Finals Time!

Hoo yeah, these last two weeks of the semester have been brutal. I do plan on posting more once winter break hits, but until then my life is consumed by final projects. HAVE AT THEE, HISTORY PAPER!

Shifting Sands ~ Chapter 3

The village, when they found it, was in shambles. The marks on the ground made it painfully obvious that the horsemen had ridden straight through the camp.

"Lucha, I'm... I'm sorry." The Aldryn watched with watering eyes as the Rahmi girl solemnly strode through the burning wreck that had been her village just two hours prior. Corpses of both Rahmi and the mysterious raiders were strewn among the rubble. Khalise took a moment to examine their foes. Their armor was strange, to say the least. All black, badly scuffed, and not an emblem or marking on any of them. There was no uniform look to them, either -- asymmetrical wedges of what could have been obsidian stuck out at odd angles, and chips of metal were wedged chaotically into the plating. It also looked as though none of them ever bothered to wash the blood from their armor or weapons. Their jet-black helmets completely covered their faces, with only a slit carved in them for the eyes.

Among the dead were the bodies of a few hulking wyverns. Khalise smiled faintly as he imagined big bad Fuers staring down an onrushing wyvern, his ungainly battle axe ready for a decapitating vertical blow.

'The poor fools didn't realize what they were getting into when they came here...'

He rolled one of the dead raiders onto its back and attempted to remove its helmet, but the carapace wouldn't budge. Puzzled, Khalise grabbed a spear from the ground and wedged it into the crease between the soldier's helmet and breastplate. With a great effort, he wrenched the handle of the spear downward and felt the helmet pop off. He turned, expecting to see the face of their enemies, and started. There was the helmet, completely empty and rolling on the dirt a few feet away... but there was no head sitting atop the metal plating. He dropped to his hands and knees and peered into the empty neck of the armor, then, taking a deep breath, he reached inside.

Nothing. He felt nothing at all. It was as if the suit of armor had animated itself. But... Khalise was sure he had seen eyes -- red, glaring eyes -- looking at him from beneath the helmet of the rider that had tried to spear Lucha during their escape. He couldn't make heads or tails of the situation, so he turned his back on the disembodied armor and began to scavenge for what supplies he could find among the wreckage, specifically some of the healing salve he knew the Rahmis always kept in good supply. He found some inside the smoldering ruins of a hut and gingerly applied it to the gash in the back of his knee. It stung, but Khalise knew from experience that the herbs would do wonders in helping the wound close.

As he exited the hut, a soft sobbing noise reached his ears, and he picked his way around the rubble and the bodies to where Lucha sat, tears streaming down her face. Khalise cringed as he realized the ravaged building she had collapsed in front of was her house. She looked up as Khalise approached and shook her head.

"Mother..."

Khalise bowed his head. Alma had been the kindest person Khalise had ever known; she didn't deserve such a fate.

"Come on Lucha, she deserves a proper burial at least."

*****

Ten minutes later, the two stood at the head of a hastily-dug grave, a makeshift wooden cross sticking out of the desolate ground. Neither said anything; they simply stood there as the wind whipped sand against their faces and the smoke from the burning village stung their eyes. Khalise looked over at Lucha and noticed her tear-stained face begin to flush red. Her clenched fists were trembling, but she wasn't crying. With a sudden resolve, she lifted her head and stared into Khalise's silvery eyes.

"I hate them, Khalise. I don't even know who they are, but I hate them. They're murderers! How dare they come here?! My people were always peaceful!"

"I know," the Aldryn said, putting his hand on Lucha's shoulder. "I promise you, I won't let them get away with this."

"Father is still out there," she said suddenly, "I just know it."

Khalise nodded. "He's still out there, and he's still fighting." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, extending his consciousness again. He still could not sense the mysterious raiders, but there was a frenzy of activity to the east. "Lucha. I feel something... It's coming from the Khas-Kavan village. I sense fighting -- your father and the other survivors might be there."

She stared at him, a cold, hard stare. He knew what she was thinking, so in response he turned and strode into the remains of the Rahmi village. He emerged a moment later holding a worn shortsword, an oak bow, and a bundle of the rider's arrows. He thrust them all into Lucha's arms.

"I'm not like your father, Lucha; I'm not going to tell you not to fight. I know you can use those." He smirked as he saw a flash of confidence in the young woman's eyes. "But that doesn't give you permission to be reckless, understand? I want you to stay near me at all times." She nodded.

Now it was Lucha's turn to dash into the ruined village. She reappeared decked out in the traditional leather armor of her tribe. The suit was a little big on her, but she wore it well nonetheless. With her new sword holstered at her waist and the quiver of arrows on her back, she looked like a true Rahmi warrior.

Khalise smiled at the sight, then transformed and signaled Lucha to climb onto his back.

