Justin Silverblade

The ladies and gentlemen of literature are always welcome here, Saber, whether enrolled in our ranks, or not. I enjoyed your poems greatly. Good work, and keep on writing. Good luck on your application. Yours, - Justin Silverblade (Aka - Enos|Silv on IRC)

??? What is this? Xelnaga my friend, let not ops deffer you from a place that needs your pressence! You applied, and you gave us great inspiration and reason to invite you into our ranks. All that is required now is a bit of time. Please, I ask you to continue your works, and continue to share them here with us. Reconsider, and please do not withdraw your application. Deg may be sorry for the refference, but I am not. Yours truly, - Justin Silverblade (Aka - Enos)

Something that struck my muse the other day. Please keep in mind it isn't edited. Enjoy. Ebony Hour Oh how I wait for that Ebony Hour, Its approach is soft and light. I watch through my window bare, For it to finally undo our plight. I know not what to look for, I know not what robe it wears. But silently I hope for it, For judgment wanes, and verdict glares! Now on this early day of slumber, Where nature’s thoughts all disappear My window fills with icy mist, As the world sheds arctic tears. To my backyard a single tree, Sad and lonely and empty, The season’s cruel traditions leave, It to a suffering destiny. For it, I wait, for that Ebony Hour. The moon peaks out from full grey clouds, Its light does dance on ivory ground, And all the while, I just think, And sigh, and wait for any sound. As if to answer my sole notion, The hearty fire in my place did hiss, Earned smile from me, I could not give, What I would give, I could not miss. Its endless task will not be met, The house still bares a stony chill. It flickers and gives a zealous dance But life is not sustained by will. The fire, with sigh, I hope expires, It shan’t be stoked on this cold eve. No use for it, a waste of logs, The grateful heat will always leave. I suppose for fire, I await that hour, Though still I can not see such reason. Flame does but burn in midnight oil, And my thought to it must be treason. With quickened glace from my post, I see the tree with moistened eyes, Through my frosty glass portal, What could be, would be, I realize. Soft creaks upon wooden floor, As soft steps I take to bide my time, Off to where a kitchen makes, Boiling water, tea sublime. There I wait, for that Ebony Hour. As I sip sympathetically, I think again in the painful peace. Wooden planks from wooden trees, New lives born, when theirs do cease. And what of that sacrifice? Now the life that birds would see, Was built to more, reborn again. It has stories 2, and home to 3. That is why I wait for that Ebony Hour. I can’t but think of my longing, And it drives my sanity free, Like molasses time now flows, I just cry, sigh, and drink to thee. And soon enough, I know shall come, From up went three, down will two. And fate will call an end to this, So that painful peace shall not ensue. As if I summoned my own disgust, They appeared from down the stairs that eve, The two of them, my love and hate. Bearing news that would relieve. For a moment they both stood there, In a time that at once felt known. To them both I looked in deeply, And in their eyes the news was sown. The one, my love, came to me, And with salty cheeks gave embrace, Her words to me spoke uselessly, For I knew the terms from her pace. The one, my hate, stayed from me, While wife’s comfort was my concern, But still he caught my moistened gaze, And mouthed the words I did yearn. “I’m sorry.” Then to me there came a sigh, On my cheeks fell emotion’s brine. But from a parent’s bane I felt not sour, A weakened smile my lips did line. For finally had come, that Ebony Hour. Edited by: Justin Silverblade at: 7/6/02 3:13:19 pm

"Ahh...." Silverblade bows in respect, and smiles fondly. "Memories. Brings 'em all back, and I do miss 'em. Glad to see you'll be posting some work here Lord Kendricke the White. I do hope you continue your perusal (sp?) though the Pen's halls." ~Thanks for sharing~

A thought of old, And a thought of new, The strength of the many, The passion of two. The mortal man, would have marveled at the ongoing occurences at the Pen. To meet the famed, and powerful, the Dreamer, would have kept the people like Justin Silverblade awake for months, and awestruck for years. Indeed, what just occured in the Cabaret Room of the Pen, and still continued in the many hallways, would have contented Silverblade for the rest of his adventuring life. But he had more important things on his agenda on those fateful moments. He wasn't finished his supper. Food is the way to man's heart, they say. It turns out, in this instance, it is also the way to keeping his attention. (OCC - Zadown, good to see you again, it's been a great while. I didn't want to step in on your thing with Yui, but wanted to say hi. Safe travels!) - Justin aka Tek Chaos

"You have spoken to me, of your trail, my friend. And so, I shall not bid you a goodbye, merely a farewell for now. We shall see you soon, I am sure, and... All your things will be in order when you return; I assure you. With a bow and a smile, Justin see's Seth off. "Safe Travels, Seth."

Justin Silverblade: ( name / pronounciation ) Just - in Silver - blade Real - ly Co - ol Hope that clears it up.

Welcome to the Pen, Jonathan. I look forward to reading your works (as time will allow). Good work!

~~ Well, as long as Call of the Tides is shot, might as well try something different. This is a story I'm writing over at AoD (an archmage guild). If it takes off, I'll continue posting it here. Enjoy! ~~ Welcome to the darkness. A place where everything rings true. Nothing and everything stays hidden. The Dark Fortress stood as a monument, and gathering place, for all things conniving, deceptive, fallacious, and evil. That was the phrase; the Army of Darkness. The legions upon legions of creatures that made that army up: elves, humans, dwarves and demons. Mages, thieves, priests and fighters. Indeed, welcome to the darkness. Looming high atop the brown hill the fortress stood solid in blackened stone. The moon, that seemed ever present by its side, hung shyly behind the clouds, in full bloom. Entering the creaking gates this quiet eve was a small caravan of wagons. Three to be exact. All led by the black stallions of the Army, and slaves with whips. The last two carried to the naked eye nothing, save for worthless boxes, but the first was notably important. The windows were draped in a grey silk, and the image of someone… something… could be made out. As that wagon passed by, innocents on the street could swear to hearing a distant laughter. The silence of the night was broken as the caravan stampeded through the gates, and into the outer courtyard. Stopping once inside the fortress walls, the three wagons circled together and came to a stop. Though everything worked like clockwork, not a sound could be heard save for the tired horses as the gates closed behind them. Two figures could be seen exiting the gatehouse and slipping in and out of the shadows. They made their way to the first wagon, and drew back the silk, and opened the door. They knew better than to look towards the being inside, and faced the ground in quiet homage. As if floating down from an ebony cloud, the figure from the wagon descended, and smiled. Home again. He, and it could be called a he, barked orders to the two who stood ever still and silent on either side of him. “Unload the wagons. Call forth someone from the Ministry, and inform them that Enos has returned.” A soundless moment stood in the air, before a raspy, more fearsome voice emerged from his lips. “Go!” The two servants slipped back to the shadows and did his bidding. One hurried back into the fortress’ buildings, and the other to the second wagon. Enos gracefully walked into the moonlight, and let his pale skin be basked in its glory. He, it turned out, appeared human. Old beyond many years of wisdom. He had a back that hung with the weight of two worlds, and a brow that cast a natural shadow over his eyes and upper nose. His eyes stood hidden under shadow, but their black flame of passion could be felt through, gazing into the fortress, despite their closed inner doors. Wearing what seemed like rags for clothes, they appeared to take careful planning to look both ragged, but yet stood clear of disrupting his mobility. There in moonlight, he waited, with a silent sinful smile.

Wow... my goodness. Rahsash, this was a wonderful, WONDERFUL poem, in my humble opinion. Would you mind horribly if I whisked it away to my more private files (aka copy and pasted it to my hard drive)? Very nice. ~Good work!~

~ Just a quick little ditty that I wrote. It isn't edited, and I don't think I will try, it scares me a little too much to get into such a mood to edit properly. Enjoy! ~ The Stage and Garden The jealousy grew inside him as it had never before done. He was not unaccustomed to it, but now it seemed to have seeded, and spread the beginnings of new plants; ones of anger, rage, distrust. He beheld them as weapons, rather than seeking to rip them from his garden, as any good man should. No. Their roots sought to corrupt him, and wrapped around him easily and consumed his foresight. They had begun to control him, and he knew it. He was regaled as a good man, albeit quiet and gentle. Weak and unpopular is how his greenery had rotted such good fruit. His life was filled with a wanting, a wanting of something, he already had. He had taken such time to tend to his garden of bent emotions he had forgotten what was genuine. In fact, doubt had clouded his mind as to whether kinship even existed towards him. So he volunteered himself off the stage. The play of life continued onwards, and he sat by the sidelines like a coward. Unable to stand, unwanting to sit, his newly seeded plants grew and began to bore their own rotten fruit within his mind. With them he began to see what lay behind the scenes: what really existed within his company, and he hated it. He convinced himself, now, that he wanted no part of it, or these people, yet as a smiling script rolled by his scowling vision, he longed to hold it, and play the part once more. Denied again, stolen what was once his. What should have been his. The lead roll, now stood in his arch-rival’s hands, and his fantasy of what life was, that beautiful play on stage, broken into the news of actors all playing parts. How disdainful, that this was, that they acted, all of them. But he would not reveal the fruit he longed to throw across the stage. For, even as he sat, he acted. Acted like those he despised for doing so. Then the knowledge that he would do such a thing, only sought to water the plants. He was a gardener, but knew not how to handle his plants. And one night, by the starlight, he pondered his garden far from its putrid aroma, and longed for it not to be there. He made a vow; that he would chop them down. Every plant, every tree, destroy each in blissful knowledge and acceptance of happier days and simpler ways, for indeed he knew not the maze of his own garden. The day would come and go when he should have, and did, the mow and sheer take all the garden down. And next daybreak, he looked back to that stage with smile and glee. He jumped alongside his brethren, and found there his best friend, and in his hand, that script. The lines that should be his. The sapling sprouted, once again.

Be careful, all, not to put too much thought into things one may call as improvements. Often thought leads only to disorder. I have been here quite some time, and never been unhappy. Though for that matter, I have never thought of it as a guild. A guild too often brings into the idea of a society. That brings in 'unsaid' rules, and a sudden requirement for democracy or some kind of government. My advice? Easy, keep it simple. We're a bunch of friends who share, read, and comment on original work. That's what we do, no need to define what we are, or how we do it. Let it happen, cap'n.

