!” It is true, a mangled seemingly dead body was moving slowly on the ground, groaning.

“Blimey, he is! With all this death there is life!”

“Ghasa, Isee,” I say, pointing to the two Indians, “pick this man up carefully and lay him in the back of the hospital quickly. William, get a camera, we need evidence of this!”

“Sir yes sir, right away.” This is bad, lions?

“Bring the other bodies too, they need a proper burial.” Cyrus comes up to me close.

“Lieut. Mancroft, this is inexplicable, lions don't do things like this, it isn't right. This is the reason why they didn't aid us, because the lions came and ambushed them.”

“Cyrus, I was thinking that, the Seals didn't have a chance to pull up their guns, none of them were fired when you inspected them, right?”

“Right, I checked them,” said Cyrus, tugging at his neatly trimmed mustache. “I trust that this is nothing weird,...but lions never do or never can do this. And these were Seals!”

“Keep your voice down, Ghasa and Isee shouldn't know the full truth, at least not yet.”

“They're done putting the bodies in, let's hurry down to base before this soldier dies!”

I sit in the back of the car, resting the mangled but alive man's head on my legs. He barely breaths. This is too bad to be true:six elite Seals, caught prey by lions and nearly all killed.

The tires skid against the sand and dirt, we're nearly at base. The wounded man is barely breathing, he needs plasma and medicine, quickly. I notice that his bloody lips endeavor to move, his voice raises above a hoarse whisper, and he speaks, painfully and quietly. His eyes look to mine, I can tell he trying to speak “We..di- not eve-... have a chan...they were oran-i-..ed.” His last words tumble out into a garble.

“It's okay, yank, your going to be fine, don't try to speak, you'll get medical assistance soon, then you can tell us all, okay?” The man closes his eyes, and a breath of air, came out of him.”Cyrus, how far mate, I don't think he is going to make it!”

“Two miles till we reach the city, five until we reach the base,!”

“Hell, he is not going to last that long!” I put his hands on his chest, which is torn with scars and matted with dried blood. He isn't going to make it. Soon afterwards, we arrive with the wounded Seal, and rush him to the emergency SAS hospital.

 

“Brigadier Pollin, we don't know any new knowledge at the present, the surviving witness is in bad trouble, his heart rate is getting slower, he's lost quite alot of blood sir.”

“I see Lieut. Mancroft, the Seal commander in chief in the Wangazi district, Gen. Aberson, is coming down from Magara, he wants some facts about how his men were killed. I personally find this extremely disquieting, lions can't kill men like the Seals, but there is the picture proof, and plus, no bullets marks were found near the massacre site, right Lieut?”

“Yes sir, and lions were there too sir, devouring the bodies, we shot them too sir, but we didn't bring any because the rush to save the dying man.”

“I see Lieut., there are some news told to me by the Commander in Chief who was told himself by the Minister, some really frightening news. This confirms my suspicions, we have a serious problem on our hands. I am pleased of the victory though, that breaks the Taliban remnant in the north of. Afghanistan, though that hardly matters with the new form of plans You are dismissed Lieut.”

“Sir.”

I walk away from the Brigadier's office, overflowing with curiosity. The General was rubbing his hands together...and his hands were sweating too. I notice things like that. What was the “Big News?” The recent victory was brushed off, like it was nothing. Five Seals were mauled to death by sadistic lions, how? I walk down the barracks briskly, to Cyrus's room.(cell) He is there, listening to music. He sees me, out of the corner of his eye. “Sir, you want something from me?” he says, taking the headphones from his head.

“You want to come with me to see if that Seal member can talk, we'll force the doc to let us talk,...it's not an order,” I add, slightly smiling. Cyrus takes awhile to return his opinion, he brushes his hands through his light blond hair.

“Sir, um, sure thing, just rocking to the beat of Maroon Five.”

“Maroon Five?” I add, inquiringly.

“They're a, um, retro band from about five years ago, died in fatal plane crash...um. You know them?” he says awkwardly.

“Fraid not Cyrus, well, it's not a big deal, thought you only listened to stuff like Norwegian Apocalypse Metal.”

“That was before I listened to this,” says Cyrus laughing, “I have seen the “Daylight” now!... Um, oh,... that's right, you don't get that um,reference.”

“Quite right, ya coming or not mate?”

“Sure thing sir, let us see if we can get information from that man, it might make Pollin more pleased than taking the bloody hill.”

“So Cy, what do you think about having three more years of service, for the Queen right, eh?” I say, nudging him as we walk to the hospital upstairs. The SAS set up a medical room in here so we don't have to get shot at night as we walk through the city.

