Those who Live Amongst Death on the Battlefield

The Battlefield in this story is a place of emotion. Some would think that all emotion when death comes calling would be bad or fearful. I’m here to tell you that’s not the case. Granted this does happen from time to time. Those who fear death or those who had more to do. Or at least are under the impression there was more to do. But when the time comes the time comes. Rarely anything in the universe can offset death.

Our story is about those who fall in the name of their lords. In the name of their gods, or just in the name of honor. Those who stare death in the face have two reactions and two reactions only. One is of the warrior who embraces death. The warrior who has been told his life would lead to this and that it would be glorious to die in battle. Or maybe those who have lived long enough to see the world turn evil and dark and wish for a better place. The second reactions is fear or regret. Not always is it the emotion of a coward. Some fear death because of whom they leave behind. Some had more to do in this life. Some are rich and plump and would miss the pleasures of the mortal world. Others will have committed heinous acts against law and justice. Those who fear what is waiting in the other side for them!

But in my experience after the battle the fields get cold, some turn to snow, but most turn to autumn when the trees give there blessings to the earth which with forever be stained with blood. In the spiritual world the old battlefields will always display the blood that scars them. Forever those who were lost and never found peace become wraiths of sin, and regrets. Wraiths that carry in their bags a thousand candles. Candles that melt away into oblivion. The wraiths consume the natural essence of autumn and then the snow and then the sun. They then take this power and convert it into a spiritual fire lightning the way with candles to oblivion.

The servants of loneliness, the watchers of those who pass by. Yearning for connection to the mortal world, yearning for an afterlife. They become powerful in their solitude, they become mentally strong from hundreds of years of nothingness. A wraith so strong after thousands of years can begin to feel the air again. They have been attached to the world so long that they become one with it. Those who are lucky enough to become this become wraiths of nature and of seasons becoming a servant of Pantheon protector of nature, craft, and the seasons.

To those so aware of the world that surrounds our own you might just be able to reach out to those who still wander. Those who create a campfire in the void of realms. You might just sit and talk for a while. For the dead have many stories to tell, they may be sad they may be a bit morbid but nonetheless. They tell stories of love, girls they fell for before the war. They speak of family that lived hundreds of years ago. So pull up a seat around the campfire of death for the living still have a great deal to learn.

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Into Oblivion

Forward into oblivion

The wings of darkness, avian

The ceaseless void of time and space

To creations dawn this is no race

My mind erupts a cosmic fissure

The infinite source of many treasures

From the blank easel of infinite shadow

The fire erupts, serpents arise fully hallow

From the burning passion and burning rage

Comes a time to create this new page

From shadow and fire

I create what most I desire

Bending time, space, and gravity

Into a new universe, born with new identity

Stars awakens, and worlds come alive

Creations from which all will survive

I paint the heavens, I paint the stars

I paint forces that leave many scars

Gravity, society, and soon to be beast in variety

With my pen I write dreams

With my pen I create the heroes who gleam

From the mountains to the seas

From the plains and the trees

I hear the men, I hear their plea

The tears of the lost the pain of the fallen

The aspiration of those who befallen

The grass that sways the water that glistens

I created destiny for those who listen

The machines of war and the tools of peace

The tools of men filled with oil and grease

The paper and pen to sign many treaties

The right to hold ideas in a committee

From kings to slaves, from merchants and trade

Some good things I say shall never fade

From love and fear, from forgiveness and hate

All will save the world before it will be to late

With all above, with family at side

The balance will soon see the turn of the tide

For love, destiny and all the rest

All will rise to be their very best

From legends of races, to legends of lore

All will rise to open this grand new door

From dragons and angels, from shades and veil

The universe will change and all will hail

Hail to glory, hail to friends, hail to all

To all who fall

Fall for destiny, fall for cause, fall for love

Fall for the great stars above

But I have written it all to date

That one grand day I’ll open the cosmic gate

And all shall know of fear and pain

All shall know of pride and shame

All shall see the light and shade

As the great stories of old begin to fade

The pen wills the balance of good

The pen wills the balance of evil

For the pen sees the balance of all good and evil

From the rings, from the dragons of old

From the Angels, and from sound alone

From the tree of kings, the tree of gods

Heroes and villains against the odds

Ever eternal, ever bright

Always willing to fight the great fight

For all is set straight

And we all conquered fate

For good and evil are now one

The story of the universe has now just begun

Cain, The Vampire King who Remains Pure

sun-07.jpgThe sun burns bright in the night sky. As the molten world looked to its star, the star look back upon it. By now the star had existed for thousands of years. When the great ingots fell into place and the core of the world was created entities descended upon it creating a living; breathing world. As the molten material was molded into the form of a world the sun bestowed its darkest spots upon the world. Dark spots that held the power of the suns knowledge.

