Justin Silverblade

VERY artistic feeling, and you make it look very easy - which we all know isn't so, a great lot of the time Good work, and thanks for sharing, Jonathan. - Justin

Not all things come to pass as they are expected to – as they should. I thought that my story was one of them for a great while, until just recently. A simple boy, leading the fantasy of many, into the darkness unwanted. To lead a troop against the evils of the world. To fight and win! To find treasures of lost things and golden riches. To uncover the truths of the world with a solid blade, and an innocent heart. But those were the times, and that was the dream. To be an adventurer. In the harsh winters of the north, where the imperial lands were strong and true, we survived by looking forward to the next season – the spring. It was a usual childhood grief, to have to ration our food carefully and watch as more snow fell from the white peaks. Those were the winters where we depended on our mother. She would put on a brave face, to endure the cold of the weather, and harshness of her children. We were not easy to bear, and equally not as easy to keep. With my father and older brother away to aid the more needy provinces, the house quickly became unruly. But they came back, every spring, like water-clockwork determined to aid our town of Jardain in the repairs against the ice. That was the military’s way. The imperial way. Eventually the military soldiers who went and returned became the signs of winter and spring. We had no other device, nor reason to judge the seasons. A joke of the north I suppose, and one that foreigners did not rightly understand. After they came back, everything looked up and smiled, for we would make it through another year. * * * “And then, with a blast of light and sound the wizard extended his hand and together the heroes vanquished the evil dragon!” Gerard Heartsong finished, adding a spectacle of light and fireworks – as bards were known to do. There was laughter and clapping we enjoyed his story. Gerard was a local at our ale house, and often stayed the long winters there, fed and housed in exchange for entertainment. There was a group of us that came weekly to hear his adventurer’s song and story. Apparently Gerard was once a part of a very successful band, back in his day. “Wow,” said Paul, one of my closest companions. “That was a great story Gerard. Can we hear another? Please?” His inquiry was met with a large out cry of begging, my voice was as loud as any. “Yes Gerard, please?” “Just one more?” “You didn’t sing in that one!” “One with fireworks again at the end!” “Come on!” The bard just laughed and waved his hands. “My, my, children. No, I’m afraid not today. You all know the deal: a story a week. I’ve got others to entertain, and food to put in my belly. Besides, don’t you all have chores to do?” We all fell silent. Yes, we did. “Well then, go on. Get to ‘em!” He shewed us off laughing. “Go on! Or I’ll tell your mothers!” We all ran out into the street, laughter hindering our progress. The slow pokes got caught up by Gerard and tossed lightly into the snow bank outside. Paul and I grabbed snow balls and threw them as the bard tossed young giggling Jenny out the door. Paul’s hit firmly on the arm. This caught a glare from Gerard, and quickly, my friend found himself in a cold fix. “The snow banks’ll hold ya Paul,” Gerard yelled with a grin, “Don’t worry.” I pounced on Gerard as soon as he bent over to nab Paul. “Oh you want some too, Tekkorin?” With a hand back he caught me too. ‘Poof’, he yelled as he tossed, though it sounded more like the snow bank talking, and all I saw was snow everywhere. Jenny was still giggling a sidestep away. I excavated my way out of the snow bank, snow ball in hand, and cold, cold face to see our whole small group slowly dragging the bard down. I caught Paul’s eye, and he too had snow in hair and hand. With a devilish grin we both nodded, and rushed him. Moments later we all together tossed Gerard, and more laughter and clapping erupted. His own laughter and surrender started to disappear as he caught a glance down the street. “Well, I’ll be…” he said. Far down the street the flag could be seen – the imperial army. “Spring’s come at last,” and he smiled. “Father!” Paul yelled, and our whole band ran down the street to greet the returning fathers and brothers. There was always a mixture of feelings when the troops came home. Relief was the first and most apparent. It had been one of the most unrelenting winters in years, and worry grew as to whether it would ever end. In Jardain it was but a long haul, but in some of the smaller more northern villages, it meant a struggle between life and death. This led to a great sorrow within our village as well. Many did not return home – they had died with honour amongst the ice, defending walls and countryside from avalanche and blizzard. My eldest and only brother was one of them. Silence gripped my home, aside from my mother’s constant sobbing. I comforted my adopted sister as best I could, though I hardly did a good job; my emotions were too great. I hated my brother for enlisting, hated my father for encouraging him, and hated my mother for not doing anything to stop him. The imperial way. Simple thoughts plagued my mind more than any sound logic. My father consoled me in the only way he knew how – through preaching the honour of my brother’s actions, and the goodwill of the Imperial Army. “If it weren’t for us, many, many more would have died, son. It’s something you’d realize, if you weren’t so busy being stupid.” Compassionate old dad. But I didn’t hate him for it, really. It was an old rivalry that we had had since I was old enough to carry a dirk. I wanted to travel the world, and be an adventurer with Paul, and Jack (young Jenny’s brother). Together we’d find riches and fun. My father wanted his sons to be like he, and his father before him: Imperial troops. When my brother Darren enlisted two years prior, we managed to put the old grudge on hold. I was afraid that now, it would erupt again. I would suppose that my short life started then, at the age of 14. Young enough to still be foolish; old enough to act on it. We sat around the dinner table, breaking bread. The candles bent low on their wick. My father was at the head of the table, as always. My mother to his right, and Darren’s chair, an empty chair, to his left. Beside my mother: Julia, my year younger adopted sister, and I sat across from her. It had been a quiet meal for some days now. Finally I had the nerve to speak. “Father… how did he die?” There was a long pause, and my mother’s eyes brimmed with tears once more. I saw fear in Julia’s eyes when she looked at me; afraid of where this would go. She shook her head, and mouthed ‘No’ to me. I think it would have been wise of me to take her advice. But I was not wise. I asked again. “I mean, father, what-“ “I know what you meant, son.” He nodded, and took another drink from his ale and sighed. “We were in the most northern provinces – closest to Atkatha – where the winters are the coldest, and the winds are the harshest. We got caught in a storm, roughest I’ve seen my boy, and that’s saying something. Crossing over, we came to a deep ravine. I ordered my troop across, but the bridge was too weak, we had to go around. Your brother didn’t have the stamina, and we could only carry him for so long.” I took a moment to myself, to consider where this was going, and I saw tears fall down the worn lines in my mother’s face. For some reason that drove me forward. “So what did you do?