The watchers

My eyelids tremble, twitch.
The tension in my shoulders is tight.
My arms are crossed and my hairs stand on edge.
They are watching me. I can feel it. Staring.
Judgement is not theirs to pass.
I refuse to be labeled.
I refuse to be pinned.
You'll never see the death of me.
I'll die by this struggle.
I'll die being myself, to my last breath.
Never shall I change again.
The watchers cant have my soul.
It's mine.
Mine.

Not my knife

Depths of numbness

The edge, the balm

In the midst of the storm

I find the calm

On my knees with my knife

Stolen joy

Stolen suffering

I don't deserve this

This isn't even my knife

A failure of duty.

The captain of the town guard kicked his off his boots and sighed, planting his feet up on the tavern table. His eyes were hazy and far away, his face red and his body heavy with a drunken stupor hanging over his mind. His subordinate guardsmen caroused all about him, harassing the barmaids and slamming gauntlets down with mighty guffaws at the joking words of their neighbors. To the untrained eye, spirits were high, but these men were drowning. The captain's eyes were far away with more than just the drink. A younger looking guardsmen still clean of face silently wept in the corner, staring at his sword, caked with black sludge. Another man walked slowly with wide eyes down from the upper floors of the lavish tavern, having glanced out an upper story window a second too long, his eyes having lingered on the far off, midnight curtained treeline. He left his blade sheathed at his side, hurrying to the bar counter to shout and bluster at the harried barman, demanding a stiff drink while tears streak down his cheeks and into his beard. A simple looking man, lay on the floor at the captain's feet, a bruise on his cheek where he had been punched clear into unconsciousness. The captain cast his doberman like eyes down on him and scoffed, and quaffed his flagon remembering the simpleton's words. "What are you doing away from your posts at this hour? What of your sacred duty?" Imagine the blithering man, speaking to his betters like that. The captain shook his head and put his forehead down on the table, reveling in sedation. It was then, in that silence of lack of thought, that he could hear the slithering. All about the noisy tavern, slithering black tendrils invaded this place of light. Like snakes, they curled in from the shadows. Disturbing invaders they were, and legion they were. "The warriors of old were not so lack luster~ In their gleaming mail and bearing their shining weapons~ You disgust me, mere men you are, uncloaked by honor or sacrifice. You are just as you seem, and will die as you are. Unworthy." A hissing voice said all this without warning, as the first man died. Many men in the tavern rose, some fell out of their chairs, the women began to scream. A man had been grabbed at one end of the room and brutally dispatched by the strong tendrils of the feind. The captain rose from his chair slowly, stupidly, watching the second and the third man get yanked into the growing shadows. Erikson. Drevel. Conchor. They died drunken, sudden deaths in the unseen places of the world. In the same moment half the candles blew out, leaving the captain and several other men on islands of light in a sea of nightmares. Danger and excitement had a way of sobering a man up. The brew of the master elixir smiths, had nothing on a pure sudden dose of life-threatening circumstances. It did not matter how out of it the captain was when the tendril of darkness pierced his right spaulder and lanced into his flesh and bone, he was no longer in that quiet place. He was in the loud rush of battle once more, just like those days with his training instructors and the first day of real combat on the great kingdoms borders. He felt more alive than he ever had, once again. Black blood went spilling everywhere as the captain's sword flashed in the air by his side, slashing the meat of the tendril away from its bulk.

Bar joke.

A vampire, a zombie, a ghost and a priest walk into a bar. The zombie goes up to the bar, knocks over the barstool and walks into the counter repeatedly bumping into it, he orders some brains. The vampire upon crossing the threshold without permission bursts into flames and runs in screaming his ghastly head off, he orders some blood. The ghost possesses the barman and starts wigging out about having a body. The burning vampire bites the possessed barman and starts draining him of blood. The zombie grabs the barman and starts eating his brains. The ghost is really upset and starts throwing bottles and bar stools all over the place. The priest comes in last and then leaves immediately without even ordering anything.