~Let's go. If Fuers is still alive and fighting alongside the Khas-Kavans, he's going to need our help -- soon.~

Shifting Sands ~ Chapter 2

A short chapter, to introduce the third main character.


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Inside a small house on the outskirts of Delios, Malyk gazed out his window. He sighed and unconsciously ran a hand through the mess of blue hair atop his head. He hated the feel of it; he preferred scales to fur any day, but having been exiled to live among the Humans, he had been forced to adopt their visage. The people of Delios certainly knew Malyk was a Dragon -- his pointed ears, sharp teeth, and almond-shaped eyes gave it away -- but as long as he kept to himself and stayed in Human form, they wouldn't say anything.

'They're so terrified of Dragons, they won't even give me a chance, for fear I might suddenly decide to flame-broil them. Though, Spirit knows that some days I want to.' He had hated these Humans since day one. He glanced down, and his eyes rested on the large brand on his right shoulder, shaped like a Human with Dragon's wings -- the symbol of an Aldryn. With a pang of guilt, he realized that his Dragon brethren were more or less the same as the ignorant apes. The brand signified that he was no longer considered a part of the Dragon tribes... exiled forever.

'I'm no better than a lowsy Aldryn...'

He pulled on his cloak and stepped outside to stare off at the horizon, in the direction he knew his beloved Tundara Mountains lay, somewhere far in the distance. Sighing again, Malyk turned around, and stopped short.

'What in the world......?' Hovering in the sky behind his house, in addition to the sun low in the sky, the moon stood out bright and clear. Normally, this would not have been too strange an occurrence, but today, it was about twelve times its normal size, and shaded a light pink. Malyk blinked and rubbed his eyes. Still there.

'Okay, I'm finally losing my mind,' he thought, and turned to go back inside.

Some background

Alrighty, before I continue with the story, I figured I'd post this little tidbit. Just a bit of background information on the races that may crop up in Shifting Sands.


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A brief overview of the races that inhabit Seredel:

Humans -- Humans are by far the most populous of the races, inhabiting a vast majority of the world, from Palmira to Rednell, and everywhere in between. Next to the Aldryn, they are the youngest race to inhabit Seredel, yet the most vain, and their evolution has brought nothing but conflict to the world.

Dragons -- Dragons are intelligent, bipedal, and covered with a thick hide that once rendered them impervious to most weapons. But as skirmishes broke out between Dragons and Humans, the Humans began to develop new, sharper weapons that would pierce this hide. Obsidian is the most commonly-used material for these weapons, as it slices through Dragonskin like butter. Next to Avelords, Dragons are the eldest and wisest race on Seredel, and can live for hundreds of years. Standing at about double the height of an average Human, they are formidable creatures, and can support this image with their immense strength and the ability to breathe fire. Because of this ability, Dragons do not have vocal cords like other creatures, instead communicating through a form of telepathy in which they can "speak" their thoughts to those around them, or focus the thought and have a private conversation with an individual. Dragons also have the ability to morph into a Humanoid form, though they are easily distinguishable from real Humans, and do not use this skill often. It was developed during a time when Draco-Human relations were much better, but over the years, the Humans grew greedy, vain, and materialistic, and Dragons now see Humans as inferior beings. They are extremely proud creatures, and will not hesitate to exile one of their own for the slightest offenses to their race.

Aldryn -- An Aldryn is the commonly-used term to describe the strange creatures that are crosses between two races. They have no true form, instead somehow inhabiting two bodies at once, and changing between them at will. Slight imperfections make an Aldryn just barely discernible from the real thing, usually a pair of glistening, pupil-less eyes. The most common form of Aldryn is that of a Dragon/Human; there are, however, many different kinds of Aldryn, each a specific cross between two of Seredel's races, and therefore each with a different set of traits. The Aldryn arrived on the scene during the Great Draco-Human War, unwittingly ending the conflict by giving the two races common ground  in their mutual hatred of the new arrivals -- the strange cross between two very different races made the Humans envious and the Dragons disturbed. Aldryn are commonly seen as monstrosities, though they are highly intelligent and more in tune with the natural world than any other race.

Elves -- The Elves of Seredel are not the fair creatures of lore; these Elves are sinister, vile beings that live in the deep forests and dark caves of the land. Though roughly Human in appearance, they have dark, wrinkled skin and fangs like a vampire's. They are both proud and vicious, and will not hesitate to attack any non-Elf that strays into their midst. The Forest Elves and Cave Elves have been at war for as long as anyone can remember, each seeing the other as a gross misrepresentation of their race. They have also been known to tame wyverns: creatures similar to Dragons, though they walk on four legs, are unable to breathe fire, and are by no means as intelligent. In effect, wyverns are simply flying horses.