~~ And there you have it... Whilst there is much plot to be revealed, and much thought still wrapped in the lines I have written, I can not find the will to write any more of it. Believe me I have tried. Direction is not the problem, I know where I want to go with this, I just... I can't seem to get it to go. So... ta da. I hope you enjoyed it, as I did writing it. For now, and for possibly a great while it will remain unfinished (indeed just begining).~~ - Justin

Bluebirds sung a mourning song as the sun began its trek back up the high sky. The weight of the recent events seemed to echo far to the horizon. The far mountains of Duiren, the Great End of the West, seemed to bow slightly towards Litheme in silent respect. The green hills were sprinkeled with the leaves of fall and covered in golden yellows, reds, and oranges. The town of Jardain was a bleak and humble home to the land’s travelers, a single stream of smoke reached for the skies weakly. Rubin saw all of this from his spot atop the ramparts of the castle; his castle. What was he to do now? His father… dead. He had so much left to learn from him. The ways of Litheme, of the rest of the world. And Kain had much to teach in the ways of strength and skill. He had no experience, just a sword and memories. Rubin dropped a stone off the top of the ramparts and watched as it fell to the ground; pulled by the invisible force of the world. “Heya m’lordship. So this’s where ya disappeared to.” The voice came from behind him, and was Jackie’s. Too friendly, was the thought of Rubin. “Go away,” he replied. “Oh, don’t be so mean to an ol’ gal,” she replied, advancing beside him and leaning against the stone guard. “Quite the view from up here. The ‘ole world seems to be at peace.” “Jackie, I asked-“ “Aye, I ‘eard ya. ‘Go away’ ya said. Well I got news for ya Rubin. Your mother’s very upset, and ya didn’t help any by running away leavin’ her in tears,” stated Jackie. Rubin was silent, he hadn’t thought of his mother. Truth be told, it was a rare occasion that his thoughts were with her. He had grown somewhat distant from her, as his father rushed him to manhood. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “Ya don’t need to be say’n sorry to me, lad, your mother’s the one who’s broken up about it. She needs a bit o’ comfort right now, and that bloody wizard (Gods bless his soul) ain’t much good at it,” Jackie took one of the rocks from the small pile that Rubin had gathered gave it a great heave. It sailed far down the road before finally coming to a bouncy landing on a small gathering of leaves. They stood for a moment in silent contemplation. The wind blew in a slight breeze. “I’ll talk to her,” Rubin said quietly. “He was a good man, your father,” Jackie added. “Nary a soul who would care so much ‘bout his people more than he.” Again more silence. They could hear the silent cry of an eagle far to the distance. After a few more thrown rocks, Jackie wiped her hands on her maid’s apron and turned to leave. She interrupted her own exit with a sudden thought. “Oh! I almost forgot. I found this in General Kain’s room. It was addressed to ya; a birthday gift I think.” She pulled from one of the two massive pockets in her maid’s costume, a small book of parchment and handed it to Rubin. “Thanks Jackie. Tell my mother I’ll be in shortly.” Nodding, Jackie left to find her way from the walls and back inside. Rubin took a look at the book in his hand. The cover was blank. Brushing his hair out of his face as he looked down, he opened the book carefully. Inside was scrawled many diagrams and small paragraphs, the first of which was titled: Swordplay, Advanced Techniques. As Rubin flipped through the pages he found that the book was a compilation of various offensive and defensive techniques, as best that could be described on paper. On the inside cover was a message: Rubin, I have taken the time to write down some of my swordplay methods. I hope that this will aid you in your continued quest to be a young warrior. I will be happy to show you how these work in practice when we’ve time. Happy Birthday, - Kain Rubin only smiled and closed the book. If it weren’t for Kain, his abilities would not have advanced so quickly already. They had trained many of the days away up here, on the walls, with his father and some of the castle guard. He would miss those moments most about Kain. “You would be wise to hold on to that,” this was the voice of Tekkorin, Rubin knew. The voice seemed to cut through the air on a pedestal of importance. “Kain’s methods were great beyond his years.” When Rubin set eyes on the wizard, he saw that Tekkorin advanced slowly and heavily on the support of his cane. “Not great enough I guess.” A solem look of disappointment replaced the smile on Rubin’s face. “To save him, I mean.” “They were enough to save and protect lives. That is enough. He did not think often of himself, Rubin. His thoughts were of you and your father.” Tekkorin said, “both of whom he died trying to protect. Do not lose that, for it is important.” “I guess…” Rubin looked distantly for a moment. A bird gave a loud ‘caw’. “How did you know my father Tek?” Tekkorin was silent for a moment, “I have long known your mother,” he said simply. “When Aria married your father, I came to know him as a noble and honourable soul; just like I came to know you when you were born. You have grown much since we last met, you’ve grown into the figure of a warrior, the face of royalty, and have a sharper stick by your side-“ slight laughter emerged from Tekkorin’s lips, and quickly twisted to hoarse coughing. “You okay Tek?” Tekkorin waved him away. “I’m old, Rubin. That’s all.” “Oh… Tek, how did… who were they? Who broke into our home? Who killed…” the words caught in Rubin’s mouth. “I’m not sure. Do you know of the Lords and Ladies of the surrounding provinces, here in Litheme.” Rubin nodded. He took the time to explain his experiences of the council with Tekkorin, and his thoughts as to the character of Jerred, and the rest of his bought off council members. “Hmm…” nodded Tekkorin. “You are quite right to distrust him. Jerred has only sought to rule Litheme. This I know. It was his banners that we found, hidden under the armor of the horsemen that invaded. But be wary. I did not think he was capable of such an act, and am still unfamiliar with how exactly he, or anyone, pulled it off.” Rubin clenched his fist. “Indeed,” Tekkorin said, picking up on Rubin’s thoughts. “That was Gildar’s response as well. But, as I told the adamant dwarf, this is not something to be hastily rushed into. The fates will see that justice is served. Make sure it is served well, and carefully. There is much to be considered, before we make a move.” “I, you mean,” Rubin corrected. “Before I make a move.” “Indeed child,” Tekkorin smirked. “But know that I would have a hand in how things play out here too. It would be wise for you to heed my counsel, or listen to it, at the least.” Rubin nodded. “I shall listen to your advice, Tek. I have yet to see it do ill. But I mourn for my father, and will avenge him.” “Bold words.” “In response to bold actions,” a tear began to fall down Rubin’s face. Tekkorin coughed again in an attempted laugh. “I see your parents in your eyes. This is good, though unfortunate that their image needs to be forced out of you so early.” Rubin wiped the tear from his cheek and smiled. “So what now, then?” “Now,” Tekkorin sighed and looked to the sky. “For now, the winds of time can stay their course for a while. We need to mourn the loss of our loved ones. It does good for our souls to send the departed off well. Your mother needs you.” Rubin pushed off the stone guard and began down the ramparts. “Thanks Tek.” “Happy Birthday, m’lord.”

