Happiness is great, happiness is grand,
But if there's a hole, then it's a lot like sand.
It falls through the cracks, it slips out the hole,
To fix this problem, try looking inside your soul.
Happiness is good, happiness is fine,
Where is the hole, how do I fill this gap of mine?
If it's like sand, then there is only one cure,
What you need is love like water, pleasant and pure.
So find your water, strengthen your sand.
Reach for the fires of passion, but don't burn your hand.
If you burn too bright, if the sand and water get too hot,
then your heart becomes like glass, strong it will be not.
So find the pure love, to strengthen the flowing happiness,
Burn with passion, fill the hole, that is your test.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Unwelcome.
I hate the rain.
Being in it, I mean. Rain is nice to watch from the comfort of your own home, splashing on your windows and making that nice pitter-patter sound that's a music all it's own.
I just hate being in the rain.
So, as I stood there, my head in the clouds and the pitter-patter on my fedora, my trench-coat soaked through only a couple of it's many layers (fortunately); I watched. I was looking for something, and while I knew, I didn't at the same time.
I hate the rain.
The mud squishing beneath my shoes, the water falling in trails from the corners of my hat. Who is this? It looks like a candidate. Are you who I'm looking for?
I just hate being in the rain.
The window is open a crack, just enough for anyone to peek inside and get a view of what lies within. Another layer of my coat becomes soaked. I take a few steps forward, the rain drowning out the sound of my muddy footsteps.
I hate the rain.
I nearly slip, grabbing a tree for balance. The sound might alert them to my presence, not yet. I don't want them to know I'm watching. It would be too soon and they'd be able to react!
I just hate being in the rain.
I get closer now, I can see them clearly. Tall, decent build. It's weird, you never expect them to look like that, or even that you're looking at them like this. I mean, c'mon, in the rain? Who does that?
I hate the rain.
I call out to them. They turn and look at me, frightened. Why is he here? How did he find me? What am I going to do? I hope they don't run. But, sure enough, they always do. I hear the screams of a surprised woman from the window. But that doesn't matter now.
I just hate being in the rain.
I tackle them, they're on the ground now. I bind their hands and flip them over so I can look in their eyes. They know what's going to happen next, I don't see how they can be surprised. I get them to their feet and move them to a better spot.
"You're under arrest." I say, as I lower their head and lock them in the back seat of my patrol car.
I hate the rain.
It can't wash away all of the dirt in this city.
Being in it, I mean. Rain is nice to watch from the comfort of your own home, splashing on your windows and making that nice pitter-patter sound that's a music all it's own.
I just hate being in the rain.
So, as I stood there, my head in the clouds and the pitter-patter on my fedora, my trench-coat soaked through only a couple of it's many layers (fortunately); I watched. I was looking for something, and while I knew, I didn't at the same time.
I hate the rain.
The mud squishing beneath my shoes, the water falling in trails from the corners of my hat. Who is this? It looks like a candidate. Are you who I'm looking for?
I just hate being in the rain.
The window is open a crack, just enough for anyone to peek inside and get a view of what lies within. Another layer of my coat becomes soaked. I take a few steps forward, the rain drowning out the sound of my muddy footsteps.
I hate the rain.
I nearly slip, grabbing a tree for balance. The sound might alert them to my presence, not yet. I don't want them to know I'm watching. It would be too soon and they'd be able to react!
I just hate being in the rain.
I get closer now, I can see them clearly. Tall, decent build. It's weird, you never expect them to look like that, or even that you're looking at them like this. I mean, c'mon, in the rain? Who does that?
I hate the rain.
I call out to them. They turn and look at me, frightened. Why is he here? How did he find me? What am I going to do? I hope they don't run. But, sure enough, they always do. I hear the screams of a surprised woman from the window. But that doesn't matter now.
I just hate being in the rain.
I tackle them, they're on the ground now. I bind their hands and flip them over so I can look in their eyes. They know what's going to happen next, I don't see how they can be surprised. I get them to their feet and move them to a better spot.
"You're under arrest." I say, as I lower their head and lock them in the back seat of my patrol car.
I hate the rain.
It can't wash away all of the dirt in this city.
Who?
I'm that guy, the one who listens. The one who dishes out advice that you're surprised he doesn't follow.
I'm an outsider, the guy on the sidelines, not quite in, and not quite out. I observe the problem with a cool mind and tell it like it is.
I'm that guy, the one who cares. The one who discusses philosophy or something as simple as hair.
I'm a mystery, the guy with his head in the clouds, not quite here, and not quite gone. I share bits and pieces to make you think.
I'm that guy, the one you expect to be there, but don't mind if he's gone. The one who you're sure will always show up again some day.
I'm a fool, the guy who is so set in his ways that at times he's blind to the opportunities in front of him.