Makarai -- Dive deep below Seredel's oceans and you may stumble across a settlement of Makarai. They are almost shark-like in appearance, with a tubular body and rows of razor-sharp fangs, though with long fins that act as arms and a bulbous head almost resembling that of a Human. Their body is covered in a slimy film that lets them slide through the water at astounding speeds. They are a hideous yet peaceful race, though interaction between them and any other species is rare; a Makar has the ability to breathe above water for a short period of time (similar to any other creature holding their breath underwater), but for the most part, they prefer to remain safe in their villages at the bottom of the sea. The Makarai are the only race on Seredel that does not speak Serenese, instead communicating through a series of high-pitched whistles, almost similar to the noises of dolphins.

Avelords -- Birdlike and the size of a crow, Avelords have long wings that, when spread, nearly double the length of their bodies. From behind they can be mistaken for a common bird, but not from the front, for they have snouts instead of beaks. They come in a variety of mostly soft hues -- purples, blues, blacks -- the exact shade denoting how long the Avelord has been alive; they can live for thousands of years, and every century or so they molt, slightly changing the color of their plumage. They are the wisest and most knowledgeable creatures on the planet, with a love for storytelling. As such, they have become the historians of Seredel, though none of their stories have ever been written down, as Avelords have a tremendous memory (and wings aren't very conducive to writing). Very few Avelords are still alive; they have become almost mythological, though one does pop up every now and then.

Shadow People -- The dark and mysterious Shadow People live in the most perilous terrain in Seredel, places where no other beings dare to tread. It is not even known what they are actually called; "Shadow People" is simply the name given to them by the few explorers who have happened to stumble across them, so given because of the fact that they are, indeed, living shadows. They appear to have no solid form, looking literally like animated shadows. They prefer to remain secluded, and for this reason almost nothing is known about them.

And the winner is...

A huge thank you to the six people who voted. You guys are awesome. Anyway, it looks like Shifting Sands is the one you wanna see, so that will be the one that I start posting. I've got plenty of time over Thanksgiving break, so I'm gonna get it going this weekend. I'll leave the poll up for kicks, anyway.


Stay tuned!

Create Inn ~ Chapters 1 & 2

Create Inn is the brainchild of James Levi Jr., known better to some as Rust. He has graciously given me permission to post the story on the blog; unless otherwise noted, all parts from Warren's point of view were written by him.

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LETTER OF INTRODUCTION


To whom it may concern,

Hello! My name is Baranbull; it is such a pleasure to finally be in contact with a master of creativity such as yourself. I have heard much about you, oh yes. I would prefer to make this letter a bit more personal, however I am a very enterprising man, you see. The Innmaster of the Create Inn never has time for relaxation! It is a busy job, but one that I pride above all else. But enough of that; you may be wondering who I am? But I have just told you! I am the Innmaster of the Create Inn, the one venue where a person's creativity can come to life at a mere thought, harnessed through the power of their tools of the trade, and crafted with the fine precision expected from superb individuals such as yourself.

I do imagine that you are very confused about all this, but your curiosity is getting the better of you. That is another reason that you have been culled from the masses: your imagination can run rampant through this world and the next! I tell you, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Many would kill for this chance, and many have certainly tried (but to no avail, allow me to assure you)! Here, at the Create Inn, we do exactly that: Create.

You will conceive a new world, completely at your whim, while we personally cater to your every need. No outward distractions, just the most perfect - and I mean perfect - canvas in which to paint. Or the best ink in which to scribe your world, your very thoughts running across the parchment and into the ambiance around you. Let your notes of song transform into reality, invoking beauty in their wake. Or perhaps even sculpt the land with your very own hands! The possibilities are immeasurable here at the Create Inn, and so, without further ado, I will arrive at the point.

With new technology that can only be found at the Create Inn, your every thought can physically manifest itself, creating a corporeal world that was previously available only in your wildest fantasies.

Enclosed in this letter is an airline ticket. You were selected because you are, as I have stated, a superb individual in the face of ingenuity. So I invite you to the Create Inn, whether you be Writer, Storyteller, Dancer or Musician, Artist of Paint or Ink, or even Architect or Sculptor.

I welcome you to the Create Inn, where your imagination will soar to the highest peaks of perfection...

Sincerely,

Your Innmaster, Ahri Baranbull

CHAPTER ONE

Warren Fox stared down at his first meal at the Create Inn in awe. He had reached the Inn only minutes before, and he was already being treated like royalty! Roasted duck, thick sirloin steaks, pork, brown rice, mashed and sweet potatoes, three kinds of gravy, and several different fruits and vegetables were all spread out on the table before him. Warren was in heaven, just as the letter seemed to have promised him. He couldn't believe this was real; there had to be a catch.