Rubin became aware of his existence, in a deep and foggy wood. He felt an unhappy familiarity to this place. He did not wish to stay. ‘Hey ho, ho hey! We’re here to see You’re not to be, We’ll cut you down, on your way!’ The voices were demented, not close to the one Rubin knew used to sing the song. There were several of them from all around. In the misty distance of his dream, Rubin saw a single horseman. It seemed to drift towards him, the rider hunched over, as if wounded. Again the voices came, this time echoing up the wooded way in front of the horseman. ‘Your long path, shall see doom No direction, shall be the same No one, of the calm midnight hour.’ Silence. The step of the horse now alone became audible. Rubin could not speak, could not move. The horse stopped several meters away from him. A thick fog enveloped the two of them, keeping them alone. The voices came again, as if coming from the horse’s eye. ‘Hey ho! Ho hey! If you look to find The just and kind, This is the price, that you will pay.’ From the rider’s side a weapon dropped and made a metallic sound as it hit the ground. Rubin jumped. It settled, and Rubin looked to it. A short sword, it had a small ruby decorating the hilt. It was Trueblade! Looking up to the rider, his face became clear. Rubin found his gaze meeting himself, though time had much longer waited on the man in the saddle. The thick fog came again, sweeping the two apart, and leaving Rubin in a white darkness. He stumbled forward, trying to find that rider again. His eyes could see nothing until he turned to the right. In the far distance he saw, or he thought he saw, a figure. Reaching out to get to it, Rubin squinted. It was a woman. She was holding something… She was a holding a… it was a… * * * “I think he’s coming to… Be still child.” Rubin felt a weak hand pushing his own to his chest. The voice was familiar, long ago familiar. The first thing he uttered, even before opening his eyes was, “I’m a man now, not a child.” A chuckle emerged from around him, followed by a cough. “Shh… do not speak yet. Let your body recover before your mind.” It was a strange sensation, but, bit by bit, Rubin became aware of his surroundings. He was inside, on a bed. He felt a breeze come from above him; an open window. Outside the birds were chirping: it was morning. The light was soft on his eyelids. Finally he opened his eyes. Looking over him, was the old face of Tekkorin the wizard. It had been four years since they had last met, though the ways of the wind did not work kindly on the old man’s. Creases of long worn wisdom hung heavy about his face. Neither his hair nor his beard showed signs of youth any longer; all was grey. He still wore his smile with the warmth of the sun, though, as he did now. “You awaken.” Rubin just stared at him for a moment, and the room. He was in his bedroom chambers. Everything was quiet now. The early morning ritual was not present; the smell of breakfast was not in the air, no voices seeped in through the window from outside, Jackie was not in the room roughly awaking him. Much was different. “How do you feel?” asked Tekkorin. Rubin allowed his thoughts to return to his own body, and found that he was weak, and still sleepy. “Tired,” his voice replied in a hoarse whisper, much unexpected. Tekkorin nodded slowly, and pressed the back of his hand against Rubin’s forehead. “You are still a bit warm, but should be alright soon. It was wise of you to find your way up here Rubin.” “I what?” replied the boy. His mind was also plagued with the weakness that infected his muscles. He was confused and quite dazed. “I don’t remember coming up to my room… What happened?” A frown erased the former expression of the wizard. Tekkorin stood and looked to the window. Rubin looked to the wizard’s back. He was wearing traveler’s robes. They were not in good condition, and were torn and stained red in many places. “What happened to-“ “Rubin!” the boy was cut off from a voice at the door. Aria stood there, her emerald eyes brimming with tears. “You’re okay.” She rushed to his bedside and embraced him for a great while. “Of course I’m okay, mom,” answered Rubin, hugging her back. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Because you have slept for nearly two days,” answered Tekkorin. “Great tragedy has befallen your kingdom.” Aria withdrew from Rubin and looked to Tekkorin. Rubin did not understand. “Huh?” Wearing the frown still, Tekkorin sat down with a sigh. “The night before last, your party, the moon would rise on celebration, but set in disaster. I arrived late, with full intention to make an entrance. Before I had entered though, your guests and yourself had all been poisoned. I know not how you all came to fall victim to it, but it caused a great and heavy sleep to fall over your eyes. Suddenly, as you all fell asleep, a small band of riders from the night sky arrived at the castle. “They were intent on their cause, which seemed to be to destroy everyone at your festivity. The cowards did not meet the sleeping surrender they had planned for though, as a few had the strength to resist the toxin, at least for a short while. Your father, mother, General Kain, Gildar especially (as dwarves you will find have a natural resistance to such things), and a few of your guardsmen fought despite the poison’s effects. I arrived to fight too little to late, I’m afraid, and much damage had been done. Many had been killed. After I had arrived, they quickly fled back to whence they came. They were not equipped to fight, but to kill.” “When the effects of the poison began to set in,” Aria continued the wizard’s tale. “I turned back to look for you. I could not find you anywhere, until I checked your room. Knowing you were safe, I turned to go back and help… but it was too late. I was too weak, and collapsed.” Rubin was shocked. Overwhelming, and unbelievable. His head was filled with a million questions, but he could only speak one. “Where are the others?” “Gildar did not face trouble with the poison. He has recovered completely and left to alert the council. He wanted to bring this event straight to Jerred, but I was able to calm him down,” Tekkorin answered. “General Kain fought bravely against the enemy and the poison, but my arrival was too late for him I fear. With swift blades and lucky swings their steel caught too much of the warrior’s blood. He didn’t make it.” “No…” whispered Rubin. He had trained and learned with Kain. Looking to his mother Rubin only saw tears tenderly drift down her face. “My lad,” Tekkorin continued softly. “I’m afraid the same news is true for your father as well.” The world started to collapse for Rubin. As the silence of the morning seemed to echo in his mind, a soft sob came from his mother. “I did what I could, but it was too late,” stated Tekkorin. How could this be… Rubin wondered. His father, who he had idolized for as long as he could remember. The times when Rubin had taken up his sword-stick and they fought bad guys of the hallways together. When they had started food fights with laughter. When his dad would lift him high onto his shoulders and they would be on top of the world. All gone. Hot tears formed in Rubin’s eyes. He looked to his Tekkorin in search of something, anything, but found only the stern and sad face of an old man who could do nothing. “Why…” was all he could utter. “We don’t know yet. The riders bore the marking of Lord Jerred’s kingdom, but-“ “Why,” continued Rubin, hatred beginning to find a place in his heart. “didn’t you do anything?” “Rubin, I-“ “You were too late! You didn’t try hard enough!” the hoarse whisper became a harsh shout from Rubin. “All your magic tricks and tales, and you couldn’t even save him… you couldn’t protect my dad…” The tears now streamed down Rubin’s face. He swung open his blanket, and climbed out of the bed. As soon as he stood his muscles betrayed him and he fell. Aria hurried to her son’s aid. “Rubin,” she said, trying hard to contain her next set of tears that were close to overcoming her. “Tek did what he could. It wasn’t his fault, he-“ “Yes it was, and yours too!” Rubin said shrugging off his mother and standing again. “If you hadn’t bothered to look for me, you could have… could have…” “Sometimes Rubin, the fates have different things in store for us than we expect,” said Tekkorin. But Rubin would have no more of it. He had to get out, away, from these people. Wiping his noise he stormed out of his room, leaving Tekkorin and Aria looking after him. As he left he could hear the faint sound of crying again.

Kain threw Gildar a towel and laughed again. “Aye, not a word from ye, general. Never thought I’d be beaten by a child,” Gildar replied. Kain shrugged. “I wouldn’t feel too bad, m’lord, he was trained by the best, and equipped well. Besides, it wasn’t a fair fight. You could have easily-” Kain stopped. He opened the window of the small chambers that the two were in. The midnight air sank heavily into the room. There was a distant sound, of “horses…” whispered Kain. “At this hour?” asked Gildar. “Who’d be so blasted late?” “I don’t know, but I’ve a bad feeling about this, friend. Come on,” Kain gestured, leading the dwarf towards the main party hall. He had a sudden sense of dread. As if it had flowed in through the window, the air warned of things to come. He would have to have a word with Lord Peter. But when the two got downstairs, and found their way into the party hall, a different sight was beheld. The haze above the room had slightly dissipated and the floor was littered with bodies. Several people slouched over their seat in a groan. “What the-“ came the silent curse of Gildar. There was no sound from the great room, quite contrastingly to how it had been mere moments ago. The sound of horses became evident now, and their hooves could be heard amongst the quite of the room. A feminine groan came from the corner that Kain recognized immediately. “Lady Aria! Rise m’lady. What has happened?” asked Kain, quickly going to her side. Aria slowly came to her feet with the support of her general. Her green eyes glazed over, fighting to shine. “I… don’t know. What’s that sound?” “Sounds like-“ Kain’s voice was cut off by the sound of a shrill bell. It was the ‘to arms’ signal from the ramparts. The three of them responded immediately, running through the corridors and to the front courtyard. Kain took a quick detour to his room to grab his long sword. Upon returning down the familiar hallways and looking out to the courtyard, he saw war. The ground was lit brightly with flame, tickling the edge of many of the hedges. He hurried out to see horsemen charge inward, the gates open. The great square of the outdoors was a fluster, several guards, who had not expected the great oaken doors that protected the castle to be so readily open drew their swords. Peter was in the midst of a conversation with Aria, and beside the doors stood Gildar. As soon as the first horseman entered, Gildar swung his mighty axe deep into the invading horse. In a combination of shock and fear, the horse toppled over itself, leaving its rider to leap to safety. “Aria, go! Find Rubin!” came the yell of Peter. Kain looked to see the two hug quickly before Aria headed back into the castle. Four more horsemen swept into the castle courtyard. Gildar fought to destroy the horseless invader, while Kain joined Peter in an effort to direct the few forces they had. “You three, hurry to him!” Kain ordered, and unsheathed his sword. The horsemen were draped in black, and armed with daggers and crossbows. As one charged towards him, Kain staggered. He felt a weakening in his bones, and a weariness in his eyes. He fought back the sensation, and readied his stance against the horseman. With a strike remembered only in lyric and legend, he removed the invader from his horse. With strong stance, And swift swing, From warrior’s blade, Victory would ring. Another blow from Kain discontinued the life of the invader. A quick spin to his left, he saw that the three he ordered to the horseman had failed, and lay surrounded in flame and blood. But his vision did not stop spinning. He could no longer see straight. A bolt whistled through the air, and caught his shoulder, throwing the general to the ground. Through whirling sight, Kain saw Peter beside Gildar, finishing off their horseman. They both hovered around the body for a moment, as if not wanting to go on. That left three horsemen, thought Kain. He struggled to his feet and stood a moment. The wound in his left shoulder did not even register, and he saw another two soldiers to his right take exaggerated swings against a still mounted enemy. They were unfocused and missed the horse and its rider completely. Kain staggered towards them in an attempt to help. His eyes now almost became unusable and found the heat from the blazing ground a subtle comfort. As he readied a swing he felt a blinding pain his back. A bolt stuck his spine and he collapsed. Still conscious he turned, and heard the screams of the two soldiers he had tried to aid. As General Kain fought the inevitable eternal slumber that was upon him, he thought he heard a thunderous voice, in an unfamiliar tongue. Somdeime hald’air, faldrick… Timme!