I'm that guy, the one who entertains and hardly breaks down. To see him freak out is a rare sight indeed.
I'm a shadow, the guy who either drives you insane or makes you laugh.
I'm that guy. I'm just me. Now the only question is:
Who's that girl?
I'm an outsider, the guy on the sidelines, not quite in, and not quite out. I observe the problem with a cool mind and tell it like it is.
I'm that guy, the one who cares. The one who discusses philosophy or something as simple as hair.
I'm a mystery, the guy with his head in the clouds, not quite here, and not quite gone. I share bits and pieces to make you think.
I'm that guy, the one you expect to be there, but don't mind if he's gone. The one who you're sure will always show up again some day.
I'm a fool, the guy who is so set in his ways that at times he's blind to the opportunities in front of him.
I'm that guy, the one who entertains and hardly breaks down. To see him freak out is a rare sight indeed.
I'm a shadow, the guy who either drives you insane or makes you laugh.
I'm that guy. I'm just me. Now the only question is:
Who's that girl?
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Hunter and Hunted
He observed with contempt. These trespassers had blocked the trails, had cut the trees, and even began poaching the wildlife. These men. These unclean, uncaring, men. He observed their camp, a large collection of tents and fires surrounded by a large fence made from those that stood so proudly not so long ago. They moved about their business, each one carrying their standard in some form or another. Whether it be stitched on their bandanas, their shirts, or even on makeshift tabards. He observed their unshaven faces, their foul teeth, and their unkempt hair. These men were foreign, and they did not play by the rules.
He placed a rough hand upon the bark of the large tree next to him. He could feel it's pain, feel it mourning for it's brothers. He could feel the rage of the earth beneath his feet. He knew what his mission was, but how to do it? He must remove them for certain, for they blocked the trails. Not only did they fortify their camp upon the main trail, standing mockingly in the way, but they attacked and robbed anyone who dared cross any of the other paths.
He knew his mission. For now, he would wait. He would observe, as much as it offended him. To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy, and he knew this one more than he had ever wanted. He would wait, for at night they slept. He would wait, for they were lazy yet for but a few.
He would wait.
~~~
The moon was new that night, making the shadows easier to dance in. As the fires died, and the snores were born, he stalked. He was searching, for what? He knew. It was close. He had seen their kind before, but not close, not like this. They, like any creature, both a hive, or a single being, were destroyed in the same fashion. The mind. Destroy the mind, and the body falters. So he searched. He sought the mind of his enemy.
Just like any animal, any beast, these men kept their mind in the grandest of abodes. While the men slept in tents or on the earth, the mind rested in the comfort of a cabin. The cabin was guarded, by the fiercest of the bunch. These were beastmen, different than the rest. Their eyes did not need light, their noses sensitive. He knew this, and so he used it to his advantage. With the right ingredients, nature could provide the strongest of sedatives, as well as the most subtle. It was simple, a thin pouch. And when it was thrown the fumes of it's contents erupted into the air, causing the sentries to slip unconscious before they could even notice the dark figure approaching them.
With the sentries slumped over, deep in dreams. He took their keys and unlocked the door. He would have preferred a window, yet strangely enough this cabin only had one entry visible entry. As he slipped into the door, he readied himself. The room was dark, almost pitch black which caused him to feel his way through the short hall. He heard breathing, soft, regular... asleep. He approached the sleeper, closer, closer. His muscles taught, his senses on edge. He was close, his mission would be complete and order would be restored to his home. He knew. He was ready.
And suddenly, he was blinded. The contrast from pitch black to the radiant glow that now permeated the room sent his mind reeling. He turned away from the source of the light and saw the grinning face of his target, the mind of the parasites that plagued his home. He was tall, a beastman like his guards. His teeth where white and sharpened. He wore little, his body a large bulk of muscle and sinew.
And then, darkness.
He placed a rough hand upon the bark of the large tree next to him. He could feel it's pain, feel it mourning for it's brothers. He could feel the rage of the earth beneath his feet. He knew what his mission was, but how to do it? He must remove them for certain, for they blocked the trails. Not only did they fortify their camp upon the main trail, standing mockingly in the way, but they attacked and robbed anyone who dared cross any of the other paths.
He knew his mission. For now, he would wait. He would observe, as much as it offended him. To defeat your enemy, you must know your enemy, and he knew this one more than he had ever wanted. He would wait, for at night they slept. He would wait, for they were lazy yet for but a few.
He would wait.
~~~
The moon was new that night, making the shadows easier to dance in. As the fires died, and the snores were born, he stalked. He was searching, for what? He knew. It was close. He had seen their kind before, but not close, not like this. They, like any creature, both a hive, or a single being, were destroyed in the same fashion. The mind. Destroy the mind, and the body falters. So he searched. He sought the mind of his enemy.
