Saturday, November 14, 2015
Be You a Wise Fool or Simply Foolish
Most things usually return from where they eternally began. That is why most are intrigued and captivated by legends of the immortal and undying. Sadly these tales that appear here too will fade, but not without being reborn with it's kin.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
The King's Blade
Long ago when the Earth was still young, twin siblings were born; both gifted uniquely in separate ways. The woman, Atla, in science of the mind and the man, Prom, in science of the body, but both were gifted in the arts that preserved the Earth. From these two ambitious beings came forth the legendary city of Atlantis and what once was prosperous now withered island of Prometheus. Before the doings of what did happen came to be there was a mighty wise and humbly powerful king that felt a type of sympathy toward the lower race, the cursed race. His wish was for both his offspring to live in harmony not only with each other but also with all of God's creations, even the fallen.
To ensure that only the will of God could be carried out in the event of a war, the king forged a unique sword that would enhance one's abilities and complement one's faults, a sword that would shape and morph according to the wielder's passion and essence; a sword that could both start and end revolutions in one decisive swing. To some it was called the King's Blade because he often boasted of its power, but to those that have grasped its hilt and tasted its edge it was known as the Hand of God. It was truly a sight to see sheathed patiently or gloriously emanating its valor to both friend and foe.
When Atla wed, her husband was to be next in line for the throne, until Prom choose his bride which meant he would take the throne. Atla's husband would not stand for Prom's values which mirrored their father's, only Prom viewed the lower race as equals to their own. Atla's husband warned Prom that if he took the throne with his love for the degenerates, he would be more than a torn in his side. Ignoring his brother-in-law's threat and heeding his father's words, he assumes his place as king of land. Within hours Atla's husband is able to pull together an army to usrp Prom. To much confusion, the King's Blade would not allow itself to be unsheathed, and so Prom had to step down. After much conflict the King's Blade is lost and the new king begins a genocide of the lower race.
In an effort to stop the madness Atla finally speaks up and takes Prom's side in the matter. The Mad King strikes Atla down and she is lost at sea. In rage Prom conjures a power hidden in his blood and since then the blood line of the Promethean's would grant them immense power when in the presence of an Atlantean. This is not enough to sway the Mad King. Prom is banished from Atlantis to waste away on a forsaken island. Years go by as Atlantis slowly dies without the aura of a kind and just heart. Hidden within all the corruption a savoir was born and somehow the King's Blade ended up in his hands. He led a group of assassins into the castle and smote The Mad King with the King's Blade augmented to Jsohan the Assassin's essence.
Jsohan led the kingdom of Atlantis out of the hells of poverty and disease and into a prosperous era. Meanwhile Prom forged a people from the land and he crafted a country from the forsaken land: Prometheus. Though Prom had seen the changes in Atlantean government, there was one person who saw the new Atlantis just a great a threat as its forerunner. Secrtly, this man learned their ways and befriended Jsohan- who taught him the secrets and shadows of an assasin. This man learned the magic of the Atlanteans and soon became known as the Full Blood Wizard, having a perfected knowledge of both Prometheus and Atlantis.
The wizard soon murdered Jsohan and took his body for his own. Those that knew him could see that Jsohan was not the same, and Prom could sense that Jsohan had been adulterated. It was not long after he started calling himself the Wizard King. Once again the King's Blade had proven to be mysterious in its nature. Centuries came and went. The line of Prom continued on. And then the Wizard King took the kingdom of Prometheus. In all this turmoil the King's Blade was nowhere to be found. It appeared as though prayers had been unanswered or rejected. Questions about the future of the two kingdoms were raised, but only time could answer them.
To ensure that only the will of God could be carried out in the event of a war, the king forged a unique sword that would enhance one's abilities and complement one's faults, a sword that would shape and morph according to the wielder's passion and essence; a sword that could both start and end revolutions in one decisive swing. To some it was called the King's Blade because he often boasted of its power, but to those that have grasped its hilt and tasted its edge it was known as the Hand of God. It was truly a sight to see sheathed patiently or gloriously emanating its valor to both friend and foe.