Chapter 3: From Boy to Lord Years go by, As days sleep, With joy this day, We all shall weep. Laughter brings The light of heart We toast to him This young upstart! Drink friends, and be happy For we celebrate tonight! Eventful night Party ways. Have happy life, And long days. Hear the words, And find the air. Sail notes across, Without care! Sing friends, and be merry For we celebrate tonight! Express now, Regret later. Tonight’s the night To you we cater! Clap your hands Tap your shoe, Gather ‘round The night’s not through! Dance friends, and be joyful For we celebrate tonight! From a boy, This good man, Grows and lives; Does all he can. To you, lad, I drink an ale! Tonight we lift You high, and hail Lift him friends, tall and true! It’s he we celebrate tonight! The bard in the corner finished his song with a yell and began to bang a beat on his drum. It was indeed a celebration, for the summer had faded away and was replaced with Rubin’s sixteenth fall. As the leaves began to turn their golden browns, and the moon rose high on the eve of the 8th of September, a party was thrown for Rubin. He was now a man, by the standards of Litheme, and most of the human population within the realm. And so within the inner courtyard and the large conference hall, masses of warriors and nobles, friends of both the parents and the child, gathered for a party. Inside, the heavy smoke of tobacco lay above the crowd. All corners of the hall were drinking and dancing. Outside were those who had ingested took to much poison for the evening, and those who participated in games. The lengthy courtyard in the center of the castle allowed for games of skill and chance. Amidst the smoky haze Rubin had been flung. The party-goers had raised him high, as the song commanded and now paraded him around like a trophy. A round of ‘for he’s a jolly good fellow’ emerged from the crowd below him before his feet would touch ground again. When they did he met several pats on the back, and went back to their crowds. Rubin walked along the hall, bumping into several ‘Happy Birthdays’ on his way. An arm caught his shoulder. “Rubin my boy,” came the voice of Peter. “Your uncle is here; Eric. He comes all the way from the east.” “Really?” was Rubin’s reply. Standing next to Peter was Eric. A warrior more then a noble, he was dressed in casual clothing tonight. His hair was cut short, and his face was scarred. His eyes were blue, and his smile was subtle. “Happy Birthday, nephew.” “Hello Uncle. Thanks. You come from the east?” “Yes, out of Litheme, in the lands known as Taire Jol. When I heard that you would be turning sixteen, I hurried my way here. I’m afraid though, I have no gift worthy of the event for you,” Eric said, dawning his smile. “But if you ever come out east, I’d be happy to give you some acres of my province.” The thought of ruling his own lands kind of scared Rubin, and so he just nodded. “How long are you here for?” “Not long, our province requires much work and I must return within the next couple of days; perhaps in the morrow. But I’ve got a wagon and needn’t worry of the travel, so I shall be drinking to your health many times tonight.” At that, Eric raised his mug and took in another long drink of ale. “But please, don’t let me spoil your fun. I’ve much I can talk with your father about. Enjoy the party, and we’ll chat later.” Peter cleared his throat after finishing a mug, “I think your friends are in the courtyard. And happy birthday son.” “Thanks dad.” Rubin rushed to the courtyard, where he saw both his friends playing some kind of stone throwing game. Before he could reach them, a voice cried out to him. “Master Rubin!” called Gildar the dwarf. “Or should I say Lord Rubin? Happy birthday lad.” This time they met, Gildar was in fine clothing, and his beard was neatly groomed. He was standing next to the small fountain in the middle of the courtyard. The evening light sparkled amidst the water. Rubin could see his axe sitting against the fountain. “Lord Gildar, hey!” Rubin said waving to avoid a handshake later on. He signaled to his friends that he would be there momentarily. “Thanks.” The dwarf shuffled a little, but did not move to Rubin. As he approached, Rubin noticed that the dwarf’s hands were behind his back. “Call me Gildar, never mind with the titles. I’ve a gift for ye,” Gildar said. From behind his back he pulled a short sword. Covered by a magnificent jeweled sheath, the hilt showed square. Decorating it was a small ruby. With two hands, one on the hilt and the other on the sheath, Gildar presented Rubin his gift. “A far cry from the trinkets ye get every other year, eh? But if ye be a man now, then ye’d better ‘ave a good weapon. An’ this’ll do the trick if I do say so myself. We forged it ourselves, us dwarves I mean. It’s a short sword; your dad said that’s what ye trained with. Light to hold and strong to strike, it’s a good dwarven weapon. You won’t find it made by smith o’ your race.” Rubin just stared at it a moment. He had been training, but dwarven weapons were quite legendary. With great care, he extended his own two hands and took the sword. “Wow…” It was notably lighter then the swords he was learning with, which was a great advantage to him. Even though short, the swords he used in the past had always worn him out when training. Daringly, he removed it from resting. The blade was flawless in make, and released a slight ringing as it slid from its sheath. In the moonlight the sword looked like contained mercury. “It’s got a name, if ye want it: ‘Denn’shier’. ‘Tis of old language. It means Trueblade.” Rubin eyed it for a great while. He held it straight above his head, and let the moonlight flicker about it, before replacing the sheath around its blade. The presentation had drawn quite a show, and now gathered around him were his friends, Jackie, and Kain. There were echoes of voices: ‘can I hold it’ and ‘let me see it’ amongst him and a subtle laugh of Kain. Finally Jackie piped up. “’Ere ‘ere! You all git! Rubin don’t need ya’ll around him as soon as he’s got ‘is new sword.” They all looked at the woman and gave a small groan. “I said git!” Her voice came down upon them like a banshee, and they leapt to safety around the fountain. “There ya go kiddo! I mean, m’lord.” Rubin smiled. “Thanks Jackie.” “You know how to use that?” Kain asked smugly. Having helped train him, Kain knew the boy’s capabilities. “I do,” was the simple reply. “Ya do, do ya? Let’s see a test then” asked Jackie. “Come on, a little action!” After her statement, Rubin noted that Jackie had a half empty mug in her hand. It was likely not the first one. Kain laughed again slightly, but the dwarf’s response was more vocal. “Aye! Come on, would-be warrior. Let’s see what you can do with a good dwarvan blade.” Almost immediately Gildar rolled his shoulders and picked up his axe. Rubin backed up in a mixture of curiosity and fear. Kain came to his side, and gave him a pat on the back. In a whisper Kain asked. “Have your lips tasted much ale tonight?” Rubin looked at the general. “Only a bit, why?” “Because Lord Gildar has seen much of it; his stance will be aggravated, exaggerated.” Kain said. “Come on, ya lazy sods!” clapped Jackie. “Let’s ‘ave a duel!” Gildar gave his axe a few practice swings, and grinned at the boy. “Al- all right,” stammered Rubin. He removed Trueblade from its sheath again. It glimmered in the moonlight as he took his stance. Kain found his way to the middle, and with an arm swing signaled the beginning of the match. Walking slowly Gildar came forward, and gave a great swing. Rubin danced out of the way of the axe, but was startled of its reach. Quickly moving forward, Rubin took the advantage while Gildar’s weapon lay low. Quick to draw back to defense, the metal shaft to his axe was used to block a weak first attack from Rubin. “Oh come now Rubin, ye can give me a better shot then that!” cried the dwarf. So he did. The next blow was repeated but harder, and caught Gildar off guard. His feet hit the edge of the fountain and he dragged his axe up and around. With a roundhouse effort, he brought down the blade to Rubin’s sword. Rubin fell to one knee under the strength of the blow. While he recovered the dwarf came around with another. This one Rubin rolled out of the way and came around with a quick slice to the chest. Blocked again was his blow by Gilder’s shaft. But this time, his balance was lost and, when caught by another blow, he fell over the low stone ridge with a splash. There was a roaring of laughter from the group as the soggy dwarf climbed out of the water. “That’s enough, all ‘a ye!” Gildar roared, to no avail. “Now that’d be some fight,” came the laughter of Jackie. “I knew ya had it in ya, lad!” she added, finishing off her ale. Rubin’s laughter died to a smile. “Thanks Gildar. That was fun.” Kain nodded, and gave the Gildar a pat on the back and gestured with his hand. “Come this way, m’lord. We’ll get you dry.” Gildar said nothing, just staring in silent anger and embarrassment. But as they walked away, Gildar’s step made a wet swashing sound. The small crowd fell to laughter again. Rubin sat down against the fountain. That fight had taken a great toll on his nerves more then anything, and he felt very tired. His friends arrived again, asking him to show them his sword, and to come and play. “No, no. I want to rest,” was his reply. When they insisted, Jackie gave them a glare and they scattered again. “I’m off to top me glass, Rubin,” Jackie said, ruffling his hair. “I’ll be back.” With a slow (and slanted) walk Jackie made her way back inside. As Rubin watched her leave, he found his eyelids drooping. With an effort necessary when falling asleep, he looked to the sky. The moon was still high. “Why am I so tired” he mumbled to himself. He didn’t want to fall asleep now; there were still much fun and games to be had. As he sat in his silent struggle he heard a faint noise. Parts of voices overflowed from the main hall and into his ears. “What’s that noise?” “…must sleep…” “Sounds like…” “…Horses” “…wake up!” Rubin’s urge to arise and inquire was not enough. He could not overcome the overwhelming desire to sleep. He drifted into uncomfortable dreams.