Unseen hands

"Just go." He pleaded with her, face a stony mask. "I won't let you throw your life away, you're coming with me, or I'm staying here to die with you." The man bit his lip until it bled, a noise was coming from not too far off, a sound like a chorus of shrieks. The sound came echoing off the walls of the dark cavern, loud clanging, harbinger to the violence to come. "It's going to kill so many, we can't let it get out." The woman said this almost absent mindedly her thoughts on the noises like the man. Glancing over his shoulder the man's face twisted with fear. He drew a short sword from his hip and passed it hurriedly to the woman, ushering her behind him. He found his bow in the dark of the cavern's floor and notched an arrow to its sinew cord. "Together." The man said. "Together." The woman agreed. Breathing hard and brandishing her defiance to the pitch about them, the pitch of the darkness, and the rising pitch of the singing of scraping steel. The woman summoned her inner strength for the impending havoc. Only the man, however, bore witness. Nine different locations about the curvature of the cavern tunnel played host to flying sparks. Floor, walls, and ceiling. The locations of spitting sparks drew closer every moment, moving around clockwise, spinning like a dervish. Nine blades hefted in unseen hands.

Dismissed

Several cloaked backs bent over a scarred tabletop. A large parchment map sprawling over it, adding its own fibrous hills and valleys to those depicted. "You're sure they went that way? Have you attained confirmation?" A head bobbed. "We have sightings from our forward scouts. The forests are crawling with the usual vermin but we have reason to believe they may have..." Fear touched the man's voice at the last few words and he stopped talking, steel gray eyes scathed his face, every man present glaring at him. It was so hot in this stuffy tent. All the captain wanted to do was to get on his horse and go home. Back to Tilden. Where the grass went on forever and the houses were as islands in a great sea. His body shuddered as he thought about it, how the grass would look as the great winds blew through them. He thought about how his wife's golden hair, waved just the same, as he rode off to do his time in the great service of...why was he here? Why fight on? With horrors like that in this world, what hope was there? The soft sound of metal sliding off leather drew the captains attention back from far off crisp laughter and honeyed tones. The lieutenants cloak fanned out behind him rather dramatically as he brought his recently unarmored leather clad hand hard across the captain's face. The blow sent him reeling and he fell back away from the table, only barely catching himself as he struck the earthen floor. "Honestly captain Meddle, we haven't the time for this." The captain knew at once why he had been struck and flushed with anger. The lieutenant had read the mood of his thoughts as easily as he might have the map. Chivelians are good at reading people. Unnaturally so. Hatred for this entire mission swelled up fierce and hot in the captain's mind, but he hammered it down into a hard blade of practicality and reason. Standing, he reached into the pack on his back and tossed a scroll onto the table, then saluted his superiors. One forearm down under his chest, fist closed, palm up. His other up over his chest, fist closed, palm down. An uncomfortable gesture, representing heart and body, if not mind in this instance, dedicated to the great service. The lieutenant, to Mendel's surprise, returned it. Tapping his forehead before mirroring the gesture. "We move again in a few hours, we're taking that cave one way or another. Begin preliminary scouting for our departure immediately. Dismissed."

Good boy.

With friends like these...

Earning rest

Joy filled the ranks, climbing high with the blurting horns and sounding trumpets, casting their calls out over the the depth of the valley before the host of men. The sun went with them as they stepped down into hell, side by side, armor shining over their endless shoulders, gleaming from on high like the slow stroke of a divine. "Let's give them steel!" A man cries among the horde. Grins abound all around. These men seem to be marching into a mead hall, rather than down to their dooms. The truth holds them at odds. The truth, holds them firmly in graves yet dug. Legion of monsters, an endless writhing darkness lies before them in the valley. Clouds muffle and suffocate the sun ahead, dark storm clouds hang low and the only light is theirs, shrieking across their halls in bright flashes followed by the booming laughter of the hated demigogues. Yet the men, these men. Cry their victory cheers, rattle sword hilts on shields and hoist spear and pike high. They march to absolution. All true darkness, to these warriors, lies behind them. The rest is ahead, they need but earn it.