The 26-year-old sculptor was tall, nearing the 6'3" mark, and lanky. He wasn't skinny, exactly, he just had long arms and legs that seemed disproportional for his tall frame. He hardly saw it as a problem, himself; all of his clothes, such as the dark two-piece suit he was wearing, were custom-tailored to his measurements. He was staring hungrily at the table as he licked his lips, savoring the smell of the food. They must have the best cook in the world here. Strong, lithe fingers reached for his knife and fork. He grasped them with a firm grip; they were heavy. Warren wouldn't have been surprised to hear that they were made out of pure silver. Placing the silverware back down, he reached up and rand his fingers through his well-kept, if somewhat greasy, brown hair. He couldn't eat yet, not without their host present. If nothing else, his mother taught him manners. Instead, he let his green eyes roam the extravagant dining room.

The place was simply beautiful. The floor was made of a glossy gray stone that Warren could see was nearly a perfect slab of marble. He didn't dare move his chair, in fear of scuffing such a beautiful floor. The wallpaper was navy blue, very generic, yet it seemed to fit perfectly. Turning his eyes to the table, he noticed how painstakingly careful its creator had been. It was made of a dark wood, possibly Mahogany, though Warren wasn't sure. Resting on top of the table was a sheet of glass, under which was pure beauty: an amazingly detailed carving of the Gods of Olympus.

And that wasn't even all that was in the room. The walls were lined with the busts of famous leaders: Napoleon, Alexander the Great, and Genghis Khan, to name a few. They were made of a pure white stone; alabaster, perhaps? The mineral made a great canvas for a chisel, and Warren had always wanted to work with it. His attention then turned to the far side dining hall. There was a short platform spanning the width of the room. Atop this platform was a small podium from which someone (presumably Baranbull) could address them. Finally, his eyes reached the ceiling. Unexpectedly, it was glass! Crystal clear, too. He could see the clouds floating lazily by, the moon in plain view even though the sky was still blue.

Absentmindedly, Warren pulled the invitation from his pocket. Everything about it seemed high class: the scrawling script, the soft paper, the wax seal and emblem. He remembered when he first received it. His roommate Alyssa (a completely platonic relationship, of course) had brought the letter to his workshop, commenting on how nice it looked. She had seemed giddy from delivering such a letter and had forced him to open it in front of her. It was a good thing she had, too -- if it hadn't been for Alyssa's insistence, Warren wouldn't be sitting where he was, before one of the best buffets he had ever seen. She had broken his skepticism, and the next thing he knew, he was at the airport, en route to Italy, then on a boat to an uncharted island in the Mediterranean Sea. Now he was sitting in a strange dining room with five strangers, waiting for an even stranger man to appear.

Then, as if summoned by his curiosity itself, the large oak double doors that the group came from opened. At once, all six of the guests turned to look. Standing in the doorway was a balding, elderly man in a three-piece suit, and a young, attractive brunette wearing a suit jacket and matching skirt. Warren stared at the man. Surely he could not be the Innmaster, Baranbull? The elderly fellow hobbled towards the podium slowly, the woman following close behind. It just didn't seem possible for this to be the person who had written such a charismatic letter of invitation. The man finally reached the podium, and turned to face the group. His eyes roamed from one person to the next, until he had silently greeted them all. Bringing an old fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat.

"Welcome, honored guests," he spoke, his arms rising to either side of him in greeting. "Welcome, to the Create Inn."

CHAPTER TWO

Delicious.

Delectable.

Divine.

Archie Wilson was sure there were more D's he could use to describe the meal in front of him, but he was too busy stuffing his freckled face to think of them. Reddish-brown hair obscured his features as his head hung low over his plate. A couple of the other guests shot him looks; either they didn't think his shabby outfit (consisting of a stained gray t-shirt, a tattered navy overshirt, and an old, beat-up baseball cap) was fitting for the majestic hall in which they were seated, or they were of the mind that it wasn't proper to eat without their host. Pah. Archie never understood the need for customs and courtesies. The food was in front of him, and so he was digging in.

Besides, he reasoned with himself, how long had it been since he'd had an actual meal? A trip to a restaurant was a once-a-month treat, if that. And he was getting sick of Ramen noodles... even if their Chicken flavor was quite good. The food now in front of him was first-rate, far better than any restaurant the city of Pittsburgh could offer... or, so he assumed. He'd never been to the high-end eateries of his city. He rarely even left his apartment nowadays. Until the day the invitation came...

Bill... bill... catalog offer... you may have won $1,000,000... bill... overdue library book... wait, he'd been to the library?... bill... bill... and... a strange envelope, embossed with a coat of arms he'd never seen before.

Archie paused, examining the envelope curiously. What could it be? It was addressed to him, so it wasn't a mistake. Maybe someone had mailed him Anthrax. ...Why the hell had he just thought that? Hey, it'd be more exciting than a bill, at the very least. Hesitating no longer, he slid an ink-covered finger under the envelope's flap and unceremoniously ripped it open, throwing the letter's empty packaging onto the coffee table.

The letter was hand-written, in a small, looping font. No one should have that kind of penmanship. As Archie scanned the letter, his right eyebrow arched in surprise and skepticism. But as he continued to read, his incredulity began to wane. And when he unfolded the bottom half of the letter, and a plane ticket fell onto the dingy floor, he was absolutely delighted... delighted...