Winter turned to spring, and in the kingdom of Jardain the spring came welcome, and without hardship. Rubin continued his education in lordship. He spent many of the sunny spring days with General Kain and his father, discussing military options and situations. One day, much to this dismay of his mother, Rubin began learning the ways of the sword and combat. Upon the ramparts, like he had so boasted to his soldiers, Peter showed Rubin some of his old techniques, and General Kain by his side brought them to date, ever so slightly. Time seemed to slow, the months passed by with more meaning then even the years before them, and quickly Rubin began to grow up. His interest in swordsmanship had matured, and he began to see it as a responsibility more then a game. His mind as far as city politics and economics developed into a firm understanding (though his natural talent was clearly not in maximizing the gold income of Jardain). Though Rubin still found little interest in the ways of running a kingdom, but Peter became more relaxed about the boy’s studies as he began to understand more. And, as late spring turned to summer the council was due to meet again, this time in the home of Peter and Aria. The nobles arrived by afternoon light, over a period of two late summer days. Soon they were assembled in the small dining hall (the same that Tekkorin had dined in with Aria and Rubin), and began their meeting. Peter did not need to ask Rubin to attend, as he had full intentions of being there, requested or not. This time he would not be the boy at the grown up table. This time he would be man amongst men… and women. There was a long hard knocking at Rubin’s chamber door. “Come in,” said Rubin firmly. Jackie opened the door. She was in one of her good maid costumes, and even had her hair back in a tight bun. She entered to see Rubin standing in front of a full-length mirror. He was dressed in some of his finest clothes; a green outfit with silver trim, and was now fixing his hair. “My, young master. I haven’t seen you take those things out of your closet, let alone try them on.” “I’m wearing them for the council meeting.” Jackie laughed. “Is that a fact? I’ll tell ya, it’s a good long way from the muddy tunics o’ yours I find in me wash. So ah, what’s the reason. One of ‘em nobles have a gal you’re sweet on?” Rubin shook his head, “No, I-” “Oh! So it’s one them nobles themselves!” Jackie interrupted, walking up to the mirror. Yeah, I saw a couple pretty women down there, a little old for you I thought, but-” Rubin’s intent was actually to impress his father and Kain, but the idea she suggested made his face turn red nonetheless. “No…” “Ah, so it is!” Jackie nudged Rubin lightly with her elbow. “Well, I thought I’d come an’ fetch ya. The council has started. Look’s like you’re late for you’re date.” Jackie,” Rubin said turning to the door. “I’m not ‘sweet’ on nobody. But, if I’m late, I gotta go.” “Sure, sure, Rubin. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with Jackie!” she shouted after him with a chuckle. Arriving downstairs, Rubin stood up straight when he saw General Kain standing outside the dining room. He did his best to look old. “General Kain. How late am I?” he asked formally. “They’ve served supper, toasted, and are bringing up some of the chief concerns before they go into city reports. I believe Lord Jerred is speaking in his defense. It is true that his troops are still in Uldar, and Peter has inquired as to why,” Kain answered. “And master Rubin, you look like a lord today, if I may say.” Rubin nodded and smiled. “Thank you.” Taking a deep breath in, Rubin walked into his own dining room full of people whose faces were but vague remembrances in his mind, and whose importance was much greater than his. His walk and demeanor drew attention away from Jerred, who was both standing and speaking. “My purpose is merely to… Hello, who is this?” asked Jerred outright addressing Rubin, with a curious look on his face. He had taken no note of him several months ago, and certainly did not remember him now. “I, uh…” Rubin cleared his throat. “I am Master Rubin Natheil, son of Lord Peter and Lady Aria, who host this meeting and ready your beds for stay this night. I apologize for my lateness in attending this meeting, and for its interruption.” Less confident then he sounded, Rubin hurriedly walked over to his mother and father’s spot at the table. Peter put a hand down on his shoulder and whispered a ‘good job’. “Ah. I see,” Jerred said. “Well met master Rubin. As I was saying, my purpose for holding soldiers in Uldar is merely to continue to oversee Haldred’s plans. I am unsure of his governing tactics, and am making sure they are as secure as can be.” “We have asked you repeatedly to leave,” Haldred said. “Yes,” replied Jerred, “but I fear that your rule alone in Uldar is a danger to your people. If the council will take a look at the reports I have supplied, they will see that your living conditions and food provisions are well below their required minimum.” “You lie Jerred,” protested Haldred. “The food provisions are low because of your troops! If they were not there, then we would have more then adequate food.” Rubin took a look at the parchment that sat within Aria’s hands. He noted that in the report, the troops Jerred provided were included in the population count of Uldar, causing the provisional need for the country to increase beyond their storage. Jerred shook his head. “Be careful where you throw your terms Haldred. I am not your enemy. If what you say is true, then what of the living requirements? Why do your peasants sleep in unworthy homes?” “Lies again Jerred! Our men and women sleep well.” “So you say,” Jerred snapped back. “Let the council decide then. They have the proof. Peter, I ask that you hold a vote to see what the Council of Litheme rules of my being in Uldar.” Jerred sat with a smirk on his face. Aria looked to Peter in small fright. “Jerred still owns the council?” she whispered. “Enough of them,” Peter said under his breath while standing up. “Right then. Who of the council supports Jerred’s continued actions of in Uldar. I do not support them.” The vote went around the table. Jerred and his other four said yes, as well as three other small provinces. Rubin noted that none of them were particularly large, or rich. The vote ended in favor of Jerred’s actions, eight to seven. “And so it is passed. Jerred has the council’s agreement with his actions. What is the next issue?” Peter asked with a sigh. “Trade,” spoke Vivian Volstar. “The dwarves of Rockshier still refuse to trade with us.” “This again!” shouted Gildar, who was present with axe in hand, yet again. He uttered another curse, and twisted his axe in his hand angrily. “Yes this again. We have tried to reason with you, but…” Vivian would go on for some time. Rubin noted that it was particularly like the last meeting. In fact the arguments would turn out the same, as would the outcome. The council could not force the dwarves to trade, but Vivian, Jerred and his group would try to force him his hand anyways. Rubin learned a bit about the determination (and lack of patience) of dwarves that day. The meeting slowly passed into talks of city reports, and strategies. This time Rubin listened intently. While it was not his strong point, he would listen to the counseling of others. “And what of the north,” became the subject after the supper had come and gone and wine had been served a second time. “Kelven, do you work to bring defense to the upper borders?” “Oh I forgot, the invasion,” said Kelven sarcastically. “Don’t you ever tire of your relentless speech?” “Matters of importance are worth bringing up repeatedly. I just wish you’d damn well listen,” answered Peter. “They are matters of lunacy,” Jerred scoffed. “Baseless accusations brought forth by an old man, who uses you to do his bidding.” “Watch your tongue Jerred,” was a swift answer from Aria. “My husband, and this council may have patience with you, but I will not allow you to insult a friend of mine in my own home.” “Aye,” came the words of support of Gildar. Vivian came to the side of Jerred and Kelvin. “You must see the foolery in the notions. Your husband is being used.” Aria looked at Vivian angrily. Her green eyes became heated with short temper. “A wizard’s notions are never set afoot by foolery,” she quoted her friend from years ago. “Ah yes,” Jerred spoke again, putting his feet up on the table. “The would-be wizard. Does that not in itself proclaim in insanity? The old man was an idiot Aria. Nothing more.” “You’ll watch ye tongue, Jerred, or I’ll cut it off!” shouted Gildar, pointing his axe to Jerred. “And look who he has to his defense,” continued Jerred, “A hot headed dwarf.” “Enough Jerred!” Peter roared, slamming his fist against the table. “We will not speak of this issue again this council. I am sorry for even bringing it up.” There was a grumbling silence amongst them for a great while. Peter took Aria’s hand and soothed with silent words the flare in her heart. When time enough had passed, Peter pushed the meeting forth. “Any other new business…” None was brought. The lords and ladies retired for the night, and many of them left early the next day. Rubin made sure to be up before the early sun to greet them all on their way out, even Jerred. Sanford Whyte was the first he would see. The old man made his way to the outer courtyard and had his two attendants ready his wagon. Rubin offered his hand. “Safe journeys Lord Sanford.” He looked generally surprised to greet the boy, and met his hand. “Indeed child, I will. It is good that the youth are beginning to become involved; the air becomes stale around those council meetings. A mud trap, I fear though. Make sure you keep your wits about you.” He took his time to get settled on his plush cushion seat, and finally gave a nod to the boy. “Safe days.” Jerred only smiled when he was greeted by the boy, and gave his hand a firm shake. “Be careful how you play in this game, Rubin. Your father and I don’t see eye to eye, but if you will be joining the council soon in partnership with him, then perhaps we can make progress.” “We’ll see, Lord Jerred,” replied the boy. “Progress will be made when we agree on the right decisions.” “Indeed,” he said, mounting his steed. “I hope you have a good eye for what is right, and do not waste your time with unneeded things.” The last councilman who would greet him with more than two words was Gildar. “Well lad,” he stated firmly, planting his hands on his hips. “I’ll be partying with you soon I hear. Your sixteenth in a couple of weeks, yar dad tells me. That’s a big step for humans, eh? A man, huh. Well, we’ll see about that huh?” Tremendous laughter boomed out of the dwarf’s lungs. “Good ta see ya ‘gain.” With another (painful) handshake and a ‘good bye’ Rubin watched as the dwarf, accompanied by another of his kind, and kin, waddled down the road, with no aid of horse or wagon. Rubin made sure to burn the image of each councilman into his mind, along with their name, so that he could remember them should the need arise.