These dark spots roamed the molten landscape as the Tree and Dragon lords formed the planet. And when the forming was done they took hold in the form of statues that existed in the ice cold realms of the north.

Many centuries passed as the structures composed of the stars darkness and its deepest strengths and lore stood guard. They stood untouched over the frozen landscapes and were admired by the giants that traveled from Giandom. They were revered by the Elves of the South. Worshipped by the dwarves that lived in the recesses of the world.

However a great being descended upon the world a great dragon whose size was that of galaxies. His form dwindled and he walked amongst the beings of the world as a long and tall humanoid with bright wings.  Ferybrand Galactos the Legendary Dragon Lord looked upon the structures. The Dragon in humanoid form could feel the stars energy within them. He gazed to the sun as a father gazed upon his child. For Ferybrand was the father of all stars. His wings composed of the brightest and hottest in all the realms.

His lips spoke a smooth and flowing tongue that the grounds trembled at. His voice rang across the meadows and bounced back and forth between the mountains. With a few words the structures melted into a bright and hot liquid. From this six humanoids appeared, one for each type of star that existed in the realms of the Alltree. Each took the color of that star in the form of their eyes. With that they were tasked with protecting the stars knowledge and the darkness that inherently is within all creatures and creation just like the sun that shone bright above them.

Hundreds of years had passed since Ferybrand Galactos came down. The six beings had made a pact to build a world empire, and order of knights that would protect the world from darkness. For many centuries they did just that, until they had spent to much time apart. Imbued in them was the power of all the stars that existed in the realms. Each was beyond any power the world had seen in its inhabitants. The power Galactos had bestowed upon them made them immortal, their skin was immune to heat, immune to pressure. Their lunges could not be purged, they could not be drowned. Their skin was supercharged by radiant bliss, power so pure laid in their veins they could not be pierced my weapon or magic. Their bodies produced a field of starlight that was invisible to the natural eye, the starlight allowed them to bend time and move at immeasurable speeds. But after long years of being apart building their knight hood the humanoids would begin to become unstable the further they traveled apart. The knighthood fell apart as they no longer convened and fell to their own vices.

As the once strong knighthood that had prospered in all the world for a few thousand years fell. As they stopped protecting the world from darkness when it needed. Darkness was allowed to prevail. Events began to occur, The Plague of Fiddles ravaged the world. The war of Pirates engulfed the seas, and the Necromancer arose to power twice blotting out the sun. For the beings were so infatuated with themselves and what they had built in their corrupted solitude. They no longer cared for the world. And so the sun looked upon them and called to Ferybrand Galactos. The sun used the Great Dragons power and cursed the humanoids. Then Ferybrand cursed them in the suns eyes. For when the sun would look upon them their power drenched skin would burn. From that day on the Vampires would fear their father the sun, and from that day on they would be mortal enemies with a new race of celestial creatures. Galactos felt so betrayed by the beautiful creatures he and the sun had created that he turned to the moon. Galactos called upon her to create a race of her own. And so the werewolves were created to torment the vampires and eat away at the remnants of their shattered Knighthood.

To this day the Vampires stay separated never threatened by the wolves but always kept on their toes. Always looking for ways to sooth the repulsiveness the wolves made them feel. They kept locked away in their brotherhoods old sanctuaries built strong and prideful. Casltes build of beautiful elements with grand halls. Now decaying into dust just like their inhabitants. The Vampires are consumed by loneliness and have spent years creating armies of other vampires trying to find solace in at least one of them but never filling the feeling of fulfilment.

To this day only one of the six Vampires has been absolved of his sins and has returned to the fight against darkness. He is regarded as one of the most powerful creatures in all the realms.