Just like any animal, any beast, these men kept their mind in the grandest of abodes. While the men slept in tents or on the earth, the mind rested in the comfort of a cabin. The cabin was guarded, by the fiercest of the bunch. These were beastmen, different than the rest. Their eyes did not need light, their noses sensitive. He knew this, and so he used it to his advantage. With the right ingredients, nature could provide the strongest of sedatives, as well as the most subtle. It was simple, a thin pouch. And when it was thrown the fumes of it's contents erupted into the air, causing the sentries to slip unconscious before they could even notice the dark figure approaching them.
With the sentries slumped over, deep in dreams. He took their keys and unlocked the door. He would have preferred a window, yet strangely enough this cabin only had one entry visible entry. As he slipped into the door, he readied himself. The room was dark, almost pitch black which caused him to feel his way through the short hall. He heard breathing, soft, regular... asleep. He approached the sleeper, closer, closer. His muscles taught, his senses on edge. He was close, his mission would be complete and order would be restored to his home. He knew. He was ready.
And suddenly, he was blinded. The contrast from pitch black to the radiant glow that now permeated the room sent his mind reeling. He turned away from the source of the light and saw the grinning face of his target, the mind of the parasites that plagued his home. He was tall, a beastman like his guards. His teeth where white and sharpened. He wore little, his body a large bulk of muscle and sinew.
And then, darkness.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Fly by
The hooves of his Palomino clumped noisily through the dry earth. On his right, steamy hot springs, and on his left, the dry, barren remains of hot springs long drained by the pump station in the distance. He scanned the horizon for any sign, but saw none.
As he rode, a heavy breeze against his back made him turn to see a large reptilian face staring into his own. It was all that he had to prevent from falling off of his horse while also keeping it from being spooked as a large crimson drake flew overhead. The grim passenger riding it turned and gave him a rotting smile.
He continued to ride on the edge, the albino sand flinging behind him in minor dust clouds as he eyed the flying drake and it's rider. Eventually, the drake vanished into the horizon. Relaxing slightly, he turned to his right and saw a pillar of smoke. Making a sharp right, his horse jumped from a small ledge and from his position he could see that which he sought.
A plane crash. Small craft, single passenger, alive thankfully. He padded the neck of his horse before approaching the lone pilot.
From one pilot to another, the day was starting to seem very interesting.
As he rode, a heavy breeze against his back made him turn to see a large reptilian face staring into his own. It was all that he had to prevent from falling off of his horse while also keeping it from being spooked as a large crimson drake flew overhead. The grim passenger riding it turned and gave him a rotting smile.
He continued to ride on the edge, the albino sand flinging behind him in minor dust clouds as he eyed the flying drake and it's rider. Eventually, the drake vanished into the horizon. Relaxing slightly, he turned to his right and saw a pillar of smoke. Making a sharp right, his horse jumped from a small ledge and from his position he could see that which he sought.
A plane crash. Small craft, single passenger, alive thankfully. He padded the neck of his horse before approaching the lone pilot.
From one pilot to another, the day was starting to seem very interesting.
Last Rites
A chill wind swept through them, Reckir grimaced as he turned to look at his companions. The Death Knight Thassarian, seemed unaware of the chill; his cold, glowing blue eyes scanning the top of the floating fortress, Naxxanar. Reckir's younger brother, Wilmarth, seemed to glow slightly, also hardly bothered by the cold. His eyes too scanned the area, fierce and unwavering.
Reckir sighed and stepped forward, "Let's do this Thassarian, it's now or never."
The three of them exchanged glances and nodded before walking up the southern staircase to the edge of the platform. Shortly after, a tall, grey-skinned elf in red garments stepped onto the platform from a staircase on the west side while a horrifying image walked into view from the eastern staircase.
The Lich King.
The brothers and their death knight companion readied their weapons and watched on in silence as the two evil beings exchanged words, seemingly unaware of their presence. The elf spoke, his voice quiet and slightly muffled by the large fang designed collar of his robe, "My liege, the infiltration and control of the Alliance power structure by our cultists is well underway."
The avatar of the Lich King rang out with his deep raspy voice as it replied, "Your progress in this region has been impressive, Blood Prince Valanar. I am pleased..."
"The power you've bestowed upon me has allowed me great mental influence over human minds. I bear these offerings as proof of my progress." added the elf, as he motioned behind him.
Two figures walked into view from the western staircase. The first was General Arlos, the man in charge of Valiance Keep, the location that Reckir and Wilmarth had been assigned to by Captain Adams. His one eye appeared dazed and he wavered as he walked. The second was a young woman with long, raven black hair that nearly covered her face.
"Leryssa!" Thassarian cried out as he ran forward, "What have you done to my sister, you motherless elf scum!?"