The pyromancer at court

The pyromancer grimaced and adjusted his hands. Flexing his fingers and snarling against the heat. Sweat beads on his forehead and slides down his cheeks, he can feel his flesh crying out, beginning to blister, just beginning to feel the lick of the flames in earnest. All of the king's court seems to hold it's breath. The sharp beedy eye'd gaze of the king blazes under that golden crown. A great arch of fire swirls over and about above the hands of the magic user. His black beard had once been long, when he was younger, his talent, had seen to that. The blaze that swirled and danced overhead, dazzled even his black eyes. It was out of control, fire always was. It seemed, an explosion in slow motion. Wild combustion, reigned at last by the will of man. The pyromancer's eyebrows scrunched down on his eyes and he snarled, bearing yellowing teeth. His robes went suddenly whipping all about his arms and legs, the room having suddenly filled with a gusting fiery wind. Something was wrong, this demonstration should have ended. He hadn't given any more energy to the spell, why was it escaping, eluding his will to contain it. In desperation, he searched the room for an answer. The king had climbed to his feet and was yelling something, swiping an arm from left to right, as if trying to erase the pyromancer's fire with his sheer anger, commanding it's extinguish. A simply dressed man, stood among the court. Out of place and set back against the far east wall. He was holding up a blue gem, and whispering to it, an oily, smirk of knowing malice on his face. His teeth gleamed and he made eye contact with the pyromancer. As the gems light faded the fire finally bust it's cage and filled the room with it's overwhelming power. The simply dressed man saw himself up a hidden stairway, and out up through a secret passage. A full minute after the explosion in the former king's court. The simply dressed scoundrel was pushing a large brick back into place and dusting off his tunic. He cast a look about the castle walls, smirked his oily smirk, and strode quickly to the edge of the castle's moat. Over it atop a lengthy thin board of strong wood. He kicked the board into the moat behind him, and walked at an easy unhurried pace into a busy street. No one stopped to question why he smelled ever so slightly, of smoke.

Rant on horror tropes

Giving a character in a story a long time to develop, and then killing that character off. Inspires a few emotions in a reader.
A sense of loss and a sense of dread. Showing your reader that you aren't above killing your characters isn't just for the heck of it. If done right. An important characters death, even when meaningless, should always have meaning. A dead important character impresses on your ready how real your world is. Oh...just because he's in love with what's her name and prince of wheresitwhatsit makes you think he can never die? Well..that's too bad because he stepped on a rusty nail and it went up through his leather boot anddd now he's dead from some unknown illness. Having characters in your work who resemble and are just as fleshed out as prince what's his name who died from nail gives your story a heavy sense of impending doom. Like maybe, just maybe, this book might have an unhappy ending. And every reader can get behind that kind of suspense

Something every single horror writer should know is that giving a character traits to love or hate, means everything. It's almost less important than the monster, heck it is more important than the monster. Because if you don't care about sally who's about to be murdered. That's just it you don't care. At no point while reading your work should a reader thing. Oh my god I don't care. That's an utter failure on the writer to capture your imagination. If you show the reader what terrible people a duo of murderers are, but then give them a deep past together and a bright future. Your reader will be conflicted, and that;s exactly what you want. Neither for or against them dying, but totally hooked by the possibilities.