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “What do you think we did son? I had my whole troop to think about. Running low on rations, and the nearest city 3 days away, we had to drop him, and two others. It was them or all of us.” No one else would speak to this, which I thought was an outrage at the time. My sister shook her head and nodded. Julia had always liked Darren, and gotten along with him far better than she and I, yet she said nothing. I charged forward into the cavern. “So you just left them there? Did you leave them anything? Supplies, blankets, rations? Didn’t you go back for them? Father, forgive me, but where’s the honour in leaving my brother to die?” Anger brimmed in my father’s eyes for my last comment. “Yes, son. I left them there. No, I did not leave them anything. Our food and supplies were not to be wasted on the dead. We knew that, and so did your brother. Of course we went back for them, but that was 6 days later - it had snowed so much that we couldn’t even find where we had left them. And don’t you speak to me about honour, child. I had 17 other men to think about. Don’t you EVER disrespect your father, or your brother like that. When you join the military you’ll understand the sacrifice that-“ Julia begged quietly not for me to say anything, but it was too late, I was there already. “I’m not joining the army dad…” My father, the Sergeant, caught his tongue and stared at me with his gaze. “I thought we had settled this.” “Well, you might of thought so, but I didn’t.” My mother could not hold back her silent sobs any longer, and Julia comforted her, whilst my father and I butted heads. “You will join the Imperial troops when you’re sixteen, just like your grandfather, his sons, and your brother. Just as the Queen commands.” My legs were quivering, and my heart was pounding. “No. I don’t want to live my life in some dusty old barracks.” “This is not up for discussion.” My father calmed down, and took another chug of his ale. “You’ll understand when you’re older.” “Too bad, dad,” I said, fed up with this discussion as much as he. “I understand now, and I don’t want to. I don’t care what you want, and I don’t care what you think the damned Queen wants. I won’t follow in the-“ “What did you say?” My father’s rage came back to him when he heard my blasphemous words. While I respected our queen a great deal, the military had idolized her. I knew I had stepped over the line. “I-“ My father stood and pointed towards the door. “Get out. Don’t come back until you’ve cooled your head.” I hesitated. “I said get OUT!” I didn’t contest my father’s will, and amidst the soft sobs of my mother, I grabbed a fur and hurried out the door. I found my way up to the tavern rooftop, which was where many of my friends played out our thoughts. I had hoped that someone would be there, but it was a quiet, and clear, night. The stars were especially bright that night. As I looked up at them, they felt somehow… familiar. A scent of lavender crossed the breeze, which was especially strange given the season. But my mind was far too cold and clouded to put any thought into it. I would not join the army. I wanted to travel, wanted to pick up a sword and hunt out the corridors of ancient dungeons. Gerard was often pinned as ‘one of the last adventurers’ for no traveler came to our village that was not already imperial. Rumor had it that our Queen had sealed the borders to our kingdom for our safe keeping. I wanted to be like Gerard. Steel and savvy. My thoughts were interrupted by a queer sound – wind chimes. Jenny and Jack’s father in the village made them out of wood in the summer. Contraptions that made sounds when the wind would blow. I turned around to find the source of the sound. I saw nothing for a great while, but finally the cold betrayed a figure, and I saw his breath rise above the rooftop. “Paul, don’t just stand there, get up here,” I laughed and tossed some of the snow down his direction. The figure climbed up into view and revealed himself as my good, grinning friend. “Hey. How’d you know it was me?” I shrugged. “No one else has so much hot air,” I laughed. He punched me. Paul followed my gaze up to the stars. “These again? Still hoping that adventure will just jump into your lap?” “Fought with my dad.” “Oh.” I chuckled on the inside for a while and stared at the sky above. Eventually the icy chill wore through my fur. “I’m tired Paul.” “Yeah, it is cold.” “No. I’m tired of being here. Jardain’s cool, but I want more. I want to travel, to see the world. Think of it, Paul. These stars must look so different in Karnesh.” “Where?” I laughed on the inside again. I loved Paul, he was a great guy, but sometimes a little ignorant. “Karnesh. It’s in the south, I think. Gerard said he’d been there. We could go farther than that though, all the way to the seas. You know how to swim. I’d like to meet a ranger, and a wizard.” Paul nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know about going that far though Tek. What’s wrong with staying close to home? I’m sure the Empire’s got plenty of damsels that I could save.” Now I laughed out loud. “Ha! You save damsels, Paul? They’d be saved by orc before they’d let you touch ‘em. Now me on the other hand…” “Ya, you on the other hand,” Paul punched me again, “Couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. I doubt you could even carry the gal out of the dungeon.” “Ow.” I rubbed my arm. “Watch it.” “Wuss.” “But,” I sighed, “Together we could do it Paul. You and me,” He nodded. “And Jack too.” Something stirred in me that hadn’t before, Paul too. “You suppose Jack is serious?” “We could ask,” Paul looked me in the eye. “Are you serious Tek?” I hesitated and thought back to my father. He would have me go his way or no way at all. “Yeah, I’m serious.” It wasn’t a new plan. Hardly. In fact we’ve plotted what it would be like for several years now, even at our young age. Paul would be the sword arm. He was always stronger then I, and eventually he’d teach me how to wield a short sword – like his father had taught him. Any lifting, any fighting, and any protection that we needed, that was him. With him by my side I feared no task, no monster, and no cave. Since I had known him, he had been ready for a fight, fame, and riches. A true Imperial. I would be the brains of the operation. I’d find out where to go, when, and how. An interest I had, was to have an iron grip on everything, and I knew that Paul would let things slip eventually if he were in charge. Also, I could create contacts, and make sure we were ok. I was always willing to learn anything Paul would teach me, and I had no doubt that would be a great many things. Jack was our wild card. His father was the local trinket merchant, and Jack carried after the trade. I thought he was lots of fun, but Paul found his creed tedious – observant of everything and always fiddling. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Paul would say. That only encouraged Jack to tinker more. He would be our rouge. Dungeons always had traps, Gerard said that many times in his stories. And so we split up, and it began to snow. Soft flakes, nothing of serious recourse for us young imperials. Paul was to grab Jack and find armaments for our journey. I was to plot our course and find rations. Easily done. Many cold nights around a cozy fire I had chatted with Gerard, and he told us that an adventurer’s welcome awaited travelers to the east, just off the path. Once he even indulged me with a partially drawn map. He threw it away afterwards, but little did he know that I had kept it from the trash; just in case. We were to reconvene at the city’s town square before the dawn. I returned home slipped quickly to bed, or so my parents thought. Throughout the night I packed my small rucksack with some clothes and firs, and a water skin or two. Under candlelight I found and re-scribed Gerard’s map. Then I grabbed one of my dad’s tents and all of our camping supplies from when we were young. The night was a drab process which I won’t bother to take you through now. I was just about ready to go when I heard a scuffling from my sister’s room. I cursed under my breath and waited silently in my room for her to go back to bed and sleep. Instead however, she came dressed in a tattered nightgown-robe to see what the ruckus I was making was. “What are you doing?” she whispered. I was shocked. How could I tell