Valanar and the avatar of the Lich King both turned to face the trio. The Lich King seemed to smile from within his dark helmet as he taunted, "Now this is a surprise, Thassarian. I hadn't heard from Mograine or the other death knights for months. You've come to rejoin the Scourge, I take it?"
Thassarian's lip curled up into a furious snarl, " I would sooner slit my own throat. You will pay for what you did to your own men, Arthas... for what you did to me! I swear it."
The elf turned to the Lich King, his expression calm, yet it was obvious that the dark creature was eager to please, "Allow me to take care of the intruders, lord. I will feed their entrails to the maggots."
The image turned it's back to those gathered and spoke with dark purpose as it faded from sight, "Do not fail me, San'layn. Return to Icecrown with this fool's head or do not bother to return."
Once the image is gone completely, the elf turns to the trio, "Yes, my lord!" he cries out as he raises his hands to cast his spells.
Wilmarth sprung into action, casting protective magics upon Reckir. Thassarian and Reckir charged side by side, their weapons drawn. The elf lifted his staff to deflect the oncoming blows, and then thrust his free hand forward, launching a bolt of blood at Thassarian's chest. Thassarian was knocked back a few paces while Reckir lifted his Axe up high to swing it down violently on the elf's exposed back.
Valanar spun around with his staff, sweeping out Reckir's legs from under him. As Reckir laid on his back exposed, Valanar channeled his energy and cast out beams of pink light that shot at the three attackers. Reckir glanced behind Valanar and saw Wilmarth charging his power into his weapon as he rushed to Reckir's aid. "No Wil! Don't strike!"
But it was too late, as Wilmarth swung his weapon upward, the field of energy around Valanar absorbed the force of the attack and redirected it back at it's wielder. A large slash tore open Wilmarth's chest and sent him flying back to the edge of the platform. "WIL!" Reckir cried out.
"Pitiful... just pitiful." Valanar sneered as he stopped channeling the field and turned to face Thassarian.
Reckir stared at the lifeless form of his younger brother before turning his hateful gaze onto the elf. With a roar, he leapt to his feet and hefting his axe high, he charged at the elf. Thassarian lunged with his twin runeblades from the opposite end, dismembering the Blood Prince.
"What... what happened to me?" with the Blood Prince dead, General Arlos and Leryssa sprung to life, "Ugh! My head won't stop spinning..." Arlos mumbled as he slumped to the floor, unconcious.
"Thassarian, you're alive!" Leryssa yelled as she rushed to her brother's side.
As the woman and her death knight brother exchanged words, Reckir stepped numbingly towards the fresh corpse of his brother. He fell to his knees, red fury showing in his face. "Wil..." he mumbled to himself, dropping his axe at his side.
Just then, a swirl of warm air and leaves swirled about Reckir's body, removing his fatigue and recovering his wounds. Bewildered, Reckir glanced around to see a tree waving it's branches around at the southern staircase. Another death knight, his face hidden beneath his helm stood at the tree's side. The tree wore several trinkets, and had a face etched into it's bark. As the tree finished casting it's spell, a cough was heard from behind Reckir.
"WIL!" Reckir roared, helping his brother to his feet.
Wilmarth looked down at his sundered armor, "This is going to be expensive..."
Reckir laughed and punched Wilmarth in the shoulder. The brothers then walked up to the tree, which was a shapeshifted Druidic healer, and offered their thanks. The tree and his companion nodded before the death knight added, "Seems you took care of the problem for us, it's the least we could do."
Reckir and Wilmarth nodded before turning to see how Thassarian fared. Laryssa was crying but stared at her brother with reverence as he walked towards Reckir and Wilmarth. "You did well, my friends. I was hoping to leave my sister out of all of this. Thanks to you she is alive and well.
Reckir sighed and stepped forward, "Let's do this Thassarian, it's now or never."
The three of them exchanged glances and nodded before walking up the southern staircase to the edge of the platform. Shortly after, a tall, grey-skinned elf in red garments stepped onto the platform from a staircase on the west side while a horrifying image walked into view from the eastern staircase.
The Lich King.
The brothers and their death knight companion readied their weapons and watched on in silence as the two evil beings exchanged words, seemingly unaware of their presence. The elf spoke, his voice quiet and slightly muffled by the large fang designed collar of his robe, "My liege, the infiltration and control of the Alliance power structure by our cultists is well underway."
The avatar of the Lich King rang out with his deep raspy voice as it replied, "Your progress in this region has been impressive, Blood Prince Valanar. I am pleased..."
"The power you've bestowed upon me has allowed me great mental influence over human minds. I bear these offerings as proof of my progress." added the elf, as he motioned behind him.
Two figures walked into view from the western staircase. The first was General Arlos, the man in charge of Valiance Keep, the location that Reckir and Wilmarth had been assigned to by Captain Adams. His one eye appeared dazed and he wavered as he walked. The second was a young woman with long, raven black hair that nearly covered her face.