When Atla wed, her husband was to be next in line for the throne, until Prom choose his bride which meant he would take the throne. Atla's husband would not stand for Prom's values which mirrored their father's, only Prom viewed the lower race as equals to their own. Atla's husband warned Prom that if he took the throne with his love for the degenerates, he would be more than a torn in his side. Ignoring his brother-in-law's threat and heeding his father's words, he assumes his place as king of land. Within hours Atla's husband is able to pull together an army to usrp Prom. To much confusion, the King's Blade would not allow itself to be unsheathed, and so Prom had to step down. After much conflict the King's Blade is lost and the new king begins a genocide of the lower race.
In an effort to stop the madness Atla finally speaks up and takes Prom's side in the matter. The Mad King strikes Atla down and she is lost at sea. In rage Prom conjures a power hidden in his blood and since then the blood line of the Promethean's would grant them immense power when in the presence of an Atlantean. This is not enough to sway the Mad King. Prom is banished from Atlantis to waste away on a forsaken island. Years go by as Atlantis slowly dies without the aura of a kind and just heart. Hidden within all the corruption a savoir was born and somehow the King's Blade ended up in his hands. He led a group of assassins into the castle and smote The Mad King with the King's Blade augmented to Jsohan the Assassin's essence.
Jsohan led the kingdom of Atlantis out of the hells of poverty and disease and into a prosperous era. Meanwhile Prom forged a people from the land and he crafted a country from the forsaken land: Prometheus. Though Prom had seen the changes in Atlantean government, there was one person who saw the new Atlantis just a great a threat as its forerunner. Secrtly, this man learned their ways and befriended Jsohan- who taught him the secrets and shadows of an assasin. This man learned the magic of the Atlanteans and soon became known as the Full Blood Wizard, having a perfected knowledge of both Prometheus and Atlantis.
The wizard soon murdered Jsohan and took his body for his own. Those that knew him could see that Jsohan was not the same, and Prom could sense that Jsohan had been adulterated. It was not long after he started calling himself the Wizard King. Once again the King's Blade had proven to be mysterious in its nature. Centuries came and went. The line of Prom continued on. And then the Wizard King took the kingdom of Prometheus. In all this turmoil the King's Blade was nowhere to be found. It appeared as though prayers had been unanswered or rejected. Questions about the future of the two kingdoms were raised, but only time could answer them.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
The 38th of Mauj
Like a roaring rush of water, a flood of solders entered the small valley. The Harbingers readied their weapons, some with their 1-ton short swords, some with their infinitely sharp throwing axes, some even had their fabled Halberds that stroke with thunder and lightning, but only the seasoned survivors, the Executioners, were equipped with claymores crafted to the size of their own body and made with a curious metal.
The Royal Guard got into position and waited for the signal. General Lok-tov raised his arm, the Harbingers were out numbered seven to one and insanely out gunned; and dropped it like an atomic bomb. No matter the rank or experience none of the Harbingers waiverd or swayed from their stance, they didn't fear death, nor did they accept it: they challenged it.
As a horde of locusts to a field of rich crop did the RG Blades men continued their flow of destruction toward the Harbingers, and when there seemed to be no more room for even a weapon to be drawn, the RG Shield Carriers activated a barricade of concentrated plasma. They created a kill box, they intended to extinguish all that was left of humanity.
With only six Executioners left, they had to act swiftly; the art of manipulation was new to them, so with what they knew they formed a type of mound out of the ground to give them a slight advantage over the kill box. Each second and the time in between was vital, and the tide of battle churned like the ominous waters of the ocean during a hurricane. The harbingers were beyond masters of close combat, and their skill with weapons unique as theirs pushed the laws of physics, but even with such power and skill they could not be omnipresent as they enemy could.
The RG's plasma blades were set to overdrive and so they would form a blade that was so brittle the slightest clash with an actual metal would shatter it, but just as it was brittle it was many a fold sharp, slicing on an almost atomic level. If the blades didn't hit flesh, then the plasma would splatter on the target. One can imagine the sound of impure obsidian razors breaking with the harsh sizzling of greedy super heated particles devouring what stood before them resounding like a chorus of church bells in Italy.
As the battle evolved, so did the combat of the Harbingers. Those with 1-ton blades coaxing the RG to raise their plasma swords above them, so that when their blade came smashing down it would send shards of flaming glass down at them, and if they glass didn't smite them the short sword would certainly crush them. Those with infinity axes gave up on full ranged tactics and were tainted with the blood of the enemy by following up a throw with a rushing blow to the neck of an RG. And those with the legendary Halberd would strike at the closest RG with butt of the Halberd, which was equipped with an electrically charged dagger, and hit a crowd of RG with the head, which was crafted to utilize pressure waves, to effectively protect the Executioners.