"Delightful!"

...Shit. He'd just said that out loud. And with his mouth full of mashed potato, too. Luckily for him, the other guests' attentions were suddenly focused on the door, through which a small, bald man and a rather pretty brunette had entered. The old man made for the podium at the head of the hall, but Archie was focused on the girl. She was... stunning. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with a steely radiance, and her sleek brown hair was tied back in a short ponytail -- the only thing about her he didn't care for. She would be gorgeous with her hair down. If he judged its length correctly, it would fall splendidly to the tops of her perfect breasts. Not too big, not too small, round, probably -- no, definitely -- soft......

He was so busy ogling the girl that he missed what the old man was saying. Ah, well. Couldn't have been too important. He turned back to his food. Dreamy.

Shifting Sands ~ Chapter 1 (Part 2)

It was an hour later, after two courses and dessert, when Khalise stepped out of the small hut into the glow of the evening sun. Lucha was just a few steps behind him.

"We better get going if I'm to take you flying, Lucha. The sun's getting low." Lucha had been begging for years to let Khalise take her flying, but her parents had forbidden it until now; it was her special birthday gift.

"Then hurry up and transform already!" She pouted a little. Khalise smiled as a gleaming white light emanated from his body, engulfing him and growing in size until it was about twice the height of a Human. A pair of great wings erupted from the brilliance as the light began to fade, revealing a noble black Dragon where once the Human had stood.

~How's that?~ Khalise asked Lucha, through a form of telepathy singular to the Dragon tribes. Dragons did not have vocal cords as most creatures did, and therefore had to communicate through their thoughts. Khalise found it was an excellent means of correspondence, as it offered the ability to "focus" one's thoughts directly at another creature and consequently have a private conversation, even in a crowd.

Khalise stooped low to the ground and spread his wings, allowing the Rahmi girl to clamber onto his back. With her parents watching nervously, he flapped his wings and lifted into the air. After instructing Lucha to grab a hold of his dorsal spines, he made sure she had a firm grip before slowly coasting off towards the canyon.

Lucha seemed slightly nervous at first, but gradually became used to the sensation of flight, and was soon urging Khalise to soar higher, faster, farther. He complied, looping and twisting into the air until the Rahmi village was nothing but a speck on the horizon. From below, the Aldryn's antics may have elicited some raised eyebrows, but Khalise didn't care. He was with the one person he truly considered a friend, and that was all that mattered.

Until they appeared.

The two friends had been flying for almost an hour, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow across the desert. The pair was a few miles away from Lucha's village, and Khalise had just finished an elaborate figure-eight loop, much to Lucha's delight. As he was pulling out of the final dip, he spied something in the distant sky. Then two somethings. Then four, five, six... then hundreds. Thousands. Soon, the entire skyline was crowded with little black dots, distant figures speeding straight towards them. Khalise looked down; the ground was also flooded with dots -- hundreds upon hundreds of horsemen, stampeding across the desert floor like an unstoppable tide.

"Hey Khalise," Lucha called cheerfully, not fully grasping the situation, "What are those things?"

~I don't know, Lucha, but something tells me we'd better move!~ The black specks were rocketing towards them, faster than Khalise had ever seen any non-dragon fly. ~Alright, I'm turning around; we need to... ah!~ He swerved violently, barely evading an arrow launched from the ground. Lucha screamed and Khalise flew higher, away from the bowmen below. The airborne figures were nearer now, and Khalise's eyes could just make them out.

~Lucha! Wyverns! Hold on!~ The Aldryn banked hard, turning towards the canyon.

"What's happening, Khalise?" The Rahmi girl was frightened.

~I'm not entirely sure, but we need to get out of here. Now!~ With a great cry, Khalise dove towards the shelter of the canyon, swerving to dodge the arrows that were becoming more and more numerous.

'Why in the world are they attacking?' Khalise thought to himself. 'Just who are they?' Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in his leg as a thrown javelin pierced his knee from behind -- the wyverns were in range. His flight path dipped as he struggled to maintain his balance through the fog of pain that was settling in. With a bitter shriek, a wyvern blasted past Khalise, its rider attempting to stick the Aldryn with his spear. Khalise tipped to the right to avoid him, momentarily forgetting about Lucha clinging to his back. She suddenly found herself sideways, and lost her grip.

With a startled cry, Lucha began plummeting towards the desert far below. An arrow whizzed by her ear as she fell faster and faster, the ground rapidly gaining in detail. She shut her eyes tight and muttered a small prayer, the tradition of the Rahmi tribe when in life-and-death situations. No sooner had the words left her lips than she felt herself jolt to a sudden stop. Lucha opened her eyes to see Dragon skin beneath her, and exhaled.