"Leryssa!" Thassarian cried out as he ran forward, "What have you done to my sister, you motherless elf scum!?"
Valanar and the avatar of the Lich King both turned to face the trio. The Lich King seemed to smile from within his dark helmet as he taunted, "Now this is a surprise, Thassarian. I hadn't heard from Mograine or the other death knights for months. You've come to rejoin the Scourge, I take it?"
Thassarian's lip curled up into a furious snarl, " I would sooner slit my own throat. You will pay for what you did to your own men, Arthas... for what you did to me! I swear it."
The elf turned to the Lich King, his expression calm, yet it was obvious that the dark creature was eager to please, "Allow me to take care of the intruders, lord. I will feed their entrails to the maggots."
The image turned it's back to those gathered and spoke with dark purpose as it faded from sight, "Do not fail me, San'layn. Return to Icecrown with this fool's head or do not bother to return."
Once the image is gone completely, the elf turns to the trio, "Yes, my lord!" he cries out as he raises his hands to cast his spells.
Wilmarth sprung into action, casting protective magics upon Reckir. Thassarian and Reckir charged side by side, their weapons drawn. The elf lifted his staff to deflect the oncoming blows, and then thrust his free hand forward, launching a bolt of blood at Thassarian's chest. Thassarian was knocked back a few paces while Reckir lifted his Axe up high to swing it down violently on the elf's exposed back.
Valanar spun around with his staff, sweeping out Reckir's legs from under him. As Reckir laid on his back exposed, Valanar channeled his energy and cast out beams of pink light that shot at the three attackers. Reckir glanced behind Valanar and saw Wilmarth charging his power into his weapon as he rushed to Reckir's aid. "No Wil! Don't strike!"
But it was too late, as Wilmarth swung his weapon upward, the field of energy around Valanar absorbed the force of the attack and redirected it back at it's wielder. A large slash tore open Wilmarth's chest and sent him flying back to the edge of the platform. "WIL!" Reckir cried out.
"Pitiful... just pitiful." Valanar sneered as he stopped channeling the field and turned to face Thassarian.
Reckir stared at the lifeless form of his younger brother before turning his hateful gaze onto the elf. With a roar, he leapt to his feet and hefting his axe high, he charged at the elf. Thassarian lunged with his twin runeblades from the opposite end, dismembering the Blood Prince.
"What... what happened to me?" with the Blood Prince dead, General Arlos and Leryssa sprung to life, "Ugh! My head won't stop spinning..." Arlos mumbled as he slumped to the floor, unconcious.
"Thassarian, you're alive!" Leryssa yelled as she rushed to her brother's side.
As the woman and her death knight brother exchanged words, Reckir stepped numbingly towards the fresh corpse of his brother. He fell to his knees, red fury showing in his face. "Wil..." he mumbled to himself, dropping his axe at his side.
Just then, a swirl of warm air and leaves swirled about Reckir's body, removing his fatigue and recovering his wounds. Bewildered, Reckir glanced around to see a tree waving it's branches around at the southern staircase. Another death knight, his face hidden beneath his helm stood at the tree's side. The tree wore several trinkets, and had a face etched into it's bark. As the tree finished casting it's spell, a cough was heard from behind Reckir.
"WIL!" Reckir roared, helping his brother to his feet.
Wilmarth looked down at his sundered armor, "This is going to be expensive..."
Reckir laughed and punched Wilmarth in the shoulder. The brothers then walked up to the tree, which was a shapeshifted Druidic healer, and offered their thanks. The tree and his companion nodded before the death knight added, "Seems you took care of the problem for us, it's the least we could do."
Reckir and Wilmarth nodded before turning to see how Thassarian fared. Laryssa was crying but stared at her brother with reverence as he walked towards Reckir and Wilmarth. "You did well, my friends. I was hoping to leave my sister out of all of this. Thanks to you she is alive and well.
My obligations to my king and my army have been fulfilled. It is clear I'm not welcome among my comrades anymore. I will have to find my own way, fighting no wars but my own and following no orders but my heart's.
Perhaps we shall meet again. Until then, know that you will always have my gratitude."
The three exchanged salutes and grim stares. They knew this was the beginning. The war was far from over.
The Wrath of the Lich King had only just begun.
NOTE: The characters Reckir, Wilmarth and the Druid and Death Knight companion are original. However, the events are an interpretation of the events that occur while playing through
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Alchemist
"A Homonculus. That is impossible, Reynard!"
"Difficult. Not impossible, sir." Reynard replied calmly.
Reynard was a man of his tribe, the tribe of the Twin Goddesses. As were most of his people born under the moon of the elder sister, his hair was a light blue and his eyes were like ice. He adjusted his glasses, as they were hanging loosely on the bridge of his nose.
"If you can acquire a Mandrake root, the process described in the Book--" Reynard began.