my younger sister that I was leaving and never coming back? “I’m going Jewels. If father won’t let me be an adventurer, then I’ll go on my own.” She sighed, and to my surprise, nodded. “Okay. I think it’s dumb though. There’re scary things out there. Dad said that. He said that if you were an adventurer you’d never stand the frost, and wouldn’t know where to go. He said that if you left you’d be stupid and –“ “I don’t care, Jewels,” I cut her off. “I don’t care what father said. We’ll be fine though. Paul’s coming too. He knows how to fight. And I know where we’re going. We won’t be gone forever. I’ll be back. I just need some time away from father.” “I know.” Awkwardness set in, and I returned to my packing, my words caught in my throat. “Tekkorin.” “Yeah?” I turned to her. “Don’t die, okay? Darren’s gone already. Mom needs you. She’ll be awfully hurt… I will be too.” I smiled and shook my head. “I won’t, Julia,” I hugged her tight. “I won’t.” Tossing my heavy bag over my shoulder, and picking up the tent in one hand, extra supplies in the other, I set out as quietly as I could. Julia followed me to the door. “Take care of Mother and Father for me, will you? I’ll miss them both horribly. And you too. This is just something I have to do. I gotta ride the winds of Fate.” I winked and then began down the street. At just under 14 years, she struck me as having less understanding of the situation than she likely had. Nonetheless it would be a discussion that I would remember for a great many years of my life. I could see her shadow in the glow of moon and firelight – she waited for me to be out of sight before she finally went back in doors. I met Paul at the town square, he was without Jack. Later I would thank the Gods that this was true, but at the moment I was horribly disappointed. But there was no time to waste; the sky was starting to be brightened with a pre-dawn, and soon we would be discovered. Paul had been waiting for me for some time and had even swiped a horse from somewhere – I didn’t ask, just grinned. “Help me load this stuff onto the horse,” I said, letting go of my heavy things. We did in silence, and Paul seemed to know just where to put everything. I was glad one of us knew our way around a horse. When we were finished, I saw a tall wrapped cloth on the ground. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing. Paul grinned again. He could never play poker with that face. He took the make-shift package and unraveled it. “A short sword for me, and a dagger for you,” he said, handing me the dagger, and promptly attaching the short sword and sheath to his belt. “Why do I have the dagger?” I asked, pouting. “’Cause there’s only one short sword, and it’s from my house.” “Oh.” I thought for a moment. “Ok, but you still have to teach me it – there are plenty of blacksmiths in the Empire. One of ‘em will want to toss out a short sword.” I sheathed my dagger, boosted Paul up onto the horse. I took a lasting look back onto the village. Many friends, and many memories were being left behind here, and one day Paul and I would walk back into the village with riches. We’d be famous, or so I thought. “Tek, come on, the stable boy comes ‘round in about an hour. We gotta go!” Paul extended his hand, and helped me onto the horse, and without a second glance, we rode off to the east. We rode and rode and rode. In the Empire it is difficult to explain the sunrise. They say that it is half the reason that some enter the army – though true imperials would never admit it. When the sun rises it splashes glory onto the land with a fire and warmth, and if you are on the land with purpose, you are not exempt from such splendor. Paul and I rode into the sun for hours. Eventually we rode off the path and began to follow my map. It was not incredibly detailed, but we managed through the thick forests. Time passed slowly, and by the end of the day we felt that we had made considerable progress. With the sunset, we were beat, and simply had to rest. Paul helped me set up the tent, and we went straight to bed. It was a cold night. I had nightmares of various things; I remember that night as one of the most clear in my life. I don’t think I had a wink of sleep. But that was an adventurers way I thought, and any idea I had of returning home because of it vanished when I awoke the next morn, to see that Paul had managed to make a fire. “We need to head due south for a bit now, Paul.” We cooked some of our perishable rations and boiled some snow. Finishing quickly and making light conversation packed up and rode off. It was fun: a whole new experience. We slowed down much more than we planned, but the world was our kin, and we were ready for adventure. The journey was uneventful for several days, we even began to loosen up and not worry about being caught by our parents. But, our parents turned out not to be our problem. Twilight shown, and soon the darkness was going to set in. Paul and I were looking for a good camping site, and I remember distinctly that I was in the middle of making up a horrible song when it happened. “Hey ho! Ho hey! We’re off to go, To see a show, We set out on the cool spring day. “We’ll climb towers, and save the girl, We’ll dig holes, and find the gold, We’ll-“ “Hey Tek,” Paul interrupted me. “Did you hear that?” I feel silently, and we could both hear the crunching of the old snow. Slowly it crept inward. We both strained to see through the thick of the forests, but could see nothing. We both jumped down off our horse and Paul unsheathed his sword. “Who’s there?” I asked. No answer, save for the continued creeping of footsteps. We stood there for a great while, and finally, Paul looked at me and said, “Let’s go.” He gave me a boost onto the horse when we heard the hi pitched screams and yips. A small band of goblins emerged from the forest. “Paul! Look out!” Paul turned around in time to lock blades with a couple of them. Some had little knives, others were unarmed, and none seemed to have any armour. Small green monsters that at one day may have resembled humans, they prayed on the weak to continue their survival. Paul fought and slew a couple, but for ever one he took down there seemed to be another two to take their place. Finally seeing Paul begin to take blows, I jumped off my horse and in a blaze of fury set aside my cowardice. But that fury was of a 14 year old boy, little he could do against a band of goblins. Paul eventually fell beside me, and when he did, I shouted and cursed. The goblins jumped back for a moment, and when I looked up at them I felt a slight tingling that I set aside as mere adrenaline. I saw fear in their eyes. But it didn’t last long, and soon again the hordes were against me again. And if there was nothing Paul could do, I was in deep trouble. One of them took a bite at my leg, others swung with blunt weapons, connecting blows that landed hard. I fell to the wet and bitter ground. As darkness came upon me, I could smell the scent of lavender. I didn’t die. I remember that distinctly. An overwhelming darkness fell upon my mind and body – I fought to understand what was going on, but the events were vague at best. I was conscious, but only enough to be a spectator as my life unfolded. The mysterious scent began to disappear, but the goblins ceased in their attacks against me. I could, I thought I could, feel their fear returning to them. I heard yelling in a foreign language, and the noise of battle began again. Quickly the air became thick with a metallic taste which I can’t quite explain. My senses began to blacken out entirely, and the last I heard was the fleeing footsteps of goblins. Some time later – be it minutes or hours I could not be certain – my eyes and ears opened, though little else. Death still hung behind me waiting, but it had to run fast, for I was on a horse. We galloped hard on a steady and yet unknown path. I was being carried throughout the dark, and my wounds had healed. Not entirely, but enough to assume that we had