One of the Executioners looked directly at General Lok-tov, her gaze eternally locked with the general's eyes. The interesting thing about the Executioners is that they are a collective conscious but receive instructions individually. Where one receives an order, the others are only aware of the information, but as to why it is issued solely to that individual only that one will know. Like a speeding comet she accelerated at speed undetectable to the unaided human eye with blade fully drawn, General Lok-tov barely caught the blade with an energy glove act, a manipulation that made the hand invulnerable for a moment, but the shockwave of the impact knocked the RG Centurions off the cliff upon which they stood. Executioner Magnum sheathed her blade and hovered on to the cliff and landed parallel from the General. She was gifted in the art of Lordic Slang and Manipulation in Space (Matter). Her hands dressed with the Void Gloves, Lordic artifacts that could conjure at will without knowledge of the act nor manipulation, a godlike power.
"This is my magnum opus- General Lok-tov today you face the Glory of God."
Her physical form trans-mutated into something greater than what the human mind could fathom. General Lok-tov smirked, this form he was already accustomed to, fore he was not human. A space-time rift isolated the two, and the clashing of wills could be heard from the battlefield. Just then a blood curdling roar echoed from behind the mountains that hid the valley and suddenly an explosion that set the sky ablaze; a sonic boom qued the stock that was latched onto the moon to be dismembered and debris rained from the only escape from the cursed Earth. A second explosion rolled a mountain to the ground crashing on both ally and enemy. A forsaken mix of Dragonkin and an otherworldly plant stumbled through the gateway that led to a hellish inferno. It stumbled upright and shot out a flare, it collided with something that flew fast and hard.
From out of the smoke charged the blade-ship know as The Claymore with its revered nova blade fully armed: a giant and extremely masseous rod that had a blade super heated to temperatures hotter than what most creatures, living or dead, could handle. Its captain , Tom Thunderblade, pushing heavily on the throttle, ensuring the ship's blade hit with maximum velocity. For a moment Executioner Kato thought he would hear a maniacal laughter resonate from the ship itself. Though the Harbingers slew the RG with extreme ease, as one fell another would enter the kill box. Unfortunately for the RG, the Harbingers fight until they can bleed no more. The ground began to tremble with the coming of The Claymore; the forces at work short circuited the advanced weaponry of the RG, blades no longer regenerated and the shields burned out. With this the Executioners took the battle ground and swiftly slew the enemy, the valley became a slaughtering hole. The ground began to warp with the arrival of The Claymore nigh. Atoms split and rejoined, sparks emitted from every direction, the temperature grew intensely unpleasant: no one was leaving this battle alive.
Executioner Magnum exited the rift with lethal wounds, but victorious none the less; Lok-tov's body was no where to be found. She knelt down to rest her person. Bang! Chunks of the earth were uplifted when the Claymore's blade struck the Corrupted Dragonkin. As the blade slowly carved its way through the flesh of the demon, the intense energies emitted from the collision and from the blade itself caused the metals and the bone to infuse at parts and then collapse on itself. Stars were born, but due to the instability of the forces at work each one imploded. Tom had to detach the blade from his ship and take off. The cursed Earth was being consumed by the chain reactions of creation, it would soon pass away.
The Royal Guard got into position and waited for the signal. General Lok-tov raised his arm, the Harbingers were out numbered seven to one and insanely out gunned; and dropped it like an atomic bomb. No matter the rank or experience none of the Harbingers waiverd or swayed from their stance, they didn't fear death, nor did they accept it: they challenged it.
As a horde of locusts to a field of rich crop did the RG Blades men continued their flow of destruction toward the Harbingers, and when there seemed to be no more room for even a weapon to be drawn, the RG Shield Carriers activated a barricade of concentrated plasma. They created a kill box, they intended to extinguish all that was left of humanity.
With only six Executioners left, they had to act swiftly; the art of manipulation was new to them, so with what they knew they formed a type of mound out of the ground to give them a slight advantage over the kill box. Each second and the time in between was vital, and the tide of battle churned like the ominous waters of the ocean during a hurricane. The harbingers were beyond masters of close combat, and their skill with weapons unique as theirs pushed the laws of physics, but even with such power and skill they could not be omnipresent as they enemy could.
