Quinton McTish

Mine is easy enough: kwin-ton mic-Tish Emphasis on the T (which is why its capitalized). That way, if you're ticked off at me, you can spit in my face whenever you want. Just say my name to my face!

Chapter 1 Uulas He moved quietly through the dimly lit hallway. The cold, stone slab made no sound as his padded boots glided one after the other. He came to the end of the hallway to a sturdy wooden door, reinforced with steel bindings and what looked to be a complex lock. He pressed his ear up against the door, hoping to hear something; however the wood itself was too thick to hear if anyone, or anything, was on the other side. He examined the lock and as he suspected, it was complex and required the key to open. Uulas wasn’t a thief; he didn’t train in the arts of magic so he could magically unlock the door. He knew one thing and he knew it very well, the art of sword combat. In perhaps a foolish move, he knocked loudly on the door making his earlier attempts at stealth worthless. He listened as the echoes of his knock traveled behind him down the hall. It wasn’t long before he heard voices behind him. Uulas whipped around to see four men carrying swords and dressed in leather armor running after him, obviously not coming to give him a warm welcome. However Uulas continued to stand there, waiting for them to draw nearer. As they ran closer, he gauged the distance between the walls of the hallway, it was a good twelve or fifteen feet which was enough for him to maneuver around. The men were nearly on top of him before he took his fighting stance and pulled out a great sword from its sheath on his back, his face wore a big smile. The first man was easily discarded as Uulas ran his massive sword through is gut. He groaned and slumped to the floor to take his last few breaths before he died. Uulas pulled the sword out and make a spectacular back swing, severing off the sword arm of another man, sending the limb and sword to the ground. Two more slices and he had successfully decapitated and mortally wounded the final two men, without a scratch. He surveyed the scene, two men in their death throes, one man passed out from shock of losing his arm and another dead without a head. Uulas grinned to himself, turned around, and knocked on the door again. This time the heavy door swung open and, before he had time to react, a large fist shot out and struck him across the jaw, sending both him and his sword flying to the ground. His sword clattered many feet from where he landed and as he looked up to see who had struck him, his bloodied jaw dropped. The man was no less than seven feet tall and had to weight at least three hundred pounds. His body was immense and his arms and legs were rippled with muscle. The man picked Uulas up with one hand, lifting him off the ground and bringing him eye to eye. The man’s breath smelled of rotten meat, his teeth half rotted out below his curled moustache. “I will crush you like a bug! For I am Gunardo, the strongest man of Rahl!” screamed the man, nauseating Uulas with the stench from his breath. “Oh my god,” said Uulas disgusted, “What have you been eating? Rotten fish?” Gunardo growled at Uulas, clearly insulted by what he had said, then threw him down the hall as if he were a rag doll. Uulas hit the flagstone hard, hearing a definite crunching sound come from his body, skidding across the stone and coming to a stop right next to where his sword had landed. Uulas got back up on his feet, picked up his sword and stared at Gunardo, who was still standing in the door way. There was a moment of silence as Uulas stared him down, his determination and confidence in his swordsmanship would see him through. Uulas charged, his great sword clenched firmly between both of his hands, Gunardo did not move, but merely grinned widely as he accepted the challenge Uulas presented him. As he drew nearer, Uulas leapt up into the air and swung his sword downward towards Gunardo. Gunardo, despite his large form, seemed to move like a panther and easily dodged the attack, then gave Uulas another firm hit with his enormous fist sending him crashing to the ground. When he opened his eyes, he found himself on the ground; Gunardo was standing above him holding his great sword above his heart, ready to make the fatal stab. Uulas quickly rolled to his side, avoiding the sharp steel of his own blade. “Nice try,” said Uulas as he shook off the after effects of being temporarily knocked out, “But I’m not licked yet.” “I will crush you like the bug you are,” yelled Gunardo, who was apparently very upset that Uulas was still alive, “You can not defeat the mighty strength of Gunardo!” Uulas grinned and pulled out two long swords from their sheaths and warmed up his wrist with a few fancy moves. “That does