“Well, sir, it's going to be bloody hard without your leadership. We couldn't of taken that hill without you, and there were no losses.”

“There is only so much of military life you can take, and especially when you got a wife and a kid, then it really turns into a burden. Before I met Sarah though, I thought I would of stayed here in the service my entire life...I saw how quickly that changed.”

“I still haven't lost the fever yet, still hundreds more of those rebels out here in the hills, but at least they're without an ammo dump!” He slaps me on the back.

“Shush, quiet, we got to try not to laugh as we talk to the wounded man, so, shush.” We walk through the hospital door, Cy still holding(or trying) his calm. The hospital is large enough for thirty patients max, and at this time it only holds one. We approach a bend in the building and turn it, and to the left, is a bed and respirator, with a doctor and the victim of the attack.

“Do you think he'll be able to speak doc?” I ask the doctor.

“Well, let me see, I guess for a little while, he doesn't need air or blood anymore, so he could, well, let me see, a yeah, go ahead sir.”

“Thanks Doc”

I did not get much out of him, whenever he tried to speak he coughed blood and his voice would twist off into gumbo. I was really beyond disappointed, and Cyrus couldn't have lost much time listening to his Maroon Five, whatever that is. I have to write a letter back home, there is nothing to a phone call, plus, the phone is out of service here. The Seal General Aberson never came, for some reason unknown to Pollin. I am in my small cubicle of a room, though it is better than a bunk room(Far Better!) I feel distressed, there was nothing sweet to taking that hill, to me, it seemed useless, and maybe even a failure of a mission. God is the only one who knows how those Seals were killed, and why. I reach into my desk file marked “Home,” I pull out a white, thin piece of paper, long not used. Tens of times I had wanted to write, but something so unimportant always got in the way,...of my Sarah. I am mad at myself for this, Sarah, she would totally dismiss it as nothing. I take a pen out of my pocket, my hand slides slowly across all my medals. I write.

Dear Sarah, what else can I say but I love you and miss you? I am deeply sorry for my waste of time, what I'm trying to say is that I am so smashing angry at myself for not writing to you. How is the baby? Please keep the secret of the name still a secret, although it must be hard. Do you find yourself lonely? I know you do, but I'll be back soon. I just finished my last mission on my last tour, so you can expect a husband who will be never again separated from you. I saw your face when I faced danger last night, and I thought that it would be no way to go out, without seeing you. You can by far save me...seeing you again will be a a life saver...it will be too long to wait...give it three days, and a plane is taking me on my way to you...I can't stop thinking about you, please, no need to write back, tell the kid that daddy is bringing a present for him, okay? Love you,

Mancroft.

On a rough dirt road leading to the city of Khardug, there is a jeep on it's side. In it is the body of two men. Gen Aberson is one. His throat is torn out from his body, blood stains his uniform and black beret on his head. Surrounding the jeep is a swarm of lion, slowly and strategically crawling away. In the city of Magara, which contains 800,000 men, women, and children, there lay 800,000 corpses, the last lying in a jeep on the road to Khardug. The city is silent and shrouded in mystery from the outside world, in mountains and no one will notice the destruction until it is to late...to save themselves. Standing on a smoldering building, is what looks like a heavily armored man On his black, hard helmet, there is an insignia of two red B's surrounding one A. On his chest is a mesh suit intertwined with bullet proof canvas armor. Over the chest is slung a heavy machine gun, designed with black and intertwined with red. He takes it and raises it over his head, and screams.

 

I am walking over to the post right now, if you can call it a post. Barbwire strings across it like a embattled compound, and only a guarded walkway leads into it. The guards(Afghan soldiers) know me personally, and they let me in without a glance. On my way in I see a small bird, with blood on it's beak . Ugh, a small little tweeter...what did it do? It's eyes turn on me suddenly, with a peculiar, intelligent look. Without warning the stupid bird swoops on me. Ow! It pecks above the eye, and darts just out of my angry hand when I try to hit it. Run for the door, run for the door! I do that and the bird crashes into the glass behind me, with a poof of feathers. The postmaster, a small, oily man with shift eyes, greets me. “Ah, Lieut. Mancroft, heheheehe, got something for me to send, eh?”

“Yes Subsira, a letter, and make sure you don't lose it, it's to my wife.”

“Wife? Ah, I see, in your part of the world they only have one,... okay... fine, hehehe.”