"A section that is deemed forbidden! We do not make Homonculi, Reynard!" the man argued, attempting to quell his rage.
"Why is it forbidden, sir?" Reynard asked quietly.
"Because it is a power that our world is not ready to wield. Not yet." The man said, his tone final.
"I understand." Reynard said simply.
"Be gone then, and no more talk of these Homonculi, my pupil." The man commanded with a wave of his hand.
Reynard stood from his seating, adjusting his apprentice's robe slightly before leaving the chamber. We do not make Homonculi, Reynard! His master's words still rang in his ears, yet he was not convinced. A homonculi could be made, and due to his resourcefulness, Reynard knew exactly how it could be done. He tried to seek permission from his master, but to no avail.
It didn't matter. It was a formality anyway.
Reynard moved at a relaxed pace through the hall to his chamber. Other students and various servants, although scarce at this hour, busied themselves about their duties. He resisted rushing to his room, he didn't want any more attention than he usually recieved. Relax, there's plenty of time. he thought to himself.
His chamber, upon entering, was pitch black. Holding his staff aloft in his right hand, he waved his left around the room. Flames sprung to life in their sconces, illuminating the room. After checking the lock on his door, he rushed to his desk, making sure to carefully set his staff against the wall before taking a seat in a comfortable chair.
Upon the desk was an old book, tattered and worn. Sheafs of paper were stuffed haphazardly between various pages, giving the book an even more bedraggled appearance. Gingerly opening the tome, he leafed through the pages until arriving at the one which he saught. Along the top of the page, in the old language, was written the word Mandrake. Reynard afforded himself a grin as he set to work.
~~
The torch burst into flames, causing a young man to cough.
"Easy, Gideon. Don't die on me, now." Reynard said, handing the torch over.
Gideon took the torch meekly, his wrist and hands appearing frail as they emerge from the sleeve of his baggy robe. Gideon strengthened his grip by holding the torch with his other hand, holding it just high enough so he could see further without blinding himself.
"Are you sure about this, my friend?" Reynard asked, his voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore.
"If there's a possibility it can work, it should be worth the risk." Gideon replied, offering Reynard a meek smile.
Reynard nodded and turned, as he begun to walk he called out, "I'll leave it to you then."
Gideon nodded and proceeded down the tunnel, holding the torch with his rapidly draining strength. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached a large cavern. The roof had broken, so that moonlight shone inside. In the center of the moonlight, a clutter of various plants and vegetables were growing.
Gideon walked towards the cavern garden with determination. He secured the torch in a sconce near the entrance, and walked closer towards the moonlit garden. Upon arriving at the plant of his choice, he dropped to his knees and pulled a spade out from a pouch slung about his shoulders. As his vision became light, and his eyes became heavy he began to dig, dig, dig.
After some time, Gideon rose to his feet, taking a moment to drink some water from his flask. Getting a second wind, he walked away from his work and walked over to the torch hanging at the entrance. After one final swig, he poured the flask over the torch, dousing it.
With the cavern being illuminated by nothing but the moonlight, Gideon approached the site of his work, where he had dug. Falling to his knees, he looked into the sky, at the twin moons, "Thank you, Goddesses."
He then bowed his head, and reached for the plant... and pulled.
~~
Reynard stood on the hillside, with the cavern a good distance away. He watched the light flicker and glow within the mouth of the cave. He watched the light and shadows dance and move, jump and glide, until finally there was darkness. At that moment, a strange feeling gripped at Reynard. He clenched his jaw before approaching the cave.
Upon entering, he stared at the sight before him. Gideon was hunched over, bits of earth scattered about him. Reynard approached his friend, stopping a couple feet away. He glanced up at the twin moons, still visible from the opening, and gave a silent prayer. He then took his staff and prodded Gideon in the ribs. The frail figure moved aside with little resistance, and Reynard took a step back as he stared upon what he saw in cold horror.
Gideon's eyes and mouth hung wide open, staring at Reynard with a cold, unfeeling stare. Reynard, steeling himself, pulled a sack from his satchel and scooped up the plant Gideon had unearthed, stuffing it within the sack, and the sack within the satchel. Reynard then knelt before his friend, drawing a silver dagger from a sheath attached to the satchel. With a slice, Gideon's blood began to flow freely.
After taking a vial full of Gideon's blood, Reynard got to his feet swiftly, placing the vial carefully within it's place in the satchel. He turned, breathing heavily into the mask, Gideon at his back. Reynard took a step forward, and then stopped.
Reynard turned back to Gideon and knelt at his side. With a gloved hand, he closed Gideon's eyes and mouth, nodding another silent prayer to the Goddesses above. Reynard then stood to his feet, and gripping his staff firmly, he slammed the staff into the ground.