not impress me,” Gunardo grunted as he threw down the great sword, “Gunardo will crush you with his own two hands!” Then Gunardo charged, sending another mighty punch towards Uulas to try and knock him out for good. Uulas, however, was prepared for it and evaded the blow with ease, then ran his sword across Gunardo’s arm, sending him howling. Uulas backed away from Gunardo, keeping himself on the defensive and letting Gunardo come to him. The plan had worked as Gunardo continued to charge Uulas, he was able to evade every attack and give Gunardo a taste of his steel. By this time, Gunardo was bleeding from many places, Uulas’ jaw was puffy and purple, and they were both breathing heavily, exhausted from their prolonged skirmish. “I will crush you once and for all worm!” exclaimed Gunardo, pointing towards Uulas. “Bring it on fat man,” Uulas taunted back. Gunardo yelled at the top of his lungs and charged Uulas for the final time. This time Uulas held his ground and thrust his swords deep within the enormous chest, putting all of his body behind the attacks. Gunardo stumbled backwards from his ferocious charge, looked down to see one sword lodged in his gut, the other in his heart, looked at Uulas, then fell backwards with one final grunt. Uulas had already pulled the dagger out from his boot, ready for another round with the brute, but once he saw that he had fallen to his well placed attacks, he let out a great sigh of relief. He had rarely ever had to fight anything stronger than a human during his tasks, but Uulas firmly believed that Gunardo must have some trace of giant blood in him, perhaps ogre or orc at the very least. Uulas retrieved his blades, having some difficulty removing the one lodged in the heart of Gunardo. However after a decent amount of tugging and pulling, the blade finally let go and released itself from the massive body. He cleaned the blades on the tunic of one of the guards he had fallen earlier, then proceeded through the massive door that Gunardo had guarded. Inside the room, there was a sight that Uulas had hoped to see. The room itself was about twenty feet all around, with one standing torch for light. A woman sat gagged and bound to a rickety wooden chair, visibly afraid of what Uulas would do to her. The woman was in her early twenties, had long, golden blonde hair, blue eyes and a very slim build. She was wearing a velvet green, formal evening gown, one that a noble woman would wear to a dinner in the wealthy part of town. From what Uulas could tell, she was relatively untouched, save for some bruising of her wrists which was undoubtedly from Gunardo binding her to the chair. “Thank you,” she said to Uulas as he removed her gag. Uulas nodded to her hastily as he cut the final bonds around her legs. The woman stood up, rubbing her wrists, unsure of what would happen now. Uulas looked around the room and spied a table in the corner, almost hidden from the poor torchlight from the standing sconce. He moved quickly over and grabbed a small bag and shook it, the pleasant sound of coin jingled from within. He tied up the bag, dropped it into the sack that hung over his shoulder, grabbed a dagger and returned to the woman who was looking at the doorway, contemplating on if she should run or not. “Take this,” he said, giving her the dagger, “We’re getting out of here. But if anyone tries to grab you again, stick ‘em with that.” She nodded to him and clutched the dagger by the hilt, keeping it ready as they departed her gloomy cell. Uulas did not bother moving silently down this hall, but rather raced down with both swords drawn, ready to run anyone through who got in his way. They were halfway down the hall when a guard crashed through a door on their left, sword in hand with a look of utter confusion on his face. Uulas wasted no time and ran his sword through the guards’ middle, sending him down to the floor, clutching his wound. Uulas grabbed the girls hand and pulled her after him. He reached the final door and kicked it open, letting in the fresh outdoor air into the musty hallway. The woman found a renewed strength, dropped the dagger and raced outside, feeling the warmth of the midday sun. Uulas walked out, also enjoying the warmth of the outdoors, rather than being cooped up within the confines of the musty dungeon. Uulas sheathed his swords, then closed the door behind them. “Where are we?” the woman questioned as she looked around. “We are about a days travel north of Port Hadran,” Uulas said as he looked up at the sky, “If you are up to it, I would like to get us a few hours away from this hideout before we break camp for the night. We will be back at Port Hadran tomorrow afternoon sometime.” The woman nodded to him and they set off south towards the great town of Port Hadran.