His name is Cain…

And he is King of the Vampires…

The Sacred Forest

Here the noise is soft, in this forest the sun glows warm. In its warmth the leaves sway in the breeze and time seems to stand still. In this here forest Autumn stays longer that expected. It smells of old wood and sweetness in the air. The trees bustle with life and the leaves scurry from wisps of magic that blow through the trees arms making songful tunes.

Long ago this was a place unlike what it has become today. In a distant time war ravaged these great plains and stretched from the Courtlands in the North to the desert in the east. In this war death came for so many. What war you ask? The war that started it all. The great calamity, the destroyer of hope and alliances. A war that would curse the world for all time. In this forest, deep in its shadowy glades the noises of death can be heard. Only the strong can tune out their cries. The locals steer far from this mystic forest. No roads, no paths, just untamed wilderlands.

The source of the sounds, the prison of souls is watched over by the trees. They restore the mortar and they keep it presentable. The prison I speak of is an old fortress, once proud now stands as a cosmic tether to souls lost in the war. The walls seem to appear from nothing creeping around behind the old trees. The trees conceal the obsidian fortress as best they can. However they have lived a long and great many lifetimes. The tree guardians still bare the scars of blade and axe from the war they so wish to leave behind. In a sense they want it gone but know that its relevance and power are of great importance. Not only so the world will never forget the tragedy that occurred here but because the secret the fortress holds.

This time I will tell you a somewhat happier story, when the war was in full outbreak. The King and his men came to this land to defend and old city, a city that has long since eroded away that stood next to the fortress. The city was that of Old Endroscia, the land and city of the Centaurs.  The war had put a massive toll not only on the Centaurs but the entire world. The Old city was the last milestone in the fall of the west. However the High King and his royal army marched to the Centaur Kingdom to save it from darkness. From that bloody battle on Mankind and the Centaurs would always live under a treaty of peace and love. For the High King carried the Centaur King to victory on the backs of angels. And forever the white gates of New Endroscia were hidden in the realm boundaries in this very forest using the fortress as and anchor to the mortal plane.

Every now and again the locals from cities around say they see the bright lights of the Centaur city opening once again. The radiance pours out of the forest and reaches across the plains. Some fear it, and some find comport in it. Nonetheless they live strong and have built a mystical city deep in the recesses of realms. A shining light for all to see, a place of knowledge and forever peace. A testimate to friendship.

The Cups of Favor

Long ago in a world that was without great war and great calamity. A god descended to the mortal world to see it for the first. For the first time he had seen the trees and the meadows of a young but strong world. With his eyes he could see those who inhabited the planet. There was race of Dragonkin who arose from the molten fires. In the far East there were short men who had been gifted the power of his brother Pantheon. Lastly he came to see the remnants of an advanced civilization of giants. The god wished to put his blessing upon the world but all the races had either created their own blessing, were born with it, or had been taken on by his brothers.

The god sat atop the clouds looking down at the world and pondered. The god thought  for many years as to what it was he had to offer. His brothers had gifted the world beauty and knowledge. He felt as though the world did not need anything else. For he had been last to descend to the world. Day after day the god sat amongst the clouds and held short and sweet conversations with them. The god deemed the clouds overly rash and emotional, he truly believed they cried over nothing.

But as the clouds cried and their troubles were washed away he had an idea. This god would create the nectar of life, or so he called it. With a swath of mountain side a tad bit of color and an even smaller amount of cloud he whipped up his elixir. The god held the concoction as it floated between his three fingered hands. For the first time he could see his own reflection. He was pleased with his creation and took a god sized sip. With a swish in the mouth and hard gulp his eyes crossed as the rush hit his throat.

“It shall be named, Ale” Ale had been the name of the cloud on which he sat. Ale had always been there for the god. Over his many years of thinking the cloud Ale was always within arms reach, always comforting, and always warm. Thus as the liquid warmed his throat, his stomach, and his heart he named it in the clouds likeness.

However the god looked to the races as he almost forgot them. He smiled. The god proclaimed that all races would feel as he felt and could always turn to the drink when they most needed it. He looked at his own hands, the god was smart he knew they would need a container. As so the god peered into the future of the world and seen the races that would come to be. For each he forged a cup that was perfect for each races physicality. In all the god created three hundred and thirty seven cups. He then scattered them across all the realms.

And on this day drinking was born, on a cloud in the company of a good friend long before the mortal races recognized their love for it.