Gideon began to float, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Reynard turned to the exit and walked out silently, Gideon floating behind him. Once outside, Reynard slammed the staff again, this time, a large gap opening in the earth. Reynard raised his left hand towards Gideon, and then slowly lowered it. Gideon slowly lowering into the gap in line with Reynard's hand. Once inside, Reynard slammed the staff a final time, and the earth closed around Gideon. Thank you... my friend. Reynard thought to himself. He would not let his friend's sacrifice go to waste.
~~~~
Reynard stood before a large construct, about two feet taller than himself. It was fashioned out of a modified suit of armor that the guards wore, a balance between extravagent and competant. The chestpiece had been modified so it swung open like a door hinge in the center. The door was swung wide open, with runes etched into all the surfaces within the chamber.
Reynard dipped his gloved hands into a small container, and pulled out a bloodsoaked object. He then thrust the object within the chamber of the construct before withdrawing his hands and slamming the door shut with his elbow. He stood upon a stepladder and using his elbow, he swung upward the facecover for the helm of the construct. Using his bloody hands, he wrote a word in the old language on the inside of the helm. He stepped down from the stepladder, taking a moment to wash his hands and removed the gloves which he wore. Grabbing his staff in his right hand, and securing his ring on his left, he used the staff to close the faceguard of the helm, and with his left hand, he slammed down on the chest of the construct.
~~~~
Rain poured down violently from the stormy sky, causing the road to become muddy which in turn hindered the progress of the old carriage. As the muddy road turned to stone, the carriage approached a large open steel gate and a series of crimson banners. The carriage then proceeded through avenues of large buildings and pedestrians; bald beggars, plump merchants, and crimson-haired scaliwags.
The carriage stopped before a moderate sized building that looked to be in disrepair, but was solid. The driver hopped down from his seat at the front of the carriage and opened the door to the carriage with his left hand. "We're home, my friend."
A single light shone from within the dark confines of the carriage, and a meek voice called out, "Home?"
The driver took a step back from the carriage, standing beneath a covering that was erected in front of the entrance to the building. As the occupant of the carriage took his time to exit, the driver took a moment to remove his hat, shaking his blue hair free. Reynard looked up at the armored construct, with the two glowing eyes, and nodded. "Yes, Gideon. We're home."
"Difficult. Not impossible, sir." Reynard replied calmly.
Reynard was a man of his tribe, the tribe of the Twin Goddesses. As were most of his people born under the moon of the elder sister, his hair was a light blue and his eyes were like ice. He adjusted his glasses, as they were hanging loosely on the bridge of his nose.
"If you can acquire a Mandrake root, the process described in the Book--" Reynard began.
"A section that is deemed forbidden! We do not make Homonculi, Reynard!" the man argued, attempting to quell his rage.
"Why is it forbidden, sir?" Reynard asked quietly.
"Because it is a power that our world is not ready to wield. Not yet." The man said, his tone final.
"I understand." Reynard said simply.
"Be gone then, and no more talk of these Homonculi, my pupil." The man commanded with a wave of his hand.
Reynard stood from his seating, adjusting his apprentice's robe slightly before leaving the chamber. We do not make Homonculi, Reynard! His master's words still rang in his ears, yet he was not convinced. A homonculi could be made, and due to his resourcefulness, Reynard knew exactly how it could be done. He tried to seek permission from his master, but to no avail.
It didn't matter. It was a formality anyway.
Reynard moved at a relaxed pace through the hall to his chamber. Other students and various servants, although scarce at this hour, busied themselves about their duties. He resisted rushing to his room, he didn't want any more attention than he usually recieved. Relax, there's plenty of time. he thought to himself.
His chamber, upon entering, was pitch black. Holding his staff aloft in his right hand, he waved his left around the room. Flames sprung to life in their sconces, illuminating the room. After checking the lock on his door, he rushed to his desk, making sure to carefully set his staff against the wall before taking a seat in a comfortable chair.
Upon the desk was an old book, tattered and worn. Sheafs of paper were stuffed haphazardly between various pages, giving the book an even more bedraggled appearance. Gingerly opening the tome, he leafed through the pages until arriving at the one which he saught. Along the top of the page, in the old language, was written the word Mandrake. Reynard afforded himself a grin as he set to work.
~~
The torch burst into flames, causing a young man to cough.
"Easy, Gideon. Don't die on me, now." Reynard said, handing the torch over.
Gideon took the torch meekly, his wrist and hands appearing frail as they emerge from the sleeve of his baggy robe. Gideon strengthened his grip by holding the torch with his other hand, holding it just high enough so he could see further without blinding himself.
"Are you sure about this, my friend?" Reynard asked, his voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore.
"If there's a possibility it can work, it should be worth the risk." Gideon replied, offering Reynard a meek smile.
Reynard nodded and turned, as he begun to walk he called out, "I'll leave it to you then."