The RG's plasma blades were set to overdrive and so they would form a blade that was so brittle the slightest clash with an actual metal would shatter it, but just as it was brittle it was many a fold sharp, slicing on an almost atomic level. If the blades didn't hit flesh, then the plasma would splatter on the target. One can imagine the sound of impure obsidian razors breaking with the harsh sizzling of greedy super heated particles devouring what stood before them resounding like a chorus of church bells in Italy.
As the battle evolved, so did the combat of the Harbingers. Those with 1-ton blades coaxing the RG to raise their plasma swords above them, so that when their blade came smashing down it would send shards of flaming glass down at them, and if they glass didn't smite them the short sword would certainly crush them. Those with infinity axes gave up on full ranged tactics and were tainted with the blood of the enemy by following up a throw with a rushing blow to the neck of an RG. And those with the legendary Halberd would strike at the closest RG with butt of the Halberd, which was equipped with an electrically charged dagger, and hit a crowd of RG with the head, which was crafted to utilize pressure waves, to effectively protect the Executioners.
One of the Executioners looked directly at General Lok-tov, her gaze eternally locked with the general's eyes. The interesting thing about the Executioners is that they are a collective conscious but receive instructions individually. Where one receives an order, the others are only aware of the information, but as to why it is issued solely to that individual only that one will know. Like a speeding comet she accelerated at speed undetectable to the unaided human eye with blade fully drawn, General Lok-tov barely caught the blade with an energy glove act, a manipulation that made the hand invulnerable for a moment, but the shockwave of the impact knocked the RG Centurions off the cliff upon which they stood. Executioner Magnum sheathed her blade and hovered on to the cliff and landed parallel from the General. She was gifted in the art of Lordic Slang and Manipulation in Space (Matter). Her hands dressed with the Void Gloves, Lordic artifacts that could conjure at will without knowledge of the act nor manipulation, a godlike power.
"This is my magnum opus- General Lok-tov today you face the Glory of God."
Her physical form trans-mutated into something greater than what the human mind could fathom. General Lok-tov smirked, this form he was already accustomed to, fore he was not human. A space-time rift isolated the two, and the clashing of wills could be heard from the battlefield. Just then a blood curdling roar echoed from behind the mountains that hid the valley and suddenly an explosion that set the sky ablaze; a sonic boom qued the stock that was latched onto the moon to be dismembered and debris rained from the only escape from the cursed Earth. A second explosion rolled a mountain to the ground crashing on both ally and enemy. A forsaken mix of Dragonkin and an otherworldly plant stumbled through the gateway that led to a hellish inferno. It stumbled upright and shot out a flare, it collided with something that flew fast and hard.
From out of the smoke charged the blade-ship know as The Claymore with its revered nova blade fully armed: a giant and extremely masseous rod that had a blade super heated to temperatures hotter than what most creatures, living or dead, could handle. Its captain , Tom Thunderblade, pushing heavily on the throttle, ensuring the ship's blade hit with maximum velocity. For a moment Executioner Kato thought he would hear a maniacal laughter resonate from the ship itself. Though the Harbingers slew the RG with extreme ease, as one fell another would enter the kill box. Unfortunately for the RG, the Harbingers fight until they can bleed no more. The ground began to tremble with the coming of The Claymore; the forces at work short circuited the advanced weaponry of the RG, blades no longer regenerated and the shields burned out. With this the Executioners took the battle ground and swiftly slew the enemy, the valley became a slaughtering hole. The ground began to warp with the arrival of The Claymore nigh. Atoms split and rejoined, sparks emitted from every direction, the temperature grew intensely unpleasant: no one was leaving this battle alive.
Executioner Magnum exited the rift with lethal wounds, but victorious none the less; Lok-tov's body was no where to be found. She knelt down to rest her person. Bang! Chunks of the earth were uplifted when the Claymore's blade struck the Corrupted Dragonkin. As the blade slowly carved its way through the flesh of the demon, the intense energies emitted from the collision and from the blade itself caused the metals and the bone to infuse at parts and then collapse on itself. Stars were born, but due to the instability of the forces at work each one imploded. Tom had to detach the blade from his ship and take off. The cursed Earth was being consumed by the chain reactions of creation, it would soon pass away.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
36th of Mauj
Along the coast a storm was brewing magnificently, from so high up Tom could see everything as plain as day: the Gilded Reach and the many demons that desire to devour the riches inside of it. Of course it was not the Shadow Beasts that worried him, but the soon to arrive Spawn of Chaos. If that creature managed to implant itself here, then most hopes of obtaining the Lordic Artifact hidden within the Gilded Reach would come a part like dust.