Usually, almost always, a horror story, has a horrifying ending. If your main character doesn't die, it's a surprise or a lame ending to the story left unfinished. So if you introduce characters who both have possibly done things worthy of being killed, war crimes, murder, shady dealings. But then give them reasons to live, family, bright future, happiness on the horizon. You'll have your readers stomping their foot at how unbearable it is when the end is nigh upon them. "Oh I don't really want this asshole to live! But his poor wife! And his kids! They were going to live happily ever after nooo!" But then you'll also have the side that roots for their death on-board with the impending doom. "Yes! Kill them! Screw these assholes get em monster!" This is how you retain all of your audience while also providing a thrill ride everyone can enjoy at the same time. I once listened to a creepypasta narration called "8-ball" Where a guy closes shop at his job only to find an 8-ball on his car, he shakes it and asks a question and it says it doesn't know at first, but he shakes it again and asks it "Am I in my car right now?" It says no. The guy laughs it off, takes it with him in his car and asks it again. "Am I in my car now?" And it says yes. He thinks its a coincidence. He asks it if he's in his house yet and it says no, but when he gets in there it says yes, then he starts to freak out and in his paranoia, he asks it. "Can you see me?" It says yes. "Where am I?" In your living room. So he flips the fuck out and the story suddenly falls a fucking part. It suddenly and without much reason or warning gives the guy a reason to go back to the shop where he works to get a "magic knife" and he kills a monster and the 8 ball crumbles....it felt so rushed, so forced. You cant have supernatural horrible monster 8-ball magic ended by, guy with magic knife saves the day. Doesn't it feel lighter? Less horror more twilight zone? That's what good horror writers avoid, the twilight zone ending. Where nothing makes sense and the punchline is "OH THE HUMANITY, NOTHING MAKES ANY FUCKING SENSE ALL A SUDDEN." Good horrific stories, have good realistic reasons they are scary.

Moving onto another topic I'm particularly addicted to. Vampires. I could rant about the portrayal of vampires in fiction and movies all day long. The overall presentation of the last ten years plus, is hot garbage. A vampire, a strigoi, a vampyre, Muroni. These are true feinds. Diabolical creatures whose one true motive is greed. The lust for human blood. General consumption, lust and wanting is their calling card. They are universal throughout folklore and almost every language has a word for the concept of them. Now, you go and take a monster, dress it up and take away what makes it horrible and scary, and you no longer have a monster. Take a monster and give it a beautiful face and voice like angels, but have it gutting people and slurping entrails. Then you still have a monster. See the difference? Just compare edward cullen, to Alucard from the Hellsing and Hellsing Ultimate Animated show and you'll see what I'm talking about. One sparkles in sunshine, the other wields twin magnums, has thousands of damned souls in his body, and kills and slaughters, mocking his victims and teasing them before utterly destroying them and drinking up what's left of them. Vampires are representatives in literature for the dark hunger of human beings. The selfish and the greedy. I think today's average American reader could really get behind the horror inherent in a monster that represents greed. American's including myself are real good at being greedy. This watered down cucky version of the vampire menace isn't good for a story. It......sucks~ -Jeopardy loser horn here.-
If a vampire kisses you, expect to be bitten shortly.
If a vampire looks at you for more than a second, it's thinking about killing you.
If a vampire is in a position of importance or a role of authority, it's to better control it's source of food, or to attain a source of food while perhaps in a state of vulnerability.
Need I remind everyone that a vampire, is immortal?
That fact, doesn't seem to be as striking to some people as it should.
As a writer, making a scenario where. "Average dude" runs into a vampire, can be tricky. Because a vampire can basically do whatever it wants to anyone who doesn't already understand it's nature. Ignorance is a vampires greatest weapon. If it's just you and a human shaped empty husk of a being perfectly suited to hunting you down and killing you without a chance of failure whatsoever, it's going to win. So I actually struggle finding good reasons my "Average human" Wouldn't just be consumed like a meal they try to fight back or talk or do anything other than die.
A vampire can die in many ways, but doing it takes pre meditation and careful, careful fucking preparation. According to folklore, every vampire has about the same weaknesses but they all differ heavily in certain areas, the key ones are; Sunlight, Nails (Driven through certain body parts), A wooden stake (The wood type can be incredibly important), religious symbols or artifacts of faith, and certain mumbo jumbo rules like threshold crossing and whether or not dirt is in the vampires coffin when he sleeps in it or not or if you put a rose on the coffin lid orrrr if he has recently shape shifted into an animal or not because some vampires, like Dracula, can only change at dawn or dusk. So many and I MEAN SO MANY factors go into whether or not you can even conceivably kill the vampire or if he cant escape or if something can go wrong. Attempting to kill a vampire on your own with no preparation is basically suicide. I think people have lost touch with how terrifying that is. That's the terror inherent in trying to stomp out a supernatural force, it's like trying to calm wind with your bare hands. You better be bringing your own mumbo jumbo if you want to stand a chance.