Winter turned to spring, and in the kingdom of Jardain the spring came welcome, and without hardship. Rubin continued his education in lordship. He spent many of the sunny spring days with General Kain and his father, discussing military options and situations. One day, much to this dismay of his mother, Rubin began learning the ways of the sword and combat. Upon the ramparts, like he had so boasted to his soldiers, Peter showed Rubin some of his old techniques, and General Kain by his side brought them to date, ever so slightly. Time seemed to slow, the months passed by with more meaning then even the years before them, and quickly Rubin began to grow up. His interest in swordsmanship had matured, and he began to see it as a responsibility more then a game. His mind as far as city politics and economics developed into a firm understanding (though his natural talent was clearly not in maximizing the gold income of Jardain). Though Rubin still found little interest in the ways of running a kingdom, but Peter became more relaxed about the boy’s studies as he began to understand more. And, as late spring turned to summer the council was due to meet again, this time in the home of Peter and Aria. The nobles arrived by afternoon light, over a period of two late summer days. Soon they were assembled in the small dining hall (the same that Tekkorin had dined in with Aria and Rubin), and began their meeting. Peter did not need to ask Rubin to attend, as he had full intentions of being there, requested or not. This time he would not be the boy at the grown up table. This time he would be man amongst men… and women. There was a long hard knocking at Rubin’s chamber door. “Come in,” said Rubin firmly. Jackie opened the door. She was in one of her good maid costumes, and even had her hair back in a tight bun. She entered to see Rubin standing in front of a full-length mirror. He was dressed in some of his finest clothes; a green outfit with silver trim, and was now fixing his hair. “My, young master. I haven’t seen you take those things out of your closet, let alone try them on.” “I’m wearing them for the council meeting.” Jackie laughed. “Is that a fact? I’ll tell ya, it’s a good long way from the muddy tunics o’ yours I find in me wash. So ah, what’s the reason. One of ‘em nobles have a gal you’re sweet on?” Rubin shook his head, “No, I-” “Oh! So it’s one them nobles themselves!” Jackie interrupted, walking up to the mirror. Yeah, I saw a couple pretty women down there, a little old for you I thought, but-” Rubin’s intent was actually to impress his father and Kain, but the idea she suggested made his face turn red nonetheless. “No…” “Ah, so it is!” Jackie nudged Rubin lightly with her elbow. “Well, I thought I’d come an’ fetch ya. The council has started. Look’s like you’re late for you’re date.” Jackie,” Rubin said turning to the door. “I’m not ‘sweet’ on nobody. But, if I’m late, I gotta go.” “Sure, sure, Rubin. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with Jackie!” she shouted after him with a chuckle. Arriving downstairs, Rubin stood up straight when he saw General Kain standing outside the dining room. He did his best to look old. “General Kain. How late am I?” he asked formally. “They’ve served supper, toasted, and are bringing up some of the chief concerns before they go into city reports. I believe Lord Jerred is speaking in his defense. It is true that his troops are still in Uldar, and Peter has inquired as to why,” Kain answered. “And master Rubin, you look like a lord today, if I may say.” Rubin nodded and smiled. “Thank you.” Taking a deep breath in, Rubin walked into his own dining room full of people whose faces were but vague remembrances in his mind, and whose importance was much greater than his. His walk and demeanor drew attention away from Jerred, who was both standing and speaking. “My purpose is merely to… Hello, who is this?” asked Jerred outright addressing Rubin, with a curious look on his face. He had taken no note of him several months ago, and certainly did not remember him now. “I, uh…” Rubin cleared his throat. “I am Master Rubin Natheil, son of Lord Peter and Lady Aria, who host this meeting and ready your beds for stay this night. I apologize for my lateness in attending this meeting, and for its interruption.” Less confident then he sounded, Rubin hurriedly walked over to his mother and father’s spot at the table. Peter put a hand down on his shoulder and whispered a ‘good job’. “Ah. I see,” Jerred said. “Well met master Rubin. As I was saying, my purpose for holding soldiers in Uldar is merely to continue to oversee Haldred’s plans. I am unsure of his governing tactics, and am making sure they are as secure as can be.” “We have asked you repeatedly to leave,” Haldred said. “Yes,” replied Jerred, “but I fear that your rule alone in Uldar is a danger to your people. If the council will take a look at the reports I have supplied, they will see that your living conditions and food provisions are well below their required minimum.” “You lie Jerred,” protested Haldred. “The food provisions are low because of your troops! If they were not there, then we would have more then adequate food.” Rubin took a look at the parchment that sat within Aria’s hands. He noted that in the report, the troops Jerred provided were included in the population count of Uldar, causing the provisional need for the country to increase beyond their storage. Jerred shook his head. “Be careful where you throw your terms Haldred. I am not your enemy. If what you say is true, then what of the living requirements? Why do your peasants sleep in unworthy homes?” “Lies again Jerred! Our men and women sleep well.” “So you say,” Jerred snapped back. “Let the council decide then. They have the proof. Peter, I ask that you hold a vote to see what the Council of Litheme rules of my being in Uldar.” Jerred sat with a smirk on his face. Aria looked to Peter in small fright. “Jerred still owns the council?” she whispered. “Enough of them,” Peter said under his breath while standing up. “Right then. Who of the council supports Jerred’s continued actions of in Uldar. I do not support them.” The vote went around the table. Jerred and his other four said yes, as well as three other small provinces. Rubin noted that none of them were particularly large, or rich. The vote ended in favor of Jerred’s actions, eight to seven. “And so it is passed. Jerred has the council’s agreement with his actions. What is the next issue?” Peter asked with a sigh. “Trade,” spoke Vivian Volstar. “The dwarves of Rockshier still refuse to trade with us.” “This again!” shouted Gildar, who was present with axe in hand, yet again. He uttered another curse, and twisted his axe in his hand angrily. “Yes this again. We have tried to reason with you, but…” Vivian would go on for some time. Rubin noted that it was particularly like the last meeting. In fact the arguments would turn out the same, as would the outcome. The council could not force the dwarves to trade, but Vivian, Jerred and his group would try to force him his hand anyways. Rubin learned a bit about the determination (and lack of patience) of dwarves that day. The meeting slowly passed into talks of city reports, and strategies. This time Rubin listened intently. While it was not his strong point, he would listen to the counseling of others. “And what of the north,” became the subject after the supper had come and gone and wine had been served a second time. “Kelven, do you work to bring defense to the upper borders?” “Oh I forgot, the invasion,” said Kelven sarcastically. “Don’t you ever tire of your relentless speech?” “Matters of importance are worth bringing up repeatedly. I just wish you’d damn well listen,” answered Peter. “They are matters of lunacy,” Jerred scoffed. “Baseless accusations brought forth by an old man, who uses you to do his bidding.” “Watch your tongue Jerred,” was a swift answer from Aria. “My husband, and this council may have patience with you, but I will not allow you to insult a friend of mine in my own home.” “Aye,” came the words of support of Gildar. Vivian came to the side of Jerred and Kelvin. “You must see the foolery in the notions. Your husband is being used.” Aria looked at Vivian angrily. Her green eyes became heated with short temper. “A wizard’s notions are never set afoot by foolery,” she quoted her friend from years ago. “Ah yes,” Jerred spoke again, putting his feet up on the table. “The would-be wizard. Does that not in itself proclaim in insanity? The old man was an idiot Aria. Nothing more.” “You’ll watch ye tongue, Jerred, or I’ll cut it off!” shouted Gildar, pointing his axe to Jerred. “And look who he has to his defense,” continued Jerred, “A hot headed dwarf.” “Enough Jerred!” Peter roared, slamming his fist against the table. “We will not speak of this issue again this council. I am sorry for even bringing it up.” There was a grumbling silence amongst them for a great while. Peter took Aria’s hand and soothed with silent words the flare in her heart. When time enough had passed, Peter pushed the meeting forth. “Any other new business…” None was brought. The lords and ladies retired for the night, and many of them left early the next day. Rubin made sure to be up before the early sun to greet them all on their way out, even Jerred. Sanford Whyte was the first he would see. The old man made his way to the outer courtyard and had his two attendants ready his wagon. Rubin offered his hand. “Safe journeys Lord Sanford.” He looked generally surprised to greet the boy, and met his hand. “Indeed child, I will. It is good that the youth are beginning to become involved; the air becomes stale around those council meetings. A mud trap, I fear though. Make sure you keep your wits about you.” He took his time to get settled on his plush cushion seat, and finally gave a nod to the boy. “Safe days.” Jerred only smiled when he was greeted by the boy, and gave his hand a firm shake. “Be careful how you play in this game, Rubin. Your father and I don’t see eye to eye, but if you will be joining the council soon in partnership with him, then perhaps we can make progress.” “We’ll see, Lord Jerred,” replied the boy. “Progress will be made when we agree on the right decisions.” “Indeed,” he said, mounting his steed. “I hope you have a good eye for what is right, and do not waste your time with unneeded things.” The last councilman who would greet him with more than two words was Gildar. “Well lad,” he stated firmly, planting his hands on his hips. “I’ll be partying with you soon I hear. Your sixteenth in a couple of weeks, yar dad tells me. That’s a big step for humans, eh? A man, huh. Well, we’ll see about that huh?” Tremendous laughter boomed out of the dwarf’s lungs. “Good ta see ya ‘gain.” With another (painful) handshake and a ‘good bye’ Rubin watched as the dwarf, accompanied by another of his kind, and kin, waddled down the road, with no aid of horse or wagon. Rubin made sure to burn the image of each councilman into his mind, along with their name, so that he could remember them should the need arise.

A soft ray of morning light passed through glass and onto skin, gently rousing Rubin from his sleep. In a futile effort, Rubin scrunched up his face and brought his hands up to his eyes, trying to push the light away. Slowly he turned over to his side and pulled the blanket over his face. The bed felt warm, and comfortable. He did not want to wake yet. As he tried to summon the haze of sleep to his mind, he realized that he had not originally fallen asleep in a bed. With fearful anticipation he peered out over his blanket. First to his sight was the window against a stone wall. Rubin decided it faced east as he could see the early morning sun in its blue throne. Below the window, and looking out it, was General Kain. He was sitting, dressed in his normal garb, head tilted to the window. The rest of the room was made up with a chest, a desk and a tiny hearth. “Am I in trouble?” asked Rubin. The night’s disuse of his voice caused it to come out weaker then he intended. Kain turned around with a thoughtful face. His dark hair was combed back. “So you awaken young master,” he said. “No. No, I don’t think you’re in trouble. Your father has many other things to be worried about. You missed a bit last night. The council retired late, and reconvened early this morning. There is a small dispute over aiding one of the kingdoms.” “Oh,” Rubin said, half relieved and half disinterested. “Yes,” Kain pressed. He knew the importance of Rubin’s involvement with the council. Whether he cared or not, Rubin would have to know its ways. “Your father is trying to discourage the council from allowing Lord Jerred to walk his troops into Uldar, a small kingdom to the west of Lord Jerred’s. They will have need of aid against the thaw of winter, but Lord Peter worries that if it is only Lord Jerred’s troops who go, he will not remove them when the problem is solved. He is quite right, in my opinion.” Rubin began to find his interest. “Why would he keep them there?” “It is a passive stance to begin to take over those lands. As long as his army is there and is bigger then Lord Haldred’s, who oversees the province of Uldar, then Lord Jerred gains it’s control,” Kain explained. “But wouldn’t Haldred fight’em?” Kain shook his head. “Nay, he can’t if the council decides it is in his best interest. That’s why they are fighting now. Lord Jerred has many votes for him.” Kain grabbed some clothes from the table and threw them on the bed. “Hurry and get ready. The sun climbs the sky quickly, and we must be by your father’s side.” Rubin got dressed, and hurried back to the council with Kain’s guide. All the lords were sitting, and none stood to speak, they were not worried with formality at this point. Rubin took his seat quietly and looked around lazily. All the lords were indeed there, and Gildar gave him a smile and a nod. “…fine, then I will send troops too,” Peter was speaking at the moment. “Then we will aid Haldred together.” “The spring flooding does not need three kingdom’s worth of troops, Peter,” spoke Jerred. “Besides your troops would have to walk for a week and a half to get there. Uldar borders my land, it will take mere days for us to arrive. Don’t waste your time and effort.” Peter looked to another lord. “And what his other bordering provinces. Can they not lend a hand?” “We are small, and would offer little compared to what Jerred has to offer,” came the voice of a lord across the table. “Peter, please, it is not a big deal,” Jerred said. “But if you still oppose it greatly, let us hold it to a vote. First, Haldred, will you need help when the snow melts?” “Yes.” “Very well then,” Peter looked around the group. “Around the table; does any Lord or Lady dispute that it is in the best interest of Uldar and all of Litheme, for me, and only me, to send troops in to the province of Uldar in the spring. I do not dispute.” They went around the table, each lord and lady taking their time in thought. The vote ended ten to five in favor of Jerred’s movement. In the spring he would move an army, under the banner of ‘aid’ into the province of Uldar. That vote also signified the end of the meeting. They filed out of the chambers after thanking everyone and shaking hands, and began to set out for their respective kingdoms. Peter was not happy, and did not speak on their travels home. Rubin spent most of the cold way with Kain, more frightened of his father than anything.