~Sorry about that,~ Khalise said, resuming his flight path towards the canyon.

The archers were gone now, the horses galloping off on their original course, but the wyverns were all around them, a writhing mass of beating wings and slashing spears. One of the beasts pulled even with Khalise and its rider brandished a sword, obviously intending to try and slice Lucha off of his back. The eyes beneath his full-face helmet glared red and angry.

'No chance in hell,' Khalise thought, turning his head and belching a ball of fire towards the armored figure. His mount screeched horribly as the scorching flames seared its flesh, bucking in agony and sending its rider flying from his saddle. The swordsman tumbled to the ground below, and moments later his wyvern followed suit, crashing violently into the desert sands.

Khalise nosedived as the canyon drew closer, swerving once or twice to avoid each new threat. A moment later they were in the gorge, the hundreds of wyverns still swarming overhead. A few attempted to follow the Aldryn, but Khalise knew the twists and turns of the canyon so intimately that the beasts were unable to keep up. A cave appeared to Khalise's left and he banked into it, relieved to have found shelter. Inside, Lucha slipped off the Dragon's back as he proceeded to painfully extract the javelin from his leg. As soon as the tip of blade was wrested from his skin, a flash of light engulfed the cave and Khalise reverted to Human form, collapsing against the cave wall as his head swam from the pain.

"Are you okay?" Lucha asked, concerned.

"I'll be fine, Lucha, don't worry. I just need to sit for a while." This he did, and Lucha sat down next to him.

"Khalise... what's going on? Who were those men? Bandits?"

"Absolutely not. They were too skilled and far too numerous to be bandits. Besides, what bandits have you encountered that could afford a full suit of armor... let alone a flock of bred-for-combat wyverns?" Lucha was silent for a moment and Khalise ventured a look at his leg. It was worse than he'd thought -- his pants leg was already stained deep crimson. He would need to get back to the Rahmi village as soon as possible; they would have herbs there that would help the healing process.

"...The horsemen," Lucha spoke after a long pause, "They were headed in the direction of the village." With a pang, Khalise realized she was right. "Do you think... do you think... Father and the others...?"

"I wouldn't worry about Fuers, he can look after himself and then some." All the same, Khalise was worried. Using a trick only the Aldryn knew, he extended his consciousness outwards, trying to sense the presence of the mighty warrior and his tribe. What he found was a complete absence of life in the immediate vicinity. This troubled him greatly: not only did it hint at a horrible fate for Fuers and the Rahmi, but Khalise knew he should have felt a blizzard of activity from the swarms of wyverns -- there was absolutely no way that they could have gotten that far in such a short time.

'Living beings that do not exude a detectable life force? Something isn't right...'

Shifting Sands ~ Chapter 1 (Part 1)

Shifting Sands is the working title for a story I've been working on for some time now. It has a lot of promise, but a lot of plotholes. Anyway, I've broken Chapter 1 into two parts; it's a long chapter.

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A hoarse, hissing cry rent the air above the burning sands of the Palmira desert, accompanied by the soft swoosh of giant, beating wings. Khalise arced leisurely into a canyon, his large wings navigating his body around its twists and hairpin turns. A few moments later, the great Dragon emerged from the ravine, spun and glided upside-down, his black scales gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun, before turning and speeding off across the desert.

He cried out again, his eerie howl likely chilling the blood of any foreigners who happened to be in the vicinity. The nomad tribes he watched over trusted him far more than other Humans, though most saw him only as a protector, not a friend. There are exceptions to every rule, however, and to this one there was the Rahmi tribe.

As the Rahmi village came into view over the horizon, Khalise made a few more spirals in the air, savoring the feeling of flight. The freedom it offered never got old. He eventually came to rest on a rock formation a few hundred yards from the village -- his customary spot. He courteously waited a few minutes to see if anyone would spot him; when no one did, he lifted his head and bellowed loudly, his Draconic voice echoing like the tolling of a great bell. Now aware of his presence, a few of the village men came out of their huts. Alongside them was a young girl, hurrying towards the base of his perch. Khalise would have smiled at the sight of her, had his current physiology allowed it. Unfolding his wings, it took two mighty flaps to lift him into the air, where he glided down to meet her.

As he neared the ground there was a bright flash, and with a faint whoosh, the Dragon was gone. In its place was a male Human in his mid-twenties, messy black hair blowing in the breeze as the two smaller wings on his back bore him safely to the desert below. The girl skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Hello Lucha-" Khalise began amiably, his solid gray eyes glittering, but she cut him off.

"Khalise! You're late!" She scolded playfully. She was a pretty girl in the height of her adolescence, her tanned face framed nicely by two black braids. She wore the traditional garb of her tribe: a patterned leather vest over a yellow tunic. And, if Khalise's memory served him well, she was turning seventeen today.