Prequel The sun shone brightly over the people of Quillspire, as they wandered about the marketplace buying and selling their goods. The town itself was small compared to the surrounding cities, but it was also very unique. Quillspire was a town built around great tales of myth and legend. While some of its stories spoke of great heroes and wars, others told of love, compassion and fantasy. The main trades within the town were stories, poetry, art, and other works of creativity. There was no crime within this town because to a thief, stories hold little to no value outside of Quillspire. Like any other small town, it had many houses, a town centre, and a marketplace. However, one thing that set Quillspire from the rest was an enormous, towering spire that jutted from the very heart of the town. The spire itself had no visible entrance and seemed to be about forty feet in diameter. It was made of a sandstone type rock and stood no less than two hundred yards tall. The top of the spire was jet black and was considered to have an onyx roofing. However no one has been able to climb the spire to find out for certain. After explorers, archeologists, and adventurers examined the spire, it was considered to be a relic of ages past. No one to this day has been able to unlock the mystery of the spire, however many of the townsfolk have used it as a symbol of mystery and inspiration. Every day in Quillspire was a good day. What made this day different was the old man who hobbled his way to the marketplace, accompanied by a younger man wearing a feathered hat. The old man was draped in a worn, plain grey robe, littered with tears and makeshift patches. He was crouched over, using a splinter ridden tree branch as a walking stick. Although the old man was bald, his head was speckled with brown spots, which most likely covered his whole body, his eyes were nearly covered by his big, bushy eyebrows and he had a long, wispy silver beard that waved gently in the breeze as he hobbled forward. The man behind him looked strong, sturdy and stood about six feet tall. Judging by all of the equipment he carried, he was the old mans traveling companion, protector and servant. The man looked both gentle and fierce at the same time, his eyes glittered green behind the jet black goatee on his stern face. Travelers were always welcomed to the town of Quillspire, however something different seemed to surround the two strangers like a forbidding aura. Anytime someone approached the old man, they felt an overwhelming panic and backed away. The two moved slowly towards the center of town, drawing closer to the large, ancient spire for which the town was known for. Once they had reached the base of the spire, the younger man dropped the large bags he had been carrying on his back, pulled out a small wooden bench and sat it on the ground. He then helped the old man sit down on it, still clutching to the splintered wooden staff and using it for support. The old man shifted in an attempt to get comfortable while the younger man started pulling out equipment to start a fire and boil some water. As he did, the old man finally found a position he was comfortable with and rested the splintered walking stick against the base of the spire. He sat there nearly motionless while the younger man started a fire and began to boil water in a large pot, supported by three metal poles, attached to a chain. Finally, a small child walked up to the pair, seemingly unafraid to approach them. "Hi," said the child, "Whatcha doin'?" The old man looked to the child and smiled. "Sitting," the old man replied with a smile, "Would you care to join me in sitting?" The child nodded and sat down in front of the old man. "My friend is making some hot water for some tea. Would you like some tea too?" "No thank you. I like fruit nectar. Do you have any fruit nectar?" questioned the child. "I'm afraid not. But perhaps once my tea is ready, I can share a story with you? Do you like stories?" "Yea. I like stories," said the child, "I hear lots of good stories here. One day, I will be a great artist like my father and I will paint pictures of great heroes and legends!" The old man smiled and nodded his head in agreement, "That you will be, I'm sure." It wasn't long before the old man was handed some green tea contained in what seemed to be a polished, wooden cup made from an oak tree. "Ahh," exhaled the old man, "This soothes my bones from our long walk. Thank you Quinton." The younger man nodded to the older one and made a cup for himself. "Now, I believe you wanted to hear a story my young friend?" said the old man, now paying attention to the child who sat in front of him. The child nodded his head and the old man smiled. "Let me tell you then, of two great heroes..."

Global Enslavement. I'd enslave the universe... but the alien death beam is just too powerful for me.

Well lookit that! Congratulations. I'd shake your hand or give you a hug or something... But I can't seem to get out of this danged straightjacket.

Thanks for the warm welcome. Although i recommended a straight jacket... binding my arms isn't really the problem. Its more often my mouth that needs to be smacked shut than anything else. Heck, just feel free to smack me around whenenver. I can take it! I think... Hey... Wait... What are you doing with that morning star? *runs*

Hello folks. Salinye tossed me a link to this forum, seeing as how she liked my writings and so forth. I think she's kind of loony though() , so I don't know how valid her opinions are. So you might want to grab that straightjacket and bind me up while you still can.