Gideon nodded and proceeded down the tunnel, holding the torch with his rapidly draining strength. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached a large cavern. The roof had broken, so that moonlight shone inside. In the center of the moonlight, a clutter of various plants and vegetables were growing.
Gideon walked towards the cavern garden with determination. He secured the torch in a sconce near the entrance, and walked closer towards the moonlit garden. Upon arriving at the plant of his choice, he dropped to his knees and pulled a spade out from a pouch slung about his shoulders. As his vision became light, and his eyes became heavy he began to dig, dig, dig.
After some time, Gideon rose to his feet, taking a moment to drink some water from his flask. Getting a second wind, he walked away from his work and walked over to the torch hanging at the entrance. After one final swig, he poured the flask over the torch, dousing it.
With the cavern being illuminated by nothing but the moonlight, Gideon approached the site of his work, where he had dug. Falling to his knees, he looked into the sky, at the twin moons, "Thank you, Goddesses."
He then bowed his head, and reached for the plant... and pulled.
~~
Reynard stood on the hillside, with the cavern a good distance away. He watched the light flicker and glow within the mouth of the cave. He watched the light and shadows dance and move, jump and glide, until finally there was darkness. At that moment, a strange feeling gripped at Reynard. He clenched his jaw before approaching the cave.
Upon entering, he stared at the sight before him. Gideon was hunched over, bits of earth scattered about him. Reynard approached his friend, stopping a couple feet away. He glanced up at the twin moons, still visible from the opening, and gave a silent prayer. He then took his staff and prodded Gideon in the ribs. The frail figure moved aside with little resistance, and Reynard took a step back as he stared upon what he saw in cold horror.
Gideon's eyes and mouth hung wide open, staring at Reynard with a cold, unfeeling stare. Reynard, steeling himself, pulled a sack from his satchel and scooped up the plant Gideon had unearthed, stuffing it within the sack, and the sack within the satchel. Reynard then knelt before his friend, drawing a silver dagger from a sheath attached to the satchel. With a slice, Gideon's blood began to flow freely.
After taking a vial full of Gideon's blood, Reynard got to his feet swiftly, placing the vial carefully within it's place in the satchel. He turned, breathing heavily into the mask, Gideon at his back. Reynard took a step forward, and then stopped.
Reynard turned back to Gideon and knelt at his side. With a gloved hand, he closed Gideon's eyes and mouth, nodding another silent prayer to the Goddesses above. Reynard then stood to his feet, and gripping his staff firmly, he slammed the staff into the ground.
Gideon began to float, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Reynard turned to the exit and walked out silently, Gideon floating behind him. Once outside, Reynard slammed the staff again, this time, a large gap opening in the earth. Reynard raised his left hand towards Gideon, and then slowly lowered it. Gideon slowly lowering into the gap in line with Reynard's hand. Once inside, Reynard slammed the staff a final time, and the earth closed around Gideon. Thank you... my friend. Reynard thought to himself. He would not let his friend's sacrifice go to waste.
~~~~
Reynard stood before a large construct, about two feet taller than himself. It was fashioned out of a modified suit of armor that the guards wore, a balance between extravagent and competant. The chestpiece had been modified so it swung open like a door hinge in the center. The door was swung wide open, with runes etched into all the surfaces within the chamber.
Reynard dipped his gloved hands into a small container, and pulled out a bloodsoaked object. He then thrust the object within the chamber of the construct before withdrawing his hands and slamming the door shut with his elbow. He stood upon a stepladder and using his elbow, he swung upward the facecover for the helm of the construct. Using his bloody hands, he wrote a word in the old language on the inside of the helm. He stepped down from the stepladder, taking a moment to wash his hands and removed the gloves which he wore. Grabbing his staff in his right hand, and securing his ring on his left, he used the staff to close the faceguard of the helm, and with his left hand, he slammed down on the chest of the construct.
~~~~
Rain poured down violently from the stormy sky, causing the road to become muddy which in turn hindered the progress of the old carriage. As the muddy road turned to stone, the carriage approached a large open steel gate and a series of crimson banners. The carriage then proceeded through avenues of large buildings and pedestrians; bald beggars, plump merchants, and crimson-haired scaliwags.
The carriage stopped before a moderate sized building that looked to be in disrepair, but was solid. The driver hopped down from his seat at the front of the carriage and opened the door to the carriage with his left hand. "We're home, my friend."
A single light shone from within the dark confines of the carriage, and a meek voice called out, "Home?"
The driver took a step back from the carriage, standing beneath a covering that was erected in front of the entrance to the building. As the occupant of the carriage took his time to exit, the driver took a moment to remove his hat, shaking his blue hair free. Reynard looked up at the armored construct, with the two glowing eyes, and nodded. "Yes, Gideon. We're home."
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