"Get in, befriend Beah the Dragon of Sound Distortion, get out- simple plan right Shelia?"
"I am beginning to recognize your humor Tom, it lifts my spirits to know that you think you have a chance to succeed without error."
"Thank-you- Shelia!"
"You're welcome Tom."
Down, down, down the feeling of falling he could never shake. Fortunately he was reminded of the stability of "two-feet-on-the-ground" when the space pod slammed into the cursed Earth. Tom's route was a simple one. He liked to keep things simple. That is why he decided to land just a few meters away from the mouth of Beah's lair. That is why he decided to come down in a deep-space capsule without much care and let the shock waves reverberate within Beah's lair. He had no intention in waking Beah the Dragon Feared for His Unpredictable Nature. How Fortunate.
"Lok, tov, who dares to awaken Beahmenteh the Feared One?"
"Dragonkin Beahmeneth, Tom Thunderblade calls upon your aid in the finding and relinquishing of the Lordic Artifact, Confident Banner to Rally"
"Finding? Relinquishing? Foolish human, do you know who you speak to? It is I, Beah the Loud, the only dragon whose voice can cripple and split atoms where they float. Tell me, boy, why should I aid you?"
"Because I am the son of Leon Thunderblade and sent from the Lord of Lords Himself! A Spawn of Chaos makes its way here as we speak. Though its power matches your own, its influence on the land surpasses all that you could gain trust from. If you do not entrust the banner to me it will be lost to the enemy."
"I see my name has also been infringed in your eyes, perhaps I would have helped you had you not brought up the what you expect. "
"I expect only what is expected of dragons that carry an aura power with them, and that is greatness and courage."
"Then you too mark me as a coward, since I will not help you! As for greatness, I will fight against this 'enemy' with ease for there is nothing that can withstand the might of my voice!"
Rejection, this was something Tom was accustomed to. Throughout his life doors were always closed in front of him. Why this moment reminded him of his childhood, he did not know, but as Beah returned beneath the ground Tom looked intently down the tunnel carved from the powerful roars Beah heavily relies on; he was not amused by the dragon's immature pride. It began to rain.
A rooster crows his ominous ballad in the distance from a near by farm, and once again Tom is reminded of his childhood years when he was lost and searching for something greater.
"Shelia, let us go home, I am not wanted here."
"Right away Tom." the AI responded in a solemn tone.
As he departed from the cursed Earth in a swish of particles whizzing in near incomprehensible concepts, he heard it once more- the rooster's crow forever to haunt him until he reached his ultimate destination. As he pondered his decision, he knew that he was not to come back empty handed. His orders were to obtain the banner, he did not have the freedom to return without it.
"Shelia.."
"Yes Tom?"
"Let us remain in orbit."
"Acknowledged"
"Get in, befriend Beah the Dragon of Sound Distortion, get out- simple plan right Shelia?"
"I am beginning to recognize your humor Tom, it lifts my spirits to know that you think you have a chance to succeed without error."
"Thank-you- Shelia!"
"You're welcome Tom."
Down, down, down the feeling of falling he could never shake. Fortunately he was reminded of the stability of "two-feet-on-the-ground" when the space pod slammed into the cursed Earth. Tom's route was a simple one. He liked to keep things simple. That is why he decided to land just a few meters away from the mouth of Beah's lair. That is why he decided to come down in a deep-space capsule without much care and let the shock waves reverberate within Beah's lair. He had no intention in waking Beah the Dragon Feared for His Unpredictable Nature. How Fortunate.
"Lok, tov, who dares to awaken Beahmenteh the Feared One?"
"Dragonkin Beahmeneth, Tom Thunderblade calls upon your aid in the finding and relinquishing of the Lordic Artifact, Confident Banner to Rally"
"Finding? Relinquishing? Foolish human, do you know who you speak to? It is I, Beah the Loud, the only dragon whose voice can cripple and split atoms where they float. Tell me, boy, why should I aid you?"