"Just checking up on some bandits I put a scare into the other day," Khalise said, adjusting his black tunic and beginning to stride towards the two men waiting for them closer to the village. "They're still too petrified to come out of their den." He shot the girl a sideways smile and Lucha grinned. Khalise suspected she thoroughly enjoyed having a friend who could transform into a terrifying Dragon.

"It's your birthday today, isn't it?" he said suddenly, and she grinned even wider. "I brought you something." From underneath his cloak, Khalise drew a small orb, the size of an apple, which glowed with a warm orange radiance. Lucha gasped and held out her hands.

"Is that...?" Her voice trailed off as Khalise dropped the orb into her hands. It was warm to the touch.

"A Salamander egg," Khalise confirmed, "Straight from a nest in the Dakarama Mountains."

"Oh my gosh, Khalise, thank you so much!" She threw her arms around the Aldryn's neck. "You know I've always wanted one!" Khalise chuckled.

"Just be careful with it when it hatches, though -- you don't want to accidentally burn down the village."

"I know! I'll take good care of it, you'll see."

As they approached the huts that marked the beginning of the Rahmi village, Lucha's father, a large man named Fuers, stepped forward and slapped the Aldryn on the back. Khalise responded by punching him in the chest, and Fuers smirked.

"Still as tough as ever, I see." He jerked his head towards the village. "C'mon, you two." Looking at him, Khalise had to wonder how a man like Fuers could have produced a child as delicate-looking as Lucha (though Khalise knew Lucha was anything but delicate). Fuers was taller than Khalise, at least in human form, and very obviously muscled. His arms were decorated with the scars of many battles, and his piercing brown eyes felt like they bore into your soul. His black mane was tied back in a single long ponytail, as many of the Rahmi men wore their hair.

"Go on in!" Fuers called heartily as they neared his hut, "Alma has prepared a special meal for Lucha's birthday."

Within a few minutes, the four were seated around the table that comprised half of the small hut that Lucha's family called home. The other half was taken up by the three mats upon which they slept.

"So, Khalise," Fuers was saying, "I've always meant to ask you: what's your deal?"

"Fuers!" Lucha's mother, Alma, looked horrified.

"Relax," Fuers said sternly, "I'm just wonderin'. I mean," he turned back to Khalise, "You don't need to protect us; we never asked you to. What's in it for you?" Khalise looked down, chewing his food slowly as he contemplated his answer. Lucha furrowed her brow; she had never really questioned Khalise's motives before. He was their protector, that's all there was to it. She listened closely as Khalise finally spoke.

"I guess... for the same reason as my brother."

"Lohkar?" Lucha had heard about Khalise's brother Lohkar -- he was the protector of the Palmiran nomad tribes long before Khalise. He had vanished, however, when Lucha was four years old, and Khalise took over his job.

"So then, why did Lohkar protect us?" Fuers persisted.

"He doesn't have to explain himself if he doesn't want to, Fuers."

"Well, it's just not common for an Aldryn to be consortin' with Humans, let alone protectin' them."

"So if he were a real Dragon it would be different?"

"No, look, I'm just curious, is all," Fuers said defensively. "No need to get so up in arms about it."

"Look," Khalise raised his hands, "I don't rightly know why my brother was so intent on protecting you. I'm just his replacement."

"So you don't really care about us?"

"Fuers!"

And so it went, Lucha shooting Khalise a sly smile as her parents debate whether or not it was racist to ask Khalise his intentions. Khalise returned her grin with a small chuckle. He knew Fuers meant well.

Adore ~ Prologue

Story #2: Adore.

-----


A naked woman with a myriad of bruises glared at a man as he redressed himself in his midnight blue outfit. Her hands were bound by barbed wire to one of the wooden bedposts. Once-beautiful locks of orange hair now lay disgracefully upon the white sheets, dotted with specks of scarlet.

"You're not a man!" She screamed through her tears, "You're a sin! Just a dirty sin!"

"Give it nine months, you'll think different." With those words, the man turned towards the door. Long, shaggy, black hair rested on his shoulders as he pulled the hood of his navy cloak over his head. His cold gray eyes examined her from underneath his unkempt bangs.

"Goodbye, dear." But when his hand pulled open the door, it revealed the silhouette of a figure standing in the doorway.

"Shit... you're that man from Geist!" the man hissed.

"And you're that bastard who's going to hell."

From her place on the bed, the woman became slightly speckled with the blood that spewed from the man's neck.

A sudden thud echoed through the floorboards as the body fell, and the woman's tear-filled eyes now rested on the new figure. A long black coat, which was tight at the waist, covered his body. It had a hood, though he did not have it up. White cloth peeked out at the end of his sleeves. His hair seemed to be black in color, but the bit of sunlight that filtered into the room revealed it to have blue highlights. A large, black tome was clutched under his left arm.

"People will be here soon to help you. You'll be alright." No further words left his mouth, and he turned down the hall.