Chapter 2: The Council Months would begin to pass like days, and to the peasant’s common eye, peace began to sprinkle over the lands. The borders of the known world were quiet; no vast empire crossed over the Great End of the West, and no barbarian hordes made the trek up through and across the Canyon of Valdrus. Inside those borders, the Kald’heir Empire completed their set out quest, and remained dormant upon their domain in the north, celebrating the finished conquest. Many of the countries east of Litheme, (which will be named whence they arrive to this tale) reached what appeared to be a great age and began trade with the north, something that had not been seen before by men that now lived the world. Litheme struggled to maintain the peace it had proclaimed to its bordering countries and peasants. And as the council meetings became more frequent for Peter and Aria and their armies were trained, young Rubin began to grow into a learned youth. His studies would give him the knowledge of reading and writing, simple math, geography, (all of which he picked up both easily and quickly) and small etiquette items that he was required to use at a variety of regal functions. The latter was one that he didn’t care too much for. Though he still worshiped a warrior’s footsteps, he had little interest in the ways of a noble. But, as the months turned to years, Peter would begin instructing him on political knowledge of province of Jardain. Rubin’s young days was not all lost in studies, however, and he found that at many of the celebratory occasions hosted by his mother and father, he would duck out. The children of the other nobles and warriors invited and compete in young boy’s competitions and games. It was a regular occasion, met by several boys in particular. Rubin had them constantly beat, but they would still all play until finally the dawn brought weariness to their eyes and aggravation from their parents. A boy grows up fast in a kingdom that will one day need his guidance and wisdom, and so it was no exception for Rubin. In the after-week of his fifteenth birthday, Rubin was approached by his father and invited to attend one of the council meetings. This time it was to be held in the province of Duchain, under the banner and bed, of the councilman Lord Jerred Kelloran. Rubin knew better then to say no to one of his dad’s invitations, and happily agreed to go along. Besides, he had hoped of meeting some of these people his father and mother often talked about. So, on the second day of December, three of them set out: Master Rubin, Lord Peter, and General Kain. Kain was a man of superior skill, and had been the one responsible for the given task of creating a strong army for Jardain. In his twenty ninth year, Kain had spent all of his life in Jardain, and just over a third of his life in the service of his Lord and province. His skill had proved him a good soldier, and his strong militaristic advice had led to his promotion to the Lord’s side. He was also a kind man, deep behind his ice blue eyes, and rough skinned exterior. He had begun attending these semi-annual meetings two years ago. They all rode well and arrived in a week. The snow floated from the sky silently and softly, a quiet reminder that the end of the year was soon. The clouds blanketed all of Litheme, keeping the cold within the air and stone. The three were welcomed readily, and informed that the meeting was to take place in the hall with supper, as they were the last to attend. They hurried inside, happy to be out of the silent reminder. Though the outside stone walls were icy to the touch, the inside the castle banquet hall was akin to warmth. The huge room was rectangular, offset by a large round oaken table in its center. The rest of the room was decorated by statues and paintings of Jerred’s family and lit by chandeliers of candles hung from the ceiling. It bore no windows, only doors and steps on the walls. To the right of the entrance that the three of Jardain entered stood a roaring fire in a hearth almost thrice the size of Rubin. The heat hit them like a wave and wrapped around them naturally like a blanket, this pleasure after days of travel was a welcome one to them. The room was also filled with the councilmen and their subordinates. Fifteen of mixed race, gender and creed made up the council, and the other fourteen stood below talking and drinking with each other and their consultants. Silence was brought to the room when Peter, Kain, and Rubin entered the room. “Lords and Ladies, the fifteenth has arrived,” spoke the attendant of Jerred’s whom had led them in. “Lord Peter Nathiel is present to speak for his province of Jardain, and he brings with him his son, Master Rubin Nathiel, and Military Advisor, General Kain.” The attendant turned to the three and said, though with a voice still loud enough to be heard to the rest, “You are well received in the house of his Lordship, Jerred Kelloran. Welcome.” Before anyone else could speak, he went on to announce, “Supper will be ready and served in fifteen minutes.” The young man then quickly turned and left up the stairs. Immediately a man dressed in a dashing red, (and golden trim) guided his wine glass towards the group. “Peter! It is so nice to see you again.” His golden hair was brought back into a ponytail, leaving his clean face to the clear. “Your travels were safe and quick I hope?” “And cold Jerred,” Peter said frostily, taking the man’s hand in a quick greeting. “But we have arrived unscathed.” Peter seemed more interested in the others of the room, who had by now gone back to their involved conversations, and looked around the host anxiously. Perceiving the lack of pleasantries, Jerred nodded and half mumbled to himself, “well, yes, help yourself to some wine, the food will be along shortly.” “That was said, Jerred.” Jerred stopped in his attempts of conversation. “Yes…” he answered quietly as he ventured back to a small group who awaited his company. Rubin looked up to his father with curiosity. Peter knelt down and spoke to the boy, “I have little time for his games,” he said. “That was Jerred Kelloran. He is the Lord of Duchain, and opposes me on many matters of Litheme. His lands are vast, and much richer than ours, but his reasoning is tilted to money and power, and not of eithics. He owns many members of the council with his coin; Lords Durward Felkir, Kevin Hugh, Sanford Whyte, and Lady Vivian Volstar in particular. They are with him now.” Peter pointed to the small assembly that Jerred returned to after his greeting, there indeed around him and listening intently were three men and one woman. The first was Durward Felkir, stood now laughing at a comment made. With a piece of bread in his hand even now, moments before food was to be presented, he became easily recognizable as the Lord whom always had crumbs on his oversized belly. Kelvin Hugh was beside him, and displayed with a distant scowl as if not to enjoy the company he was with. His broad shoulders hinted that he was more than comfortable in a suit of armor. At the present event however his clothing was of titled comfort, not a warrior’s mail. The Lord Sanford Whyte smiled with his third glass of wine. Though he was hidden with youth, his grey hair betrayed him, letting not one strand of his young days remain. His clothing was neither rich nor poor, but practical for a man of his age. More prominent in stature then the former three stood Vivian Volstar. Her hair long and black, and her eyes a deadly hazel, she seemed absorbed in the words of Jerred. Little caused her narrow face to turn a smile or frown, and the current conversation it seemed was no exception, her attention did not leave the lord and was acknowledged with an occasional slight nod. Rubin would put the names his father had given to him to the faces and figures he saw throughout the course of the evening. At present, he only walked with his father through the extravagant stone pillars and around the statues of the immense room. Peter met and nodded with several members of the council, and several attendants to. Rubin found he recognized many of the attendants by face; they had often been at his home as messengers of their lord or lady. “Gildar!” His father’s hearty voice broke Rubin’s wandering eyes and thoughts. Peter had apparently found the person he was looking for. Rubin was most amazed at the short sight that lay before him. A plump figure in nothing less then a chain mail and an axe by his side reached up his free hand to greet Peter. Only inches higher then Rubin himself, the ‘man’ addressed as Gildar had a gruff face and scarred skin hidden underneath a long healthy beard. He had a mystical air about him as he smiled. “Gildar Strongarm! It has been a while,” continued Peter. “Your beard is looking good and thick, your axe is sharp.” “Aye, it has” replied Gildar. His voice was strong and sounded uncivil, like that of a burly peasant, but rung with the passion of a warrior. “Peter, you ought to get one ya’self.” “An axe, or a beard?” Gildar laughed loudly. “Well both, you’re worthy of a good beard, but I dare say too cheap to throw gold to one of our good dwarven smiths for yourself.” A short gasp escaped Rubin’s lips. He had heard of dwarves, and knew that there were small groupings of them huddled within the mountains Great End of the West. Though uncommon in many places, Litheme was blessed enough to see their trade and handiwork, for often a tremendous fee. All his teachings and knowledge aside, Rubin had never actually encountered a dwarf. Unconsciously the boy mouthed the word he had noted in the brief conversation, and unknowingly it had drawn the dwarf’s attention. “Ah! Ya’ve brought the young master with ya this time, Peter,” said Gildar, examining Rubin. “A valiant face to grow into. Strong legs. Arms aren’t too bad, could use some work though…” He finished with a ruffle of Rubin’s hair, and gave a nod. “He’ll be a good one, though not quite the body for the swordsman you made him out to be. He’ll have to work for that; but plenty of time to grow, they say eh?” “You’re a dwarf…” Rubin said absently. Another vigorous laugh erupted from the dwarf. “Aye, you bet I am. From the dwellings of Rockshier, I’m here to speak for the dwarves of Litheme. They call me Gildar here, Gildar Strongarm. And you are Rubin Nathiel, pleased to meet ya Rubin, your dad’s told me so much about you.” Gildar extended his hand as a gesture of greeting, and Rubin took it. His last name certainly held true, and though the two only gripped hands for a few moments Rubin was just short of tears when they let go. “Good grip too lad! Maybe there’s hope for ya yet!” Kain stepped forward and nodded to the dwarf a quick word of greeting. “General Kain, good to see you again. It’s good to see that Peter’s still keeping the right people around. How’s your sword arm?” asked Gildar. “It is still trained, and ready to go.” Gildar opened his mouth to continue, when a loud yell came from across the room. “Lords and Ladies, welcome again to the gathering of the Council of Litheme. Dinner is to be served shortly, so if you could find your seats.” It was an attendant, now jumping off a chair and heading into one of the back rooms. “Well, time to feast and yell, too things I don’t mind doin’ at all. See ya Peter. I’ve got your back.” Gildar stated and with a motion of his axe he wandered off to his place at the table. The room quickly emptied of any excess attendants and servants. The fifteen members of the council wandered to their seats with last minute handshakes, and several pats on the back. Their company, such as General Kain was to Peter, stood behind their respective Lords or Ladies. Rubin was given a chair beside his father. As they sat down and prepared to sup, Rubin was disheartened to see no other younger boys or girls here. He had hoped to duck out like in so many other events. Perhaps it was a good thing, though, as his father seemed to think that this was important for him. In a line of ten servants platters of food were brought in and distributed about the table. It was nothing but best even now in the dead of winter; roast pig, turkey, and all sorts of fruit. After which several jugs of ale and wine were brought in, and several minutes of gathering platefuls occupied the council. When they had sufficiently finished piling their plates, Jerred stood and held up his wine glass. “Lords and Ladies of Litheme, I propose a toast, to the safety of Litheme, and it’s people.” A noteworthy smile crossed his lips, and the others stood up. “Here here!” Jerred nodded, and they all drank. “Right then. Down to business. Is anyone not accounted for?” There was a brief silence. “Good. The first item we must cover is trade difficulties between several of our provinces. The Lady Vivian Volstar wishes to speak on this topic.” Gesturing to the lady Jerred took his seat. Rubin gawked as the stern and beautiful Vivian stood up. “Council,” she started. “As you know my province lies next to the province of Rockshier, dwelling of the dwarves. Despite our continued negotiations, they refuse to sell their goods to us at a reasonable price. Our gold is considered mere copper when we wish to purchase their tools. I have also often taking caravans through my province, and it concerns me deeply to know that they are simply avoiding us while trading to their friends. If Litheme is to be united, then we should all be equals amongst the trade. I come to the council now in hopes of pressuring Rockshier to concede in their arrogance and selfishness, and offer a solution this problem.” Gildar stood up and yelled a strong dwarven curse. “Ya mean weapons there, Volstar, don’t ye? You’ve never asked for our tools.” Jarred arose abruptly. “You’re avoiding the issue Gildar. I too have had difficulty with your trading values.” “That’s cause you’re too busy buying ye damned art!” Gildar said loudly, pointing his axe to the nearby wall. “And as for your accusations, m’lady, I can assure you we do not avoid trade with you, we tire of your shallow pockets. We have made it clear every time that our prices will not waver, and they do not.” “And what of these others you trade with, do not deny that you cut your prices for someone,” Jerred asked. “Aye,” spoke Gildar, “we lower our prices for long time customers. We lower them for those who have the right views. We lower them for-” Sanford Whyte spoke, but did not take the time to stand. “Favoritism is not the way to help us make Litheme stronger.” Peter stood up suddenly, almost knocking Rubin over on his way. “Neither does ambushing our fellow council members! You speak of uniting it through strength at a council of words.” There was an immediate silence over the council. Vivan didn’t say a word, nor show any sign that she had even heard the lord, but sat slowly. Jerred looked at Peter intently, his smile disappeared from his lips. “Very well, we shall deal with this later,” he said. Peter returned to his seat with a frown. Reluctantly, so did Gildar, finding a piece of meat to chew on. Jerred remained standing as the host, and cleared his throat briefly. “Moving on. Province reports…” They went around the table, and each of the fifteen gave their city reports. Rubin noted that between most of them, Jardain was actually a fair size. It was the third largest provinces, behind only Jerred and Durward Felkir but weak when it came to riches. Most apparently much of Jardain’s money went to trade and the city of Jardain itself. It’s army was sufficient, holding it’s own against many of the bigger provinces. After his father gave his report, Rubin began to become sleepy and bored. Many of the other kingdoms were small and unimpressive to the boy, and he lost interest in the same data over and over again. A couple of times, just before he nodded off, he found the hand of Kain on his shoulder, and a whisper in his ear, “pay attention young master, for one day you will be sitting in the bigger chair.” When the reports were finished, the supper had also diminished into rinds and scraps. More wine was brought out, but Peter did not grab for any. He mentioned to his son that, “more wine will steal our wits.” And he also made the note that Jerred was not having more either, even though he was who ordered it. “Right. Next item?” Jerred asked. “How go the lands to the north?” asked Peter. Kelvin Hugh rolled his eyes, and did not bother to stand to address the question (for it was his lands that mostly bordered the north, and so the Kald’heir). “They go uneventful, as usual.” The rest of the meeting went on with smaller, less heated, things. Aid that would be needed for the after winter flood by the smaller provinces, request for trade with other provinces, advice on how to handle food shortages, and what was going on outside the lands of Litheme. Rubin had to be reminded several times to awaken his body. Though as the night got later, and the voices droned on and on, Rubin found his mind drifting, and his eyelids sinking. The last thing he remembered was his father standing to talk about strategies for aiding the peasants during winter.