A vampires presence in the world means that the devil's forces are present and on the move. Your fate is uncertain and you can die at any time due to some ancient hunger you had nothing to do with. Theoretically a vampire could take an entire army at night and never need for help. They could group up on the monster and stab it all they like but it wouldn't do jack because it's a vampire. To properly introduce vampires into your story should take some serious balls. It should take a writer a long time to decide whether they really want to bring a nearly impossible to destroy monster into this. Even if you knew a vampire couldn't take you on in the day, are you going to go into it's lair and attack it? Without knowing if it's vulnerable or weak to what you've got prepared? Or even if it's alone in there or if it's got friends? What of it's powers to command wolves to do it's bidding? Sure you might be A-Okay to handle a vampire with your religious mumbo jumbo but can you ward off ten wolves?

Yayyy rannntttt...thanks for reading this far...I have no good ending for this XD Just spitballing ideas for something I've been working on.

Speak to me, oh stanger.

Speak to me oh stranger unknown, speak to me of your life so I may better know this affect you have on me.
Speak to me oh stranger I've made known, speak to me of the spaces between your stars so I may know your world's endless glory.
Oh hold me close you I call home so I may feel the life about me.
Oh bellow my kith and kin, cry out your well deserved beauty.
Defy the cold and heat of death through our astounding legacy.
Allow me to hear and give me voice, show me the obvious choice so I may spit and bear my teeth at the universe's need to ground me.
I see your spaces among my stars and I judge them to distant mountains all about me, no distance is too far to bring you back beside me.
Hills high and valleys deep are nothing to what now tries stopping me.
Bitter strike and tender caresses are weapons I use to fight the sky that attempts to come down on me.
Join me oh stranger, join your voice with mine so we may bring a time that is our own and not that of all around we who dare and dream of things we cannot have.
Oh strange you once were but now time has passed unchecked and now I find a wife with her arms around me.

Madman and the Madam.

Through glen and grove she strode
Through time and space she flowed
Through here and there she moved
Through my darkness she glowed
Despite my love, she had to go
Despite my begging, she couldn't stay
Despite my efforts, they held my sway
Despite my struggling, her's didn't last
Without her, I have but the voices
Without her, I have no choices
Without her, I have no reason
Without her, I am not alone

Midnight my mistress.

Never have I heard a scornful word from her.
I plead for places to hide, she brings me close and cloaks me from hatred.

I beg for forgiveness, but she does nothing but accept.

She caresses my face with her chilled breath and her touch tousles my hair.

She cradles me when I sleep and she follows me when I sleepwalk.

She is the night and I am her humble devotee.

She is the night and I am but a man lost in her graces, looking out at those too foolish to see her boons.

She offers shelter, she offers a blanket to shade the weary for the oppression of the shining day which brings her end each morning and announces her arrival each evening.

I love her and she loves me, I can feel it.

I once hated her because of her sharp clarity of truth, which stung my senses and shocked me with fear.

A fear I now know as the very thing which keeps me wary every single day, and makes my heart pound with excitement every night.

Quality in life, is yours to find, and I find it during my midnight walks and my prowling adventures.

Others traverse her depths as I do, they are to be respected and treated as brothers and sisters, but also as contenders for night's favoring shadow.

To fear the dark, is to be apart from it, and to be denied the night's blessings.

To be one with the night as I am, is to take them for myself.

To respect my brothers and sisters is to respect the night.

To allow myself to be enveloped, is far better than allowing myself to be led like a sheep to slaughter.

To walk as I am on my own path under the night's grace, is to walk the path gifted to me by the night, and it is also to walk the path that would be otherwise stripped from me by the day.

Night mother, I pledge my love to thee, may you forever be, my destiny.

Changes, more stories.

I'm wondering more and more on what to make of this blog, I am thinking of moving it in a slightly new direction but I'll always be posting my stories here. Please subscribe and give my flip floppery a shot? :) Thanks.