Weirdo. That stupid hell bird, what the the what! It plops back to the door, fluttering were it can see me through the glass. “Um, Subsir...?”

“Uh, What,” he says as he puts a stamp on my letter.

“There is a freaky bird thingy hovering by the window, it attacked me on the way in... and it looks like it wants to kill me right now.”

“Oh, that isn't a good sign, Culfua never used to harm anyone, just be careful...hehehehhe.” After a moment's pause, Subsira becomes serious.”Money, cash, Lieut.??”

My mind is still on that, bird. Or whatever it is.

“Almighty, Subsira, here it is you little...” I reach into my pockets and pull out some old banknotes, these will work. Keep the change.”

“Really, ah! Thankyou, come back soon, and don't worry about the bird, he's usually peaceful..” I cut him off the middle of his sentence and leave the post office. Bird, ah! Bird! Cul- um, Culfua! It strikes at me again. I swat it away luckily for me to pull my Minstur 19 (handgun) out. You are going down you bugger! I press the trigger, and the bird puffs, and that's all, there's nothing left. The wired guards ejaculate in disgraceful language. They look at me suspiciously. “It's okay, guys,” I say in their dialect, “just Culfua, Subsira's bird attacked me so I shot it, no big deal.” The guards just look at eachother as if to say “Allah didn't enlightened this man's IQ.” They let me pass.

What is up in the world! First lions butcher Seals last night, now birds are trying to kill me... just want to go back to my civilized country and drink a cup of ice tea... lightly spiked. I bring out my watch, there is a light on it, something they never have up here. 4:30 PM, still have three hours before I got to report to Pollin. I wonder what he was griping about today, something he said about the Prime Minister knowing something. He wouldn't tell me. I wonder if Cy or William knows what in the devil's name is going on. I am tired and depressed, I really don't want to live anymore until I get back to England, which is worlds away. A few more days...that's all. I stroll(on guard) by a lighted house. Sitting behind a window is a big tom cat, it's trying to break through the reinforced glass. Every time it thumps against the window it leaves small blood prints on it. Oh, not again. I am shaken now and quite ticked off on the animal kingdom. I pull out my Minstur again and give it a bang, breaking glass and killing the cat. I approach the house carefully, gun still raised. I put my hand on the knob, the house door is open. I sneak through the living room. Prayer mats and beads lay everywhere, and in the corner of my eye I see movement. No another one. It's the wounded cat, or thing. Not again. This time I blow it's head off, from the neck to the ears. Not going to be bothered by more demons.

 

“Ya Cy, I told Pollin about the incidents on my way back from post, and he looks grimmer than ever. He wants to tell me what''s going on but he has orders from the Command not to, you'll see. “The cat killed three people, that's what I find strange, what do you think, a revolt by nature?” Says Cy questioningly.

“Could be, we need to tell Aberson about that when he come, I mean Pollin needs to.

“Yeah, Pollin is definitely holding something in, and it is probably going to be a killer.”

William, comes into the smoking room(which is about as small as a garden shed in UK) surprised, started, and wired, holding a phone in one hand

“Mancroft, I mean Sir, take a long look at the Times, they got news that are beyond belief!”


 

Amras, I surely didn't expect that. Also note that I deleted the other one of your posts that you posted twice, and the one that was blank. I hope you don't mind.

Anyway, I'm going to have to take some time to read that all through. But it seems like some war material alright. I knew you had something in store, you.. Surpriser of a lurker of.. Amras. Meh, I'm too d.... for this.

I'm going to read it all tomorrow. Also thanks for all those words that I am not sure do I fully deserve.

Sorry Oerath for the super long sci fi action thriller. You may have guessed; this is the rough draft for a actual book I want in a great time to be published....so  yeah, its really long and gruesome. Your favorite I know

Falling back onto a soft layer of linen and feathers, your back seems to mold to the groove of its host. The encroaching layers of intangible black comfort your watery eyes; seeking solitude from all forms of light at the end of a bright day. As a cover of soft wool and cotton draws itself over your weary limbs, the softness brings the pleasure of rest to mind. Your throat is parched and your belly full. 

Your perception begins to shift itself, soaring into the air weightlessly. The darkness in your vision swirls and shapes itself into countless different patterns. Then you feel it... nothingness; the feeling of not doing so. Rest is nigh.

Gror! Very good, and also good to see you posting on this thread again. Smile Smilie

And Amras, I've read some of it, but I've yet to read it all. I've been here and there, so I haven't got much time to spend on this site lately.