been traveling for quite some time. It was a her that carried me, and her robes were white. I could see nothing else in the scant moonlight with my weary eyes. I thought only of Paul. With no recollection of actually falling asleep again, I must have, as I awoke some time later. This, my friends, was the beginning. I opened my eyes slowly and as all my senses returned to me I realized I was in a room. Wooden and well built, it was a cozy room, but not small. It was kept warm from some yet unknown heat source, though I thought I could hear fire crackling from elsewhere. The room had a bookshelf – a full one. This in itself was amazing. Books were a rarity in the empire, Gerard had one to keep his tales in, and Jack’s father had one to map out his instructions, but that was the only written script I had ever seen. It had a window, tall and true, and the glass was of good make all things considered in the empire. It was morning, as the sun rose slowly and shone in from the east. It was slightly distorted, the reason yet unclear to me. Below the window was a large oaken desk: quill, ink, and lamp in the corner. To its right, was an open closet, full of various robes, and my tattered clothes. And from there, a simple door. I was in a wooden bed, with comforter and mattress of real feathers I would assume, and a pillow made of something equally as comfortable. I was dressed in robes of red, and was no longer injured. I was speechless. I lay in the bed for some time. My mind was in a daze. I didn’t know how many days had passed, and I could not stop thinking of my fallen comrade. He had died, and I could not help him. He had died, and I did not save him. He had died, and I was saved. It was a horrible feeling; one that can take innocence and tear it to shreds. I struggled to keep my mind clear of such corruption. Eventually I had the nerve to get up and out of bed, and examine closely my surroundings. I found myself absentmindedly touching everything: the feeling of a quill in my hand – so natural; a book, a hefty and expensive burden; the closet robes, light with comfort; the window – a natural warmth forcing through the pane. It was all very wonderful. The quiet sound of chimes again danced in the air, but now the sound had origin. Just outside the window, I could see a set of tall wooden chimes blowing in a faint breeze. It frightened me back to my bed. Something about the sound gave a presence, and I had a fear of being caught muddling through possessions that were not mine; being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. The door creaked open and, as if summoned by the chimes themselves, in walked in a tall and slender woman. Looking not a day over 30, all her facial features were northern. Why this was strange only occurred to me after she spoke – for her accent was not quite northern. Naturally I couldn’t place it, but I knew it was not mine, nor any of my friends. Her blue eyes twinkled with a strange familiarity and innate knowing when she saw me, eyes open. Her hair as golden as the sun, and fell down her back loosely. She smiled. The chimes took off again in a sudden breeze, and I only smiled back at her. There was a moment where all my burdened thoughts of Paul melted away, and all I knew was this home. She walked calmly over to the base of the bed, sure footed and straight backed, her white robes dancing in an unknown wind, and looked down at me. “So you have awakened, child.” I made to answer, but could only nod. “Good,” she said. Many other questions choked in my throat as she made to leave. As she made to the door I urged a sound to utter from my lips. I had to say something, anything. “Wait!” She stopped, but did not turn around for a moment. I had thought later that she had to consider it, but as I gained knowledge of her ways, I would know that it was simple dramatics. To a child though, it felt as a secret success when she finally did turn. “Yes?” Uh oh. I had yet to know what to say. “Umm…. Who are you?” A useless question, I should have asked about where we were, or how I was alive. A slight and playful laugh emerged from her lips, were she younger I would have called it a giggle. “I have many names. Many people call me different things.” Usually that would have conjured sarcasm from my mind and out my lips. But for some reason it was not so, now. She seemed to have a power over me, unfamiliar yet not uncomfortable. “Well, what shall I call you?” “Whatever you feel suits. The elves affectionately call me Stargazer, the imperial armies once knew me as the Wizardess of the Woods, the goblins hail my name as Hermit Lady of Death. My friends and family know my name as Rachel.” “Cool.” Not exactly the answer of a genius, but it would do. Feeling a little more revived from the experience of her entrance, I followed up – fearing losing the opportunity to speak with her. “So, you’re a wizardess?” She laughed again. “Yes, though such a term is… ignorant language. Mage, or Sorceress is a well drawn title.” “And you’ve met elves?” As my inquiries of curiosity were given, her eyes twinkled again subtly. “Yes, I have,” she answered. “I have met many races.” “Oh, wow.” The majesty of the answer seemed to float over my head as another question occurred to me. “Where are we?” “A forest, well east of where you were when I found you.” Recollection of the past seemed to taint the room quickly. “Oh.” My curiosity was tamed by thoughts of the battle against those monsters and my fallen friend. Rachel looked at me with sorrow in her face. She knew somehow of where her last statement had taken me. “Perhaps you should get some more rest,” she said. “I’ll be back in a little while,” and with that, she left. A certain normalcy returned to the room, that feeling of discomfort and dread. I did not feel like resting though. I dragged over to the bookshelf and picked up several books, more out of amazement than anything. I wanted to see the scripture inside. Gerard had taught me snippets of reading, and you always learn some basics as a child. Opening one, I gazed at the words, they were magnificently scribed. There was something released when it was opened. The light feelings that existed when Rachel had entered were present again. I felt at ease, and before I knew it I was trying to read the print as language rather than an art. It was a story. Much like one of Gerard’s stories, though this one was not of gems and dragons, but of the local history of the surrounding imperial villages. To others the interest would have vanished quickly, and no bard would ever earn a lunch with such info, but I found it captivating. I’m not certain whether an hour or seven had passed, but the day stretched on through my window and before I knew it the door was creaking open again. By this time I had become so familiar with the books by my side and in my lap that I hadn’t any thoughts of hiding them. Rachel entered again, and I sat up straight. I had an urge to impress her, my reasons unknown to even me at the time. She looked down at the books next to me, and smiled once more. “You read?” “Only a little, but I’m a quick learner.” She stepped over to the bed and picked up the book I was reading. She handled it delicately, as if she needn’t touch it to carry it. “History’s of the Empire? A drab read for a kid such as yourself.” “I’m no kid. Besides, any tales of the Empire are good tales.” Funny, it sounded much more profound in my head. “I like it.” “No doubt,” Rachel laughed. Her white robes seemed to dance as she did. Returning the book to my hands she smiled. “I’ve brought you something to eat.” With a wave of her hand, about the strangest sight I had ever seen entered the room. A floating circle floated into the room. I rubbed my eyes, for it was an absurd gesture of physics. A sandy coloured film seemed to drip off of it continually in a fashion that reminded me of some of the great fountains described of in our capital city. After getting used to it, it reminded me of a makeshift (and very