Indignation rant.

Disclaimer, I wrote this while I was still in high-school. My high-school was and still is a very preppy rich blond white kids school where everybody acts a specific way to be liked and accepted by those around them. Plastic to the tenth degree. I still end up coming off a little crazy in this, because I was. People who bullied me in high-school got stabbed with pencils. I'm still lonely to this day, but less stressed out about it and surrounded by happy people to aggravate my terrible social anxiety. So take this rant with a grain of salt because I've changed somewhat.

I have a psychotic freaking hatred for ignorance. When I hear and see it in action it sets me off in a way that would probably amount to some kind of nuke you've never heard of. When Ignorance comes along I do a freaking acrobatic pirouette off the handle into the deep end. Like I wanted nothing to do with the handle, like me and the handle are getting a divorce and I am keeping the handle's kids, like that handle just became a big spider orgy and I am totally scared of spiders. Ignorance makes me feel this way because I have spent my entire life trying to understand my life and have gotten some success which has tempered my behavior in odd ways. No one acts as I do, I can guarantee it. This odd behavior alone, seems to make people act quite stupidly around me. Like they have no idea what to do or say to me. Honestly I wouldn't be so put off by it if they put in some effort. I mean really...instead of calling my name and saying. "Whatcha do this weekend, did you kill anyone????" You could try and ask like you really care about what you might hear, and not act like your expecting me to tell some kind of joke. Like oh yeah, "I went swimming with my pet sea lion on my home world midnight-niner and killed a guy with a red banana." HA HA HA RIGHT? So worth asking that freak in black a question. So when the ignoramoose with his idiot grin or sally with her stupid snicker come asking question after question. I'm either going to be pissed, indignant, or ignore your ass like your a slab of melting butter on the wall. If you want to know who I am, act like it, if you don't care, act that way. Thats another thing I'm tired of. The fake courtesy. You know, the thing you do when you want someone to like you as a person. If more people came at me honestly I would respect more people in this world and feel happy about having to come to this school. But no, I get fake after fake, coming at me in a line like they heard someone was handing out asses, and have had nothing but years of bitter ass famine. Asking me to come sit with their idiot clic at the table in the middle of the room with all the spotlights on it. They first, assume I am sad. I am very happy over here in my dark corner, thanks. Second, they expect me to be completely fine moving. Nope, I sat here on purpose, not over there. Get it? And thirdly, they just want to have fun with me once I get there, more stupid questions to egg me into somehow being an idiot with them. I'm sorry sally slim waist and jared jock face, but I'm staying over here on sanity island. I know your all good looking and very appealing to the average upright go getter, but I am waiting for more sensible company that wont be burn-outs by age thirty five.

Brothers.

A shadowy figure moves among the trees, two embers burn in the dark as a pale face He stared off at a distant castle, his foot firmly planted on the cliff edge, the wind wailed in the trees of the forest behind him. "My my...what a beautiful castle...wouldn't you agree?" Suddenly a swarm of shadowy figures rushed to the cliff face from between the devilish trees, katanas at their hips and black mist shifting and curling on their bodies. They file into a perfect line facing the dark figure. "Bring me the girl...Alive...I don't want to see a scratch on her understood!?" The shadows drew their swords and locked into combative stance. "Yes my Lord!" The amassed shadows replied. In unison they leaped off of the cliff face and began running strait down the cliff side, their tight black onyx armor clinging to their bodies as to not make a single sound. Their crimson eyes up facing the lonely window at the top of the high tower, where a silhouette of a beautiful young woman could be seen. The dark figure put his hands behind his back and turned walking back to a tree. He leaned on it, looking up at the moon and sighing softly, wondering where his actual brothers were at a time like this. "Ahh...sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy the little things." His mouth curved up into a evil grin as he heard the shattering of glass and the shrieking of the princess as she was stolen away from her home. The dark figure began to chuckle to himself as the spectacle that was fifteen shadow warriors man handling a girl down a strait drop by tossing her around like they were playing hot potato unfolded. Except this game was strait down...with a death penalty for the potato if it fell. "Having fun Zan?" A man in black coat with black chain mail beneath it had spoken. He was standing in the tree looking down at Zan with an incredulous look that looked like it had been made a hundred times before on the older brother’s face. "Xan! What are you doing here?! I told you to stop following me like a child!" "Well maybe you should go after less obvious targets...I could hear the screams miles away." He gestured at the princess, still falling and having a very bad hair day. Zan only shrugged and said. "Vampiric lords need to eat right, besides I ordered them to be gentle about it." "Hell yeah brother....hell yeah.." Xan jumped down from the tree and landed gracefully on both feet, a small puff of dust rising from the dry earth. He raised a fist and held it out to Zan. "Brofist?" "Brofist." Zan met his fist and stood up strait walking forward and watching as the shadow warriors drew nearer with the princess. Loud bells and alarms could be heard, being raised in the panicking kingdom. "How many is this now anyway?" Xan asked. "Princesses?" Xan nodded. "Yeah." Zan crossed his arms and chuckled "Oh I think it must be around forty at least."