I've a plan. Write something lengthy, ask one or two questions, revise. Edit. Repeat. Goals

1) Character. People are cool, and the more real one is able to render them, the better. I want to know the mind of something. Someone. I want to know what it is to be in a situation that I would not be in real life. I want to subjugate the created character to my will.

2) Time. I'm bored most of my life. I look forward to going to sleep not because I'm tired but because I don't know any other way to get to the next day. Being tired is actually a favorable state, since it means I have something to look forward to at the end of the day. Sounds depressing when distilled, but that's life, isn't it? If I can add something to the list of things I look forward to, that'd be nice.

3) Writing. Not really writing, more like...mechanics. Dropping the extra words; replacing subtlety with focus. Stuff one does when taking editing a piece of writing.

Thus:

/she deserves to suffer./ 

"I'm not sure those papers go there." I pause slightly between I'm and not so that I will seem less aggressive. I do this because when I looked away from my work she caught my eye. The spirit of procrastination was in that moment strong, so I caused a response. /inflict/

"Then where do they go?"

Silence. I stare at her. At this point I am establishing that I have power over her. I could just go back to my work (I often do, in situations like this), and that would leave her lost. She stares at me. /send her away/. She starts to look confused. This means that she is worried I will, in fact, decline helping her. I keep my face completely impassive for a moment more, then, enunciating so it is clear that I am helping her

"Well, I think the mail room is out, since they routinely send me stuff from a month ago." I wince /should have remained silent/, "You can't exactly walk all the way yourself, though. The general system is to put it all in places where it is hard to look." Her face falls since I'm not being serious and delivered it like a joke. /was that fun?/ I smile by elevating both my lips, so while they stay in a straight line my cheeks make it look like I'm smiling. This makes it look less forced, and squeezing my eyelids around my eyeballs makes my cheeks seem to pop more. This makes the smile seem like it has more weight behind it. /now hurt her more; they all like it/ She seems about to smile, like what I said was funny. "That way nobody is able to see if you did anything wrong or not, but you can still say you did your job. Plus, if you are ever bored" I lower my voice and make it more suave, deeper, and push less air out with my lungs. That way, she will feel like I'm speaking directly inside her head since nobody else will hear it, yet it will be clear and loud enough for her to understand it perfectly. The suaveness will also seem natural, but she will probably notice that it isn't, thus causing her to focus more on that then on what I am actually saying. "you can put someone in a position where they have to look for something you have hidden, and that," I make this carry a little more, but also make it quieter. This is to make her consider her surroundings for a second, which will make it even more impressive that she can hear me and nobody else can (our cubicles are tightly packed, too). I time it now since what I am saying is something that is supposed to make her feel vulnerable anyway, and hopefully she will notice that others will be able to hear this. This will make her crave the low voice more, and when I switch back she will feel protected. It is important to juxtapose, as one cannot feel protected from a danger that is unperceived. /make her afraid. abandon this senseless game. you are not driven towards anything. play with her, for she, like all of them, is your toy, don't play her, for then you are on the same level as all of them./ "if you haven't noticed," back into the low tone again, her hands opened slightly, which means she was, in fact, slightly afraid for a second (without noticing it, of course), "really quite a fun thing to do." I smile again, this time tilting my head forward. Tilting my head forward will make me look more expectant, which will prompt her to answer before thinking. Thinking is the enemy, since thinking makes her actually consider what I said, which would distance her cognitively from me. /abandon subtlety/

"You're evil" She smiles.

Now I respond quickly, since she looks like she is about to get help. "No, I just enjoy the misfortune of others." I smile with a slightly raised left eyebrow. The raising of the eyebrow is essentially a question, in this case: don't you also enjoy the misfortune of others? The smile will help her to agree with me, and once she does that we will both be labeled evil by her. /You Are Evil/ She smiles again and I fall silent for a second, tilting my head in the universal sign of a question.

"Sometimes the misfortune of others is enjoyable" /you should make her wish she didn't say that/

Now I stand up and take a step towards her /why do you insist on this? it is so easy to hurt them. equally entertaining. most importantly, it doesn't risk getting hurt yourself/, both eyebrows elevated. I look mock shocked, making her feel like together we are working some mischief. Now it is time for my words to be thought about, so pause in the middle of my sentence for a second, "We are, in fact...getting paid for the past thirty seconds of conversation. Twenty seconds." /stop. she trusts you for the next few seconds. use those seconds to make her regret this encounter./ Yes. Guilt. Stop. I feel guilt. That's worth someth-

"Right. Well, how about we have dinner tomorrow night. You can show me your new apartment."