beautiful) tablecloth. And, on it was indeed a plate of food and a small glass and jug. It floated towards the bed before finally coming to a stop. “Magic?” I needed no answer, nor was given one. “That’s amazing Rachel.” To say her name felt foreign to my mouth, and for a moment worry of disrespecting her flowed through my mind. “I mean, uh, Miss Rachel.” “Eat up, and content yourself with anything here. I have some business to attend to, and the sunset shall come soon.” So I did. The next day, the chimes sounded, and in came Rachel. She gave me a tour of the house, the bottom floor. It was a two story cottage, though I could see no immediate reason for the upper level. The house had everything on the ground. A room packed with books upon books. A kitchen and a smoking room – though I had no idea why, she proclaimed that she didn’t smoke. A dining room and even another guest bedroom, not unlike my own. It was a quaint little place. The outside was even better, in a forest that was neither thick nor thin, the cottage was built in a slight circular clearing. There was a strong smell of lavender, lilac and other flowers around here. Spring came quicker here than elsewhere, I saw no snow. The outside of the house was simplistic in nature, a simple house, a simple roof, a simple deck, and a simple garden. There was even the remains of what once had been a path leading towards the house, now fading without use. The stars were clearly visible at night here, as the trees were careful not to extend their branches too far into our view. Around the back of the cottage was a stone pattern of brick, which Rachel described as “mage stuff”. And of magic, my keeper was vague. She would show me no tricks that bards were quick to show, and I rarely saw anything quite as spectacular as the table incident in my room. Though she never denied her use of magic (as my interest was keen after such a teasing display in the past), I rarely caught even its ‘practical uses’. Indeed, I did not see her ever cook, clean, wash, mend, or any other household chores that my mother had kept to faithfully. Rachel had “magical servants” to do it for her, she said, though I looked and looked, and never saw a thing. Rachel informed me that I was a welcome guest in her home, as long as I did not enter the second floor. It did not matter much, as my curiosity quickly found a locked door at the top of the stairs. To many of my peers, especially after our words of treasure hunting, it would seem odd to give up there, but there was something about the room that did not ask me enter. It held little interest for me. So I took her up on her offer. My first weeks were spent lamenting the death of my friend. I held a great deal of guilt for his passing, and “little but time can help such feelings,” was Rachel’s consolation. “A human being is never guiltless, but you needn’t place blame on anyone but the goblins for his death Tekkorin.” Time was correct, and Rachel was patiently by my side. Her words were seldom, but her ears were always open for my troubles, and I had many. After I begun to get over Paul, eventually my brother came into my mind and he had to be properly thought of as well. It was not an unknown thing, death. Rachel spoke with knowledge on the subject, and being from the empire, I too had had to be the shoulder for many of my friends in the past. I shall not bore you with the detail, save to say that even seasons passed before my grief passed it’s mourning state. I had a habit to read, whilst I spent time indoors. It was an unending hunger for the literature that Rachel had to offer. Even after I found myself accepting the death of my kin, I continued to embrace the knowledge around me. Religion, history, geography, as well as biographies of the guilded factions of the world – the Iron Hand, Blue Bellied Bouncers, and the Squad of Squealers were simply a few that I had the opportunity of reading. Some were written almost as if they were some fantasy far, far away, and others reminded me of home. Rachel was kind enough to aid me in any questions I had, and spent a great deal of her time checking up on my reading skills. I once asked if she had written the books herself, and she denied so, saying that “they are merely leftover tools now, for decoration and reference. I wouldn’t write such bland material.” Throughout my readings we would oft discuss the topics that I had read about, and my understanding became more complete – each book was layer upon layer of a sugar I couldn’t resist. A time came when I ran out of books to read, not from lack of quantity, but because of my own ignorance. Her collection was not limited to simply the imperial language. She taught me slowly pieces of a language and set me to work on simplistic tales. But I had no hunger for such slow lessons, and taught myself alongside her – after each lesson, I would learn as much as I could about the language. First it was human languages from countries I had never heard of and then eventually Elfish and equally as majestic words. There was something about this place that encouraged on the study of wisdom and intellect that I could not ignore. When it was too dark to read, (as Rachel would not allow candle light by anything paper), I would go out to see the stars. They were wondrous, and always recalled my passions of adventure, and often with them, a recollection of home. It is difficult to explain how time passes here, quickly and without notice, and often seasons went by before I had seen a week. When I confessed this to Rachel she said jokingly that it was an elfish illness - time seemed to pass that way for them as well. On the starry nights is when I came to know her best – then I was able to see her emotions. She often came to ‘look at the stars’ she said, and her mood would change, for better or worse. I assumed that she was like many of the seers in my stories, and could tell the futures of might and men within the lights of the sky. Again I would ask her – as I was prone to doing, and she would laugh and give an anecdote or some enigmatic answer to elaborately say “not quite.” It was, in fact, years before a serious recollection of home came to mind. I had grown up in so much a non-imperial way that my strength had left me, and even the old dagger of my past felt awkward in my hands. Rachel had made me feel accustom to robes, simply because she carried no other garment. Typically the garb of women and old men, it felt strange to wear one at first. But the comfort that it contained persevered through frustration or anger – both of which I often suffered at the hands of learning – and lent me the strength to become calm and try again. I became quite acquainted with it during my time there. It was like a dream from which I awoke, suddenly and without reason. At the age of nineteen, though if I was asked the day I wouldn’t know it, the wanting to return home came to me. Rachel had been delicate of the subject for a great while. Whenever my thoughts drifted that way in the past, she would ask me if I wished to return home – my reply was always the same: “no, not really,” though I think she understood too well. This time she asked, and I am certain that she once again already knew. By the stars one night it was decided, that I would go home. The next day a map, and rations were supplied for me. Rachel had even a horse to quicken the journey for me. I inquired where she had gotten it, and the reply was just as usual. We enjoyed a laugh over it. The thought came by that it would be our final laugh together. I had grown up now, by imperial standards as well as her own, and mine. She did not ask if or when I would return. Her eyes still twinkled with the knowledge of the answer. I did not ask for it. Carefully I mounted, and set off, looking back only briefly to see that she had disappeared inside. The horse seemed to know the route better than the map, and I let it guide me home. The sound of chimes seemed distant, but present as I rode back to my childhood.