Darkness Flees

The darkness flees from the moons, a passing colossus in which light looms. But time is short for the will of evil will surely bloom. Spelling out your certain doom. Angry and hungry, passing the Giants of gas and rock, passing the radiant stars that flock. Passing the edges where light no longer lingers. And into the unknown you can touch with you fingers. This is where the heart drops, the reality sets in and your fears and oppressions come to the surface. The shadows that linger have come to deface. Your skin boils, your lungs race, filling your dying breath. The glass cracks the stars seep in and you begin to wonder is this really my epic death? It wanders not across the galaxies edge, not to the ends of reality, but to that simple place. To your dusty books, your clotted paintbrush, to the place your memories beautifully retrace. This is where when confronted by emptiness and the riddles of the universe your mind wanders. And on the wings of your desperation You flew to the stars, to the great Beyonders. To a place where no man hearts should ever be. To an eternal loneliness, a place you can not conceive. You were reborn in the fires of star shine, enlightened by the wonders of an infinite time. Perplexed by the radiance from the start, but soon to realize this is all within your heart!

The Throne of Bones (P)

I sit upon my throne
A throne that sits atop these bones
The bones of my friends
The ashes of war, the undeniable trends
The fires of fear the tremors of passion
My sins left the universe forever ashen
Glory built upon death, victory on pain
Forever they will know that it was my reign
That brought the monstrosities upon us
All heard their beckon thus
The beckon of death, the beckon of destruction

The Rain And Its Master

The one constant that I’ve known, the one constant that calmed me. Over the last era I have changed. I have grown and I’ve lived long enough to see the world around me change as well. For one thing, I knew however was certain and true. That the rains and the storms would always come. I do not mean the storms that come metaphorically with life. I mean true primal power of the seas and the kingdom of the clouds. One who was not subject to many years might mistake the rain for a random and chaotic event. One governed by nothing but energy and fury. I’m here to tell you that is most assuredly not the case.

My name is Byorti Stormdrifter and I was raised along side the rain. Taught to fear it, taught to respect it. For the rain bring bounty but it also brings with it destruction. When the rain falls here it falls for years at a time. My home, my mountain scape. Here in the land of Giandom we accept the rain. For when the rain comes soon wonderful things follow.

But I know the secret of the rain. I know that it is alive.

When I was young my family and I had just left the old village of Kabberhorn. Don’t mind looking on a map. It was washed away into the sea a great many years ago. In any event we had left the village and headed down towards Crowback harbor where our family kept the pride of the fleet. We called it the Tether, for it made us one with the sea. Three day into our journey, our quest to supply the entire village with food for the coming months. Surrounded by other family ships I felt proud of my family. For our ship shined the most and most definitely was the strongest and largest.

Three days had past and I sat aside my father who smoked his whale bone pipe. Not a word was said for the sea was calm and not a sound could be heard. My father looked at me and I could clearly see the fright that filled him.

Later that night the boat began to rock awaking me. And before I knew it a tearing noise came crashing down and the boat was suddenly open the elements and the seas water flooded in and lightning sprung across the sky. The water was cold and the fire blazed so brightly I could barely see. The lightning came crashing down upon my family boat sinking it to the depths of the Sea of Dreams. The waves battered my face and the salt stung my eyes. Water began to fill my lungs and as I looked up ward. Another bolt of lightning rang across the sky. This time it was purple and blue and sparkles seemed to rain down on the mammoth waves in the distance.

That was the first time I saw her. The one who controls the rain. The one who bends the power of the sea. The form of a wolf appeared from the enormous waves and reached high into the cloudy night sky. The silhouette was bigger than the entire fleet combined.  As ships rose up the waves and succumbed to its power the huge wolf howled to the moon. I could see the rain trembled at the wolfs power. The Lightning kneeled to its whim. I could hear her in the rain. I could see her intentions. She was strong and she was beautiful.

The wolf continued to howl and for a second I felt the entire ocean shift. I know you won’t believe me, but I just might have seen the moon begin to move…

 

Three Guardians of the Wishing Veins

Turos, Kamille, and Tranas these are the names of those who you would consider just, and good. The three Guardians one of emotion, one of memory, and lastly one of patience and wisdom. The Guardians three they call them.