"/of course/"

So much to read here, there are more stories, good. I'll have to battle against time to read them. Oerath I wanted to say I just read your journal "Spirit King of the Fourth Season" and I love it. Where some people might only feel the coldness of those sorrows, I rejoice in the joy discovered; long hidden only to fade swiftly; its true beauty being in a dream too far away; for one life to reach it, would only seem like death I guess. Yet it is our dreams and false hopes that shall ever blind the world with its hurts.

Hey, Imwithiel and well spoken. I'm very glad you enjoyed of that particular work. Winter is often considered a very sorrowful season, but to me it's full of joy. The sheer feel of coldness when the weathers turn colder and colder, all of the snowfalls, the beauty of the landscapes and not mentioning the overwhelming silence during most nights. In other words, winter always brings me back to life in some way. It's coldness cures the wounds I always receive during summer. Yet I do not completely hate summer, for it belongs to this life. That sight of pure green, walks in many forests and all the animals and their presences. It all eases the pain.

 

The trees are enjoying of their long-awaited sleep

I walk among them, following my dreams

And each time the winter sky starts to weep

I'll be there standing below, for those cold tears

Always manage to heal the true me

I do this to be able to face yet another summer of warmth

I must gather all the coldness I can and store it inside my soul

To be able to live on until the next winter dawns

Not everyone read journals on this site, so I thought that if I were to post this into a thread, The Wanderer's would be my choice. And here I am. Smile Smilie

Now that I've actually read it through myself with time, I like of it. At first, I was quite unsure about whether I overdid some parts or not, but I think it's fine.

(Journal's foreword.)

Alright, I don't know did this turn out the way I wanted it to, but hey, it's another Tolkien inspired work. I haven't even written that many of those along the years and this one ended up quite cheesy and maybe a bit too over-the-top.
 
But as always, I enjoyed writing it and it may the beginning of something else.. A story, perhaps?
 
That's something to think about. Smile Smilie
 
Enjoy.
 
 
Never forget the Green Plains of Beleriand
 
 
Written by: Oerath Windsoul
 
 
Never forget those crystal clear rivers
That ran free through the forests we used to love
Never forget the summer sun and how it always shone
To us from high above
 
Never forget the elder days of might
Oh, don't you ever let go off those beautiful memories
And never forget the luminous light
Of those two; most wondrous trees..
 
Never forget all of those magical tales she used to read to us
To which none of the living can recall the right words anymore
Never forget the moonlight upon your long hair and our walks in the dusk
When we could just carelessly play on and on..
Without even having to think about that which lies behind the door..
 
For we were just children with a long way to adulthood
And the Light of the West never reached to where we truly wanted to go
We were so eager to see the world, we didn't want to waste our youth
By dwelling the rest of our days in a safe haven..
Waiting for the time to show.. No..
We desperately wanted to know..
 
What lies beyond that which we can only see..
We desired to journey through the eternal mist
To walk across the golden shores on the other side of the vast sea
To learn that do the heroes of all of those magical tales really exist
 
And so we asked from the Valar that could we leave
To set sail towards Beleriand, the land of our dreams
And in their grace, they granted us that freedom and gave us a glorious ship
But they also warned us that we may not be able to return..
Once we set sail across the dark sea..
 
'Sister, I think it's time to say goodbye to mother
Though I know that she doesn't want us to leave
I will always be her son and you will always be her daughter
But we can't let sorrow break our dreams
For this is how it was always meant to be'
 
'And whatever comes, we won't take part in any war
Only time will tell, when a new age dawns upon us all
But from now on, we shall be nameless and free
As ghosts we shall journey on under the protection of the night and the stars
And deep inside my heart I believe
That in the face of the Valar, even the Dark One will fall'
 
'So, mother, be well and continue to read your tales to other children
It's time for us to leave, but know that this isn't quite the end
Always include us in your prayers, for we shall always remember you in our hearts
Not even the mightiest power in this world could tear our chains of love apart'
 
'And so we chose to leave Valinor to pursue our goals and dreams. We managed to reach Beleriand and dock our ship to one of it's many ports and from that moment on, it was all about exploring and traveling. We journeyed on from land to land, from forest to forest, meeting all kinds of folk on the way. We befriended many, though we still had to hide our identities most of the time.  And we became very good at that. I still hear some people speaking about two ghosts, whose origins none know, and that they only travel during nights, and none has ever seen them nor the steeds upon which they ride. All they hear is quiet galloping. Oh well, it's good to be remembered, even if as a ghost. But that was our intention right from the start. To see the world, but not to interfere. It was our destiny to wander Beleriand in search of wisdom and spiritual knowledge. And now that land is no more. The place we live in these days is called the Middle-Earth, but the memories of our days upon the lands of Beleriand won't ever fade into oblivion. We are the ghost elves, and in time, you will hear from us. But for now.. Let us silence to remember.. To remember those olden days upon Beleriand. When we were younger, I often told to my sister to never forget about certain things. But now as I think about what I said back then, there's something I don't ever want to forget myself.. Those green plains of Beleriand.'
 