"Because I am the son of Leon Thunderblade and sent from the Lord of Lords Himself! A Spawn of Chaos makes its way here as we speak. Though its power matches your own, its influence on the land surpasses all that you could gain trust from. If you do not entrust the banner to me it will be lost to the enemy."
"I see my name has also been infringed in your eyes, perhaps I would have helped you had you not brought up the what you expect. "
"I expect only what is expected of dragons that carry an aura power with them, and that is greatness and courage."
"Then you too mark me as a coward, since I will not help you! As for greatness, I will fight against this 'enemy' with ease for there is nothing that can withstand the might of my voice!"
Rejection, this was something Tom was accustomed to. Throughout his life doors were always closed in front of him. Why this moment reminded him of his childhood, he did not know, but as Beah returned beneath the ground Tom looked intently down the tunnel carved from the powerful roars Beah heavily relies on; he was not amused by the dragon's immature pride. It began to rain.
A rooster crows his ominous ballad in the distance from a near by farm, and once again Tom is reminded of his childhood years when he was lost and searching for something greater.
"Shelia, let us go home, I am not wanted here."
"Right away Tom." the AI responded in a solemn tone.
As he departed from the cursed Earth in a swish of particles whizzing in near incomprehensible concepts, he heard it once more- the rooster's crow forever to haunt him until he reached his ultimate destination. As he pondered his decision, he knew that he was not to come back empty handed. His orders were to obtain the banner, he did not have the freedom to return without it.
"Shelia.."
"Yes Tom?"
"Let us remain in orbit."
"Acknowledged"
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
16th of Mauj
Up on the mighty mountains of Gilded Reach resides one of the more lustrous dragons in all of the known lore, Beahementeh the Jack of all and King of One, and in this ever expanding story his role troubles the minds of both the righteous and the wicked. Jroge of the Righteous Blaze is in a constant perplexed disgust at Beah's unreliably fickle nature, while Xera of Hell's Scourge fears his ability to do great good as it is to do terrible evil.
And of all the conflicts that could have taken place that day, this one had to happen on Gilded Reach, it had to happen in the land that used to be fire and stone: Helthool. They say that long ago it used to be a place alive with the metal workings of blacksmith and their mechanical machinations of assistants, a fiery culture that never stopped dancing with a a fierce rhythm with champions always testing their might in battles that would alter the landscape. They say it was great, and it was, but after the systematic Purge that wiped clean that slate of Dragonkin, it became a shadow of it's former self.
Now it is one of the few remaining places that refrains from becoming all but inhospitable. Though must of the land is a charred waste where only death and shadow flourish, on the northern east side of the island country the rays of the sun caress the tender soil and the people can live a simple life.
But today, today the secrets of Helthool escape the confines of Beah's mind and into the mercy of the fire which is the cursed Earth. Today Beahementeh the Selfish gets put in his place. Today his purpose, his calling is fulfilled. Today on the 16TH OF MAUJ.
And of all the conflicts that could have taken place that day, this one had to happen on Gilded Reach, it had to happen in the land that used to be fire and stone: Helthool. They say that long ago it used to be a place alive with the metal workings of blacksmith and their mechanical machinations of assistants, a fiery culture that never stopped dancing with a a fierce rhythm with champions always testing their might in battles that would alter the landscape. They say it was great, and it was, but after the systematic Purge that wiped clean that slate of Dragonkin, it became a shadow of it's former self.
Now it is one of the few remaining places that refrains from becoming all but inhospitable. Though must of the land is a charred waste where only death and shadow flourish, on the northern east side of the island country the rays of the sun caress the tender soil and the people can live a simple life.
But today, today the secrets of Helthool escape the confines of Beah's mind and into the mercy of the fire which is the cursed Earth. Today Beahementeh the Selfish gets put in his place. Today his purpose, his calling is fulfilled. Today on the 16TH OF MAUJ.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
14th of Jayef
Once upon a time, there was a boy with hopes and dreams that would lead him to greatness. Fueled by a powerful ambition he picked up a blessed pen and began to write of fantastical things: myths and legends. Though it was not long before the wisps of his ink spread around amongst the town, he remained unnoticed; shunned: as if he were a taboo.
In a land torn apart by strife, he is sheltered within his room starring down the keyhole of a closet. He knows that it is locked, he knows that the mahogany infused quartz will hold, he thought he knew he was safe, that is until the 14th of JAYEF
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