I had a dream that I was a vampire who lived in a mansion. So naturally I wrote a story about it.

A faint glow from a large fogged window grew and dimmed as a cloaked figure with a candle passed by. He took slow and steady steps through the mansion, his feet making the floors boards creek and groan under his boot. As he made his way down the hall the cloak made slight swishing sounds with each step. The hood was up and it masked his features from view. A soft crimson glow came from under the hood as his hand reached out and turned the knob of the door at the end of the hall. He pulled it open and the light from his candle panned out to light up a small circle of light in which he stood. He walked into the main lounge of the mansion he pulled the cloak up and off and put it on a hook on the wall. There weren't any windows in this room to let any sunlight in so he knew he was safe here, he didn't want to get burned again. He had a tight red vest with a silver watch chain visible on its front. His hair was black and hung around his head like a dark curtain. It cast spiky shadows on his face just under his eyes. He made his way to the center of the large room. He sighed softly and surveyed the room. He looked at all the unlit candles, momentarily glancing up at the candles on the golden chandelier that was shining dully in the faint light from the candle in his pale hand. He enjoyed being alone in the dark, but when this room wasn't lit the place just looked depressing. He raised one hand and brought his fingers together and suddenly said. “Show me the light, or leave me in darkness.” His fingers moved instantly and made a loud snap that traveled through the room, the chandeliers erupted with light as all their candles lit The stage at the far end of the lounge was illuminated suddenly by the braziers mounted on the walls next to it. The stage was made of polished black wood and shone as the flickering flames cast dancing light onto it. The candles mounted on the wall next to the bar lit. The bar had a black marble counter that was backed by shelves of bottles and a assortment of many different types of glasses for all types of drink. Suddenly a door at the far right of the large lounge swung open and a long line of servants came pouring out in neat lines and groups, they were butlers, cooks and maids that all lived at the estate, the filed into the room and spread out going to their stations and began carrying out their morning duties, such as preparing breakfast for themselves and the master. One maid came up to the man, her hair was midnight black and was tied back in a bun, several strands escaped the bun and hang from it like black cobwebs. She had a uniform on that was sleek and elegant and very pleasing to the eye. She stood at attention her hands with each other at her midriff gingerly resting on each other as if a gentle breeze could blow them apart. Her hands were covered by thin long black silk gloves that went all the way to her elbows. She spoke in a soft calm voice. “Master, everything will be perfect for tonight, they have all been warned of the consequences of another mistake.” She was looking down at the floor as she said it the events of the past apparently terrible in her eyes. With his hands clasping each other behind his back he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Please Elva, Call me Xander.”

Spear man.

His boots clicked on the marble as he took a step out of line, spear in hand he stood, row after row of his fellows in perfect line and file behind him. He stared forward with intense amber eyes that stayed locked on the far wall. “Demonstrate what you can do.” He fell into a knee and bowed his head. “Yes my lord.” He stood and hefted his spear, turning on the spot and putting one foot out to the side he brought his spear up and around in a dazzling arch that