Never forget the green plains of Beleriand
Nor the sunlight upon your hair and the breeze upon your back
Never forget the glorious bridges and the long strands
Nor the towns, the kingdoms and the forgotten valley
 
Never forget the animals, the spirits and the forests
Nor the lakes, where the dryads always used to play
Never forget the mountains, the eagles and the threats
From which we always fled away
On their backs..
 
Never forget the terrible things that happened
Nor all of the humans and the elves who were slain
Never forget the Valar, who ultimately rose to defend
Beleriand from Morgoth's dark and treacherous reign
 
Never forget the tales or the songs
Nor those who told them and wrote them
Never forget the heroes those tales and songs always told about
Nor what kind of creatures of evil they faced
 
Never forget your name, even though you're a ghost
Don't you ever forget those tales she used to read to us
Long ago, when we were still young
What was it that you desired the most?
 
Was it to become a wanderer?
Was it to simply see the world?
Was it to always stay close to your brother?
No matter what kind of dangers laid ahead?
 
Ages past and gone
The world is not the same anymore
But we are still one
And now we're ready to open that door
 
Now we both have our own children
And silent, but good lives to lead
Though like I once said, this isn't quite the end
For we can still go and chase our dreams
 
But this time we won't do it alone
We both have our responsibilities
And oh, it's been long since I realized that now I am home
'Cause for so long all I did..
Was wander the world wild and free
 
There's so much to be told
About us and who we truly are
In time, it all will unfold
But for now, just silence to look at the stars
Don't be so sad..
Another story time will come..

Hullo, everyone! i just wanted to inform you all that I might continue one older story of mine: 'The Secret of Three Graves'. Not sure about the time or the day, but I will eventually get to it. More mysteries and better execution, that's what the story lacked back in the day.

I've got some other story material under progress too, but I've learned not to promise too much and thus, I work in an almost complete silence these days.

Should some of you grow too curious, you can always throw me a message via PT and ask about my work and possible future endeavors, but I no longer work by any kind of schedules. One can't really force good text into existence. That's just how it is.

Cheers!

- Oerath.

We would all love to see it Oerath, your works are unique indeed. I, for one, am in the mood to have a good read of something new. 

Good to see you posting again, Gror. Well, I aim to hold unto my few promises these days. I was picturing some new storylines and plots earlier this evening, and things are slowly taking shape. But, in near future - new story material it shall be.

This is an extract from a large novel I am currently working one. I have chosen a more interesting segment, it is a rare piece of action contained within the pages I have written. 

By the was the world in which it is set is totally independent of Arda. 

The words of tact gave the score of horseman courage; breaking into a canter the line organised itself with precision. Starbrow positioned himself at the head of the charge fearlessly. Nothing would linger them from their purpose, for the smell of battle was at the fringe of their noses and the commands of a leader in their minds and hearts; the soldier’s momentum was inexorable.

The goblin force now saw, to their dismay, the full strength of their elfish adversaries. Horror in their hearts and hesitation in their actions slowed any form of organisation to a halt. Shields were raised and spears were straightened in an attempt to vainly protect themselves from the onslaught. It came through like a hurricane of steel; elfish fury collided through the crooked face of the goblin force. Shattered wood and bloodied steel flew asunder from the arms of the elfs; and as swiftly as the lances had been dispatched, maces were brandished from the place at their master’s sides. In a whir of carnage and war cry’s, Eirian Starbrow remained unscathed; he flew past goblins on his swift mount, driving his mace around with fatal finesse. In as little time as it took for him to reach the end of the goblin force on his mount, his enemies lay slain or dying.

“Grant them the gift of our mercy,” he indicated to his men.

With supreme discipline, the elfs sheathed their maces and drew their bows. Arrows notched and aim taken, any goblin who twitched on the floor was executed with grace.

Magnificent posts Gror and Imwithiel. Smile Smilie

Ah, the wanderer's.. A thread I love, yet I can't see that many story posts made by me here.