Tranas (Patience) was a man from the forests in the north. A man who spent a great many years in self sacrifice to attain his power and his strength of mind. Tranas hailed from a village that was deep in the frost bitten jungles of Northern Eolas. There he was raised as a farmer he could see nothing but the “bright future” of hard work and livestock manure. Suddenly Tranas felt a calling and with no hesitation and in the blink of an eye he left his family including his younger sister behind with no regrets. Tranas sailed for 3 years around the base of an old island and its ancient mountain. Tranas everyday arose to the radiance that shone from the tip of the mountain. Radiance that penetrated storm and sea. Its rays illuminated the depths of the ocean so that the water was completely translucent. For 3 years he circled around the mountain waiting for it to call out to him. However for three years the mountain never called. Tranas never ate, and he never slept for three whole years. His eagerness for that of an extraordinary life drove him to rise above his normal state. Though his body did fail and his skin shriveled under the salt in the sea and the rays of the sun. Tranas lay staring into the peaks of the mountains as the radiant light passed over him time and time again. For the mountain did not call him to leave. It called him to stay, stay with his family because the calling knew in ten days time from when it called him his village would be attacked. Attacked by the spirits from under the snow. Spirits that came to host his family and friends. Tranas failed to see. Tranas slowly over the next few days creeped in on death as he sailed home. His boat ran ashore and his feet touched the cold black sand. The air smelt of death and the sea was calm. Tranas approached his old village to find ashes. The village he once called home lay in ruin. Nothing but stone and bone were left for him to see. Before him lay on the ground the bones of his fleeing sister. Tranas dropped to his knees as tears fell from his face and saturated the ash beneath him. He reached down to grab her bones and they fell to ash in his hands. His eyes looked up towards the jungles and before him hovered a wraith. A wraith of coldness and bleakness. “I have come for you, a cohort of death you shall join.” The wraith looked to the old mountain, “I know it’s not your fault, but examples must be set and I need guardians. Protectors of the wishing veins.” The wraith revealed his hand as a purple aura washed over his boney finger tips. Death comes for you know, Be my servant and I will persuade him to let you serve me.”

Tranas began to cry down his sun scorched face. He looked down at his sister one last time. “I’m so very sorry, I should have known,” he said as he extended his hand towards the wraiths. In an instant the flesh from his bones fell to the earth and he arose floating in a bright blue aura.  As the reaper approached the wraith gifted to Tranas a radiant white orb. Tranas received the orb as he looked into the face of death who stood looming over the wraith before him. In an instant Tranas lost all thought and appeared in a burst of radiance.  He now stood atop a mountain in the harsh snow where he would guard the temple of the wishing vein. The mountain that called came calling once again.

To be continued…

 

The Cosmic Dwarves and the Sea of Dust

Long ago the universe trembled with vibration. From the minerals that fell into form arose a creature of unlimited strength. A being who harnessed skill from the tablets of craft. He took rolling form, a form of gelatin that oozed across the spindle of time. The being was named Ghinostratus and he crafted ore from the very fabric of time. From this ore he created a bowl of cosmic energy and slowly bent it in the heat of the newly created cosmos in the heat of gravity. Ghinostratus was born of and ingot himself, a ingot of soul energy. One does not try and explain, neither do they try to understand. On his skin is etched a language that sings to the stars. A language that cannot be undone. Ghino abides by the etchings and from this he learned to create space. From this he gave form to galaxies that float across the Alltree’s many dimensions. The language empowered Ghino and taught him how to create planets and how to create stars. However Ghino became so skilled and so power full he soon began to lose control. His mind fell asunder and no longer could he use his hands to craft. His hands could bend any material in the universe. But now power corrupted him and his hands became useless. In his final seconds before his skill abandoned him he created a hammer and a vice. Tools of which he could teach others how to use. Tools that would resemble his divine hands that dwindled away. Seconds before Ghino fell to the cosmos he gazed upon space. With a smile and his last ounce of power he created the GhinoKynn. Ghino spoke the language onto the hammer and vice, tools that would teach their own lessons. As Ghino fell to death he left an anchor of power, a spot of immense heat greater than any star. The first of the GhinoKynn looked upon the vice and it read Drwavosgrad, in the cosmic tongue it meant “Fall upon me power of light.” And they called themselves the Cosmic Dwarves and gifted newly created worlds with divine prowess.