I have not given contribution to this end of the Pen for quite some time, and I think it's about time I did hmm? I mean, we can't just be writing poetry all the time now can we? This is a little story I've been writing for a bit. It's nothing exciting, let me assure you. Its original purpose is actually a history for a DnD character I created and play (I've also used his name in Archmage a great long while ago), and so it has kind of a bio-graphy feel. But hopefully the first person view can make it a bit more exciting. Anyways, I thought I'd post it. It's not horribly long - but long enough for me to have written lots, and not yet be finished. It'll come in two or three installments, I'm not sure which yet, but here's the first. Also largely unedited, I appologize if certain parts seem choppy, or if words are re-used too often. All in all though, I hope you enjoy. PS - I have edited some names of places and people simply because they were not relative to the story when it stood outside a "DnD environment" and they conflicted with... ironically enough, the names of some of the people I know. Why do I tell you? Well, just in case you feel that some of the names don't quite fit with the characters/places, that's why. Also if I screwed up, and someone/somewhere's name suddenly changes - that's why too. PPS - Sorry for some of the formatting - it looks much better in my word-document. Just bare with it, and I'll fix it when I get the next installment up (too lazy to do it now) Yours,

When creation flows so freely, unguided and unrefined, it truely earns its title as art. Such is here, I think ah? Thanks for sharing, Stale. I hope you continue to write/post.

Would I post a story? I would. Would I post a poem? I would Would I post an RP? I would. For all three, I would. I should. But I shan't, For I am lazy. Lookin' good! Justin Silverblade here, Quill-Bearer, (at least for now - not for long with any serious luck, ) Post count doesn't really matter to me - in time I'll work it back up anyways. And some sort of title? Nah, I let my posts do the talking. (that, of course, is the fancy way of saying I can't think of anything cool). But, just a note to say I'm here. So.... Hi.

Dedicated to a wonderful young woman I know that's a good friend of mine: Sleeping Angels In dark of night, When stars are bright, You can hear the angels sleeping. Shhh.... Do you hear them? The noise of sin, Lives not within, They sound of love and beauty. Shhh... Listen Their dreams sublime, Of joys that rhyme, To us is graceful mystery. Listen... Do you hear them?

Two of my favorite things: Competition, and free stuff. You can bet I'll be there Wyv. The weenie warrior, - Justin

Thanks guy and gal. It's appreciated.

Very sweet, and (perhaps it's just me) but a little endearing as well. For a poem involving death, it's wonderfully upbeat, and carefree. A great thing to read Cyril. Thanks! - Justin PS - now I'm gonna need some popcorn or cotten candy. *sigh*

Wow.... Crowgirl, I'm no expert, indeed far from it when it comes to poetry. But what I love to read is real emotion in words, and a certain strength in meaning. This poem certainly meets the "two thumbs up" criteria. I really liked this, thanks for sharing. - Justin

I can't comment too much about it, simply because it goes over my head, GriZzmo, without me putting a lot of in depth study into it... but I really do like it. The mood is neat, and the emotion is certainly well conveyed. Good work.

Do I love thee? O dear weenie, With heart and soul, Do I love thee? Truly? Once a time aghast, At your ugly name. A scar upon my rep, With you I’d never be the same. But as time passed, The world grew brighter. Your place by my side, My worries grew lighter. But alas, dear award. I must confess my heart. Of you I’m fond, But eventually we must part. ‘Tis not love! Not love at all, Though our time was grand, I have to make this call. I’ll remember you, In all the days to come, But we must move on, You and I, as must everyone. Do I love thee? O dear weenie, With my heart and soul? Nay, I can’t say it was with ye. Alas. Crowgirl recently reminded me that I still had my weenie award, so this is my attempt to vanquish it. I know it isn't too hot, but I think it should do. - Justin

Hush A single soft sound, Drips from crimson lips, None more. Nothing special - but I'm trying to get back my muse, and you know what they say - baby steps. Tryed to pack as much feeling into this as possible. Hope you enjoyed. - Justin

Bravo. - Justin

The work is sound and the poem is sad. Good work, please keep it up (as if you need the encouragement. ) - Justin

You shall be a welcome addition here, my friend. This is excellent work - powerful art. I hope that Wyv doesn't leave you waiting too long. Edited by: Justin Silverblade at: 1/4/03 9:49:19 pm

I marvel to think, of all those things, hidden in a wink. So many, too few, A thousand thoughts in them, ensue. Edited by: Justin Silverblade at: 11/25/02 9:44:38 am

How ironic that we should not live, but die. That we should not enjoy, but endure. That we should not have innocent ignorant lust, but have love and lost. Our lives revolve around that which is at the end of the road, whilst we live life out in our travels. Here I live to but die. My travel is all but over and I see a grim end to my road. I have witnessed one of the greatest tragedies of human kind. I have seen my comrades fight, and die for what they believe in. I have seen their families support them throughout their choices. I have seen the end of an era of beautiful life, and it was all for naught. I rallied them to be. I led them to battle. I fell beside them. And now, my enemy prevails… My work, my life: fallacious. “Hurry now! We’re close… just two floors down.” Paul said, rushing his armed team towards to stairs. Nine of the city’s finest rebel troops had volunteered to take part in a rescue mission of the most deadly peril. Within the cells of one of the darkest prisons of all the country their task led them. Their leader, their inspiration to resist the iron fist of dictatorship, and that had led them to freedom in countless other lands, had been captured and sentenced to death. They were here to make sure that didn’t happen. “Sir! They’re coming ‘round the corner!” The heavy and quick steps of security could be heard all around the halls now. The team was in the complex, and had been discovered. “Prepare yourselves,” Paul replied, readying his gun, but waving his troops though. A couple of men stopped beside him and prepared to fight. “Fight and retreat, we must find Yahle.” My passion, ripped from my soul. Now I wait to die. The shouts came from behind Paul, as he hurried with his men down the next set of stairs. “John’s down, John’s down!” The place seemed endless, and with each retreat they took down into the dank halls of the prison, they lost hope of finding what they sought, and escaping. “Keep going! We can’t go back for him,” was Paul’s only reply. In a quick and silent recount, woe is recalled to the party: “@#%$, Larua’s gone too.” I hear the footsteps now. The footsteps of my doom, have come, finally. A wasted life is mine: useless, and now forgotten. Only time will bring an end to it. “We can make it!” pressed on Paul. “Just one more floor!” And indeed it was. The blueprints they had obtained would show that Yahle was being held a mere one floor below them, and two hallways west. Shouts could be heard more intensively now, and the rapid calling to arms and before the group could start up again, gunfire. ‘God help us make it…’ Arrives my fate, a man with simple intent: to bring me to my jailor, and thus my end. Simply, I am lifted, carried. I see no point to resist, but will not walk myself. My will was not meant for the enemy. A mocking stare by him, I care not. It was all Paul could do, but keep them going. The cornered hallways and stairs allowed them chance amid the fighting. “Go! Go! Go!” “Sir, we’ve lost Nala and Rihn.” More deaths reported; sacrifices to hope and leadership. Room after room passes my gaze, empty cells. I am the last left. No one is left to aid me, to instill the same hope that I, but days ago, wasted upon my friends. Nothing left in the game of cards I so vigilantly worked at. So this is how my hand plays out. Not a house of full, with which to win… The reports were seldom, and quick. They darted around a corner for a breather and defense. “We’re down to four now sir. Karren an-“ A scream muffled the cry. There was three. Not three of the same, with which to fight “We must not give up! Remember what Yahle said!” Paul had to inttrupt himself with gunfire, and his enemies fell with screams. “Do not let go!” They were on the awaited floor, their beloved leader should be upon them soon, and then a quick escape. All depended on that. ‘Just a few more hallways, just a few more…’ No flush of colour to scorn my enemies or spread ways. A final shout of gunfire, and the hallways stood for a moment quiet. “There! His cell is just around the corner. Charlie! Charlie!?!” Amongst there enemy had fallen more kin. The dampened blackness echoed a summoning of more enemies. “He’s gone Vick, it’s me and you. Let’s find Yahle,” Paul urged. Not even a single pair, with which to place that sole bet, indeed no reason to play. “Made it! Paul, we made it! His cell’s right down here.” The triumph was enough. The sacrifices had been worth it. Now they could free their friend, and hurry out. Yahle! Yahle!” The cell was empty. “@#%$, Paul… He’s gone. He’s not here… Paul? Paul!?!” Overwhelming gunfire could be heard. Might as well fold the hand. Edited by: Justin Silverblade at: 9/28/02 11:57:06 pm

An archmage inspired poem, written as a kind of pledge/warning of what the new dawn brings after armageddon. Ok, ok, so sue me. I had to post something though, and all my inspiration has been there. Silence.... As I sit upon the floor, The chills of death flow evermore, I know of that which has no bounds, Fury bites, and passion pounds. A dreaded time of light has come, No longer flows wine or rum. Finallity of a broken seal, At last as come, our final meal. The past... Full of daunting memories, The proof of paths, the stains they leave. The darkness rose upon the ground Where the plight of the good was found. Us, in wonderous, beautiful story, Corruption's banner, full of glory. We slew the beasts of pain we hate Our swords held by the one dark fate. The founders of shade, leaders of life, The destruction of good, Cause of Strife. And now... Ashes... Like a blackened pheonix true, Who's flame rekindles, a darkned hue, We shall be wraught with painful end, No longer kin, the road dost bend. This is the end! I proclaim it so! Into the darkness from whence we came, Lest tomorrow be exactly the same. But should the 'morrow bring dawn once more, And should the sun still have a bitter core, Then we shall live a pheonix life, We will wield the handle, we shall be the knife. Time... To tell of the corrupt one's story, Whose only work is of that glory, When the banner was once high, And burned now to that low sigh, If it could rise, and know again Of it's true potential, then... Then... Silence...

Am I? Who am I? An eternal question, Unanswered, unknown. A man of a thousand thoughts, All worthless. The purpose they serve, finds only contradiction; The birth of hollow conflict. Emotions, the thoughts of the heart, Compassion, aggravation, love, anger. Useless, empty without cause, Sincerity only for response. Who am I? Can it be described? Should it be? A man of a thousand words, All pointless. Vain quests to end ignorance, only to uncover more; Shallow holes lead to deep chasms. Progress found in friendship, Communication, learning, understanding. Deep in the tombs of knowledge, Lie cobwebs of absence. Who am I? Why?

Welcome... to the darkness. (That was the last part, I thought I'd add it, as the last few lines describe the voice. Don't mind ya sharing my work at all Stale. Any rep is a good rep. I'm glad ya liked it)

Nay my friend, not the Kat you know. Good stuff Katiya, btw (and so sorry to inturrupt the flow of your work). I haven't got far, but I do so like what I have read.

A small, neat, and very cool little piece of literature. I like it a lot. Thanks for sharing, my dear.

Hmm... I love this riddle. Even though, to us it may seem easy, I think half the fun may be, in actuallity, knowing the answer. It's very well put together, and the idea and description of the 'narrator'/answer is very... cool. Thanks for sharing Bhurin.

Thanks guys. I do appreciate when my work is... appreciated.