Well, gotta change that.

Anyway, interesting shorties both of you. I actually might have and I probably do have some story stuff in store should anyone be interested.

Though most of the stuff I've been writing lately has turned out quite dark-ish, just like 'I'm awake no more', but I still strongly recommend ya to check it out and read it.

It has a very strange imagery and it certainly tells about life.

Right, be seeing ya then. Smile Smilie

Yea, truly this is a wonderful place, thank you Oerath. I would like to read a new story of yours. I am guessing you are exploring the grim aspects of the tales, which I think is important. It becomes something beautiful; when the courage and sorrow of our characters are able to reveal the many things we fear in reality, making us more aware of the hurts of the world, opening our eyes to how precious life truly is.
Also I have edited my older posts in this thread, keeping each one true to the original idea and opinion at the time. It is interesting looking at the past as more than an unchanging event or thought, applying a greater understanding to that moment, without making it something wholly new.

@ Imwithiel: I've always written more darker tales alongside with my more nature/fantasy themed ones, 'cause I love darkness quite a lot. There's also the matter of ying and yang; darkness and light.

And while not playing a great part in it all, it too has it's effects on my writing of which subjects and themes can vary a lot.

But the reason why I don't usually share my more darker works is that they would be way too dark for this bright and joyful site. Smile Smilie

But I can always send one of my darker tales via mail, if anyone wants to read one.

And sometimes it's good to edit one's older posts. I've done a lot of editing on my journals during the years for example.

Hullo! Long time no see, folks. Up for a new read?
 
Well, here you go. A completely new story setting from me. Each chapter will feature some background story at the beginning, and of course, they will be poetic tales, but focusing more on story, while still letting you to enjoy of the poetry of it.
 
This will be a dark journey, so I hope you're all ready for one. Smile Smilie
Dark, but with style. Isn't that obvious?
 
 
Enjoy.
 
 
Thakresis, The Black Realm
 
 
Chapter One: The Witch and The Spectral Gateway
 
 
Written by: Oerath Windsoul
 
 
'Agnusso Memgortha was once one of the few sorcerors, who you could call renowned or known, but that was before his uncontrollable lust for power led to his ultimate downfall. He robbed the great vault of the Demon King Woordakh, and was sentenced to the five stages of death. Burn, drown, the wheel, iron maiden and hanging tree. But what did he stole from the vault. Well, Agnusso stole a mighty black spellbook, of which knowledge upon reading and devouring could grant anyone power beyond comprehension. Unfortunately for Agnusso, his powers didn't awake at first, and thus this event led into his cold fate. Did his powers awaken then? Oh yes.. After being resurrected upon each death, Agnusso was finally buried alive with a purpose of silencing him forever. And yet from under all that earth and mold, Agnusso dug his way through back to the surface. He now possessed magnificent abilities and unlimited power, even though all that suffering and death had rendered him into what we all would look like, if our flesh would be taken away from us. He was now nothing.. But a skeleton as high as a mountain, and he now had a pair of bloodred eyes, filled with screaming rage and imprinted images about the bonfire that had burned his skin and flesh.. So more or less, he was now a god and a skeleton, and so he started to call himself.. Memgortha, The Skeleton God. After countless of efforts, Memgortha was finally banished into the outer realms, where he still awaits for someone to summon him back to Thakresis, The Black Realm.'
 
 
 
In the heart of grim and forgotten woods
Lies the hut of a strange old woman
Dressed in robes worn by time, wearing a ragged hood
Through dreams, she visits the elder realms forgotten by mankind
 
Inside her filthy hut, there's an unholy stone altar
Human trophies, lit candles and opened skulls; all filled with blood
There's been nearly starless nights before, but tonight, not even a single star..
Will appear in the stormy dark-blue sky..
For the witch is about to summon an ancient evil..
And his name.. Agnusso Memgortha, The Skeleton God
 
She sees everything in a new kind of shadowy light
Her wicked mind is filled with incantations of the black realm
And only death and chaos reflect back to you from her mad and blood red eyes
Eyes that can see beyond this world and that of the dead
 
Oom-hiim-aar-domn (To him, the breaker of bones)
Yath-zeen-trii-astuum-roknah' (I drink from a skull filled with blood)
Triah-ekhon-saarthos-riith-omn-dreth (Return back to this world! Your home, the corpse garden of tombstones awaits)
Drakh-umbrei-xakrosh-memgortha-quatriin-akh (O' Hallowed Deathbringer Memgortha, The Skeleton God)
 
Memgortha, Memgortha
It is I who calls, your eternal servant of darkness
Their bones I've crushed, their flesh I've cut and weighed
Stones of power and the spectral gateway
Powered by my demonic soul; ready to summon you back to this twilight world
 
Memgortha, Memgortha
With my eyes gone lidless, I stand before the altar of serpents
I've the book, the knife and the jar full of extinguished voices..
My black heart races of joy, for I am ready to present you my final offering
An old, yet powerful body; for your vessel I desire to be
 
I've abandoned my human guise, with a scythe I cleansed myself off all traits of humanity while I dreamed
I've cast it all away.. My flesh is cut and my skin is torn..
All this to become one with your skeletal supremacy
The ritual is nearing completion; and little do the weaklings know
That their world is about to be damned for eternity
 
 
'The next two chapters will involve more story about Agnusso Memgortha and The Witch, whose name isn't yet revealed and after that, I'll start to write the grand tale itself. In a world full of darkness and evil, those few who are pure from heart and good from soul struggle for survival. It's a demonic realm, filled with gods, demons, dark sorcerors, witches, mythical beasts and even more. Welcome.. to Thakresis, The Black Realm.'

Hey friends, so I have a short story to contribute. You'll recognize parts of it, but there's new stuff and some big revisions. It's called "The Story of Man: A Glimpse In Time of Middle-Earth." Hope you enjoy

A drop of blue fell from the sky, breathing new life into the pastures of Arda. The trees of Yavanna sang their songs, unheard even by immortal ears as the ancient woods called to the wind. Thorondor, king of the sky, embraced the chill, welcoming this silvery mist as it cleansed glistening feathers; the epitome of power and perseverance.

The second child of Eru admired this new gift, succumbing to both fear and love as they hid in their caves with eyes wide open. They only knew the lakes from which their fathers were born and the rivers from which their mother's would sing. But the air breathed the same, and light still shone through grey clouds. Perhaps Orome, their mysterious guide and a teacher of lessons, was watching from above, showering his mortal disciples with a nourishment they're yet to embrace. Unknown was the source of this elemental trance, yet welcomed and admired was its arrival.

It was the start of new life for an infantile people. As they saw the flowers bloom around them, they understood the world was chaos in magnificence. Lost within itself but found within the universe. Alas, the rain had fallen, a new beginning was at hand.

But slowly the years went by, and the stars grew weary. Skies turned to blood while the heart of the world fought a war against itself. Fear spread through the North lands, darkness came to the West, evil thrived in the South, and terror grew in the East. Time was running out before existence fell to shadow. The end was at hand, suffering had come. Lost were our people.

But hope won this day. And again the universe was at peace, and gardens could grow once more. Nothing can stop us now, for we are the soldiers of Men. With starlight at our backs and a heart of fire lighting our path, nothing is impossible. We are the ancestors, we are the survivors, and we are the masters of fate.

So alone the old man sat, lost in days now remembered only by the stars. A time when the rivers ran as sunlight and the mountains yawned with summer winds. Where the trees spoke to the flowers as they bloomed, welcoming them to a new world. The universe was everything around you and seconds existed as days.

He silently told the story of an ancient people that once ruled over these lands, tending to its pastures and singing its songs. And though lost to time are their treasures, the old man will never forget the tales from his youth: Of fire and shadow, dragons and starlight. Of a song sung by a princess and one heard by a demon. A place where love exceeded its bounds while evil strayed from its own.

Clutching his staff, staring into the distance, a smile crept upon his face. Eventually time forgets everything. This is merely the cycle we call existence. Yet the old man knew that even when time had forgotten, he would always remember.

That's amazing Balrogs. Evokes my emotions. Let's get this thread back up, it's one of the better ones on this website!
This was the third day of the maiden,s lourney to the northern high country . Valathra pulled at the reigns of her tall dapple grey. The horse stopped and the tall young woman swung herself to the ground. What is this? Cloven hooved fresh tracks, fairly new , imprinted the spongey , damp grass. A thrill of fear ran up and down her spine. Valathra srood up and sniffed the air.A sense of foreboding filled her senses and without further ado the girl ran over to a branch lying on the ground She swooped it up and began sweeping the ground, obliterating her tracks. then that of her steed. She pushed Apple in an urgent fashion to go further into the trees. Taking the rains once more she led the horse several yards onto the deep forest and then tied her beside a large supply of grass While the horse munvhed contendedly Valethra ran silently bavk and climbed a n oak near the dirt path. She waited. her young heart pounding wildly
  << [1] [2]