~ This is the Prologue that I had kept absent from the beginning. I thought it wouldn't hurt to post it now, though I appologize for the disorganization. Also, it should be noted that, while I wrote a character named Matteo in it, this is entirely Foe's Character, and should he wish it revoked or changed in any way, I will not hesitate to accomidate him.~ The Call of the Tides Prolouge This is a tale that is simple both in its lines and between them. Set in a world where might and magic rule the lands, races of all forms, both mortal and immortal, walk as neither equals or opposites. These creatures of life and death are woven into an endless river that begins whence it ended; the river whose water is time, whose bed makes up history, and whose never-met destination is guided by the powers above: this river of Fate. From an elbow in this river is where this fanciful legend begins, and upon the other side shall it end. It is of how the past can, and does, use the present as a tool to create a future like itself. The tale actually begins just before the end of one previous to it, as are all things so entwined. Though, not as is true with all things, this beginning is worth mentioning and so shall be done first and foremost. There was a guild. A gathering of warriors, lords, and weary travelers; set within a large bay of the shores of the eastern sea. It was founded and led by two. The first was a male elf, whose immortal experience helped to build it, and hold it together. His friend was a young human wizard, and bared the passion to make to run. Those who walked the eastern way knew this guild as the Crystal Tides. A strange happening, whether it was because the Gods of the lands favored this gathering of righteous hearts, or merely because Lady Luck had enjoyed its company, the members of the Crystal Tides always left to become great influences in the world. Though this would become known from their founding, the Crystal Tides never sought out any power or fame in the known world. To those who would seek to conquer the lands through greed and malice knew it only as a small set of buildings that housed a small group of people. Indeed it was unknown by many. But inside, a great kinship grew. Those who wore the small banner of the Tides knew one another as family; family that would neither betray nor belittle. Their influence was not only within the world but within themselves as well. Part of their greatness would emerge from their own discoveries of fault and loss. Their imperfections and understanding thereof granted them the ability to stand up with quiet intention, and sit down with vast perception. But as that wondrous journey slowed its course, and the world outside it charged forward, a tiny spark helped to create an almost unforeseeable creation. It begins in the closed chambers of the guildhall: the upstairs room. Inside, around a large oaken table sat the two led and governed, their grave faces lit by moon’s shine and reflection of the ocean water through two giant windows on the eastern wall. The only other figures in the room were sets of display armor, given faint shadow by moonlight. “What now, Matteo? Surely your elven ears have tamed the wind and whispers, convincing them to reveal our path. I know not what to do.” Spoke the wizard, his blue eyes a window to a saddened soul. Matteo the elf gave a melancholy smile. “Though the winds surrender nothing, Tekkorin, you give up your resolve with as much passion as you defend it.” Turning his head towards the window, Tekkorin sighed. “You must understand Matteo. Have you not felt the wanting of our men?” “Yes,” nodded Matteo, “And I can understand it as well. When the very empire that strove to protect their families whilst they are here to train-“ “And drink,” “… and drink, yes.” Matteo noted a slight smile appear and fade just as quick on his friend’s face. “When that empire turns to threaten their families, they wish to come to the defense of their loved ones.” Tekkorin stood and turned his gaze to the armor in a thoughtful pace. “As all good men should.” His eyes walked a path of remembrance at seeing the armor; of a time when they were given to the guild, as gifts. Fine suits of plate mail and one of fine chain. One of their old members had returned from adventures and gave to them the armor of his fallen comrades, also guild members. They were restored and set to sit in the conference room to honour the fallen. Tekkorin did not want to have to honour any more then he had to. “We cannot outright declare war against the Kald’heir. Our guild would stand divided, not everyone wishes to fight. I know some whose fight this is not. What would we say to them before we request their lives to battle?” “They would understand, and follow us. Nor would we be alone on the battlefield.” Matteo’s gaze followed the pacing wizard. “There is word of others forming a defense against them. Have you spoken with Sarah? She hears the winds better then I, they have spoken to her again.” “Yes. She spoke of riddles again; though ones of hope.” Tekkorin looked up and to Matteo. “They will leave if we say we do not go as a guild.” “Yes.” The wizard moved to the window, and let his gaze be locked to the moon. Matteo took no note and stood from the table. He approached from behind and found his eyes upon the restless water, watching as the light reflected carelessly along the surface. The two stood there for a moment, in quiet contemplation. Faintly, through the silence of the building and the night, the soft flow of the waves could be heard upon the shore. As the water retreated before another soft entry, the moonlight danced and sparkled amidst the sand. It would be Matteo who would speak first again. His voice was but a whisper, but in the quiet of the night the sound found its way above the water outside. “Upon the calm midnight hour, Time sets its wheels again. What’s lost is lost, found is found, And shall never be the same. “Hold thy course and fight aloud, Noble with it’s rage. Heals to cause another wound A loss of work and age. “Choices done; made once more, Can seek to lead the truth. Flight and thought bears a land, Saved with sword and youth. “No paths shall lead to find short ends, Though one but can empower, To renew and find a longer road Of the calm midnight hour.” Tekkorin nodded, and spoke without turning his head. “Her words have not failed before.” “Nor have they ever been so many. The wind does not often give out secrets, even to those who hear it best,” Matteo added. “Still, it warns of unpleasant times should we declare war and succeed, that verse was clear. And I am tired Matteo; I am without the ageless face of elf. Nor have I your stamina to continue, mine wears thin. We have long been leaders of this guild, and wonder if now is the right time to part. Have you other words?” Tekkorin now turned to return to the table, letting his wooden cane tap along the floor. “Nay, nor further sound advice I can share.” A small laughter emerged from Tekkorin’s lips. “I find that hard to believe. Still, if you will allow me, I think it is time we found an end to this chapter. Great things can be accomplished by our friends.” “Can be, and will be.” Tekkorin gave a final distant look before hitting the table in an act of confirmation. “Right. Then we had best ready what we need to do, and say. The days begin to weigh heavily upon our guild.” Matteo joined him at the table, and found his seat with silent ease. “As they do everywhere in this age, Tekkorin, as they do everywhere.”

Damn it... Well I've been trying for some weeks now... but NOTHING is coming. So I thought I'd post what I had, no sense in keeping the writing staggered if there is nothing coming out of my fingertips. So here's what I had left, a couple of warnings though; 1.) It is NOT edited, so many of the sentences may not flow very well, or may repeat words, and have limited vocabulary, etc, etc. 2.) It is NOT finished, and likely never will be. I wouldn't read it for an ending.

Written for a very good friend of mine. With his permission, of course, I wanted to share it here as well. I Know a Man... I know a man, that others do not, Hidden behind a faceless mask. His continued days and thoughtful ways, Are a fearless and valiant task. Beneath his brow, and helmet hair, Lies a mind no logic can denounce. Never restful, always zestful, On it no other can dare pounce. With every bold action, he, Proves an arrow true to mark. Subtle strokes trail wordly pokes, With sharp wit, and smart remark Faith be his passionate cushion Beneath his chest a hopeful heart Romance coping and wistful hoping Cradled bliss his ways do chart. An inspiration, though he knows it not To those his passion reaches out. A friend both through and true is he, No second thoughts to this; no doubt. And his soul, indefinitely pure, Given to the high heavens above. Thoughtful care given eternal prayer, And an earnest unyielding love. Questioned ways of unsure paths Loyal to his course he stays. Honest dues his roads will choose, Truthful song his music plays. I know a man, that others do not, Past the face and artist’s hand. Changed am I, having seen his sky, He is proof that life is grand.

Seth my friend, you continue to amaze me, every time you decide to share. Great poem