Outside, the woman's savior walked through the village, catching few glances. Old homes, accompanied by older homes, made up the village of Soard. Weather always seemed to be the same: cool and damp. Leaves rarely grew back on the old trees which surrounded Soard, giving the entire city a deadened appearance.

'The next one shouldn't be far away,' he thought, 'Better be quick.'

He walked quickly through the mist, his cloak trailing out in his wake. His next target wasn't far away at all. In fact, he knew exactly where to find him, as the target was a former mission-man who had worked for him, named Seth. Seth sought to assassinate Lucius, the leader of the guild known as 'Geist.' Unfortunately for Seth, his plan had leaked, and was now about to come to an abrupt end.

He now stood just a bit south of Soard. Where the terrain became rocky for a mile, he saw the building that he knew housed the traitor: a small, wooden shack that itself could be destroyed in seconds.

~<3~

Inside the Geist base, high in the trees of Canopie, an older man with spiky grey hair sat behind his sturdy wooden desk. Light from the fireplace on the far wall was the only source of illumination in the office. He was dressed in a black coat with a black shirt, and a priest's collar looped around his neck. He looked over the letters that comprised the day's mail, noting that all four were fan letters.

'These people don't understand what we're actually doing for them,' he thought, his eyes scanning another letter. 'If they knew, I wonder what would change.' His train of thought broke at the sound of someone knocking on the room's heavy oak door.

"Come on in," the man's deep voice echoed. Light from outside invaded the red glow of the room, until the new entry shut the door behind him. The man who entered had dull red hair, wavy yet short, and was bespectacled. He wore a nondescript black cloak.

"Lucius, sir, I had something I wanted to ask you."

"What is it, Salem?"

"It's about Opal..." Salem paused, fidgeting. "I was curious..."

"Is it redundant for me to ask 'what is it, Salem?'"

"Right sir, sorry sir. Anyway, I was curious as to how such a young man was able to attain the control he has..."

Lucius glared carefully at Salem. "You're one of his assistants; hasn't that put you in the position to know?"

"No offense, sir, but... you know he keeps to himself. Acts like he doesn't even need assistants."

Lucius picked up a pipe from amongst the scattered papers. Lighting it and taking a long drag, he said, "Truth be told, he probably doesn't. Come, sit down." Within seconds, Salem was seated at the front of Lucius's desk, peering through the smoke at the grey-haired figure before him.

"I'm going to be quite blunt." Lucius's stare became shaky. "If he wanted, Opal could kill anyone in this guild... including me."

"Are... you aren't serious, are you?" Salem asked, ignoring the hundreds of questions he now wanted to ask.

"Dead serious, Salem. It's that damn book he has... I don't get it... he's so young..."

~<3~

Opal's eyes fixed onto Seth, who now stood in front of him. The shack's door swung free in the aftermath of Opal's brash entrance.

"Opal! How the hell did you find me?!" Like Opal, Seth wore a simple black cloak, pulled tight at the waist. Short yellow hair sat atop his handsome face. On the table next to him was a lone katana.

"Seth... why did you leave?"

"I'm not going to answer to some fucking nineteen-year-old wizard! You should have just left me alone!" Seth stood up and reached for his katana in one fluid motion. Two seconds later, blood poured down Seth's severed arm as it made its way to the floor.

"AAAARGHHHH!!! Fuck you!!!" Seth fell to his knees. He grabbed at his shoulder as he looked up at Opal, who simply stood in the doorway, his tome still clutched in his hands.

"It said to make your death painful," Opal said, "But... it's just that you've done so much for us."

"You... Go to hell."

With his eyes closed, Opal began chanting.

~<3~

"He knows all of the spells in the book?" Salem asked.

"Yes. Every damn one. And I can't even read any of the words. How he managed to learn them is beyond me."

"I understand how that makes him powerful, but couldn't he just be killed by a sword? Or a gun?"

"Maybe. We don't know. We can't understand what he knows, so anyone who goes up against him is completely naive. No counter spells can be conducted. No equal spells. Nothing."

Salem paused for a second. "Glad he's on our side, then."

Lucius grinned. "Yes, we are. Which reminds me: don't plan on betraying him. Seth did not long ago, and I can only imagine what fate has in store for him."

~<3~

Opal stood at the head of Seth's makeshift grave, a solemn frown adorning his face.

Shiny...

Hey, look at my shiny new blog! ...Time to dirty up the place.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIQj4o8Z5ss

There we go.

With that out of the way, let me explain what I'm doing here: I have a whole bunch of novels/screenplays/idunnowhatitsgonnabebutilikethestorys, and I've decided to organize them all in one place so people can read them if they really want to. Hopefully, if I get a few followers, it'll spur me to write enough to set up some kind of weekly posting, and everyone can follow my stories like magazine serials. I'll also probably be posting random crap, too.

So yeah. Gonna get this thing up and running over the course of the week. Now off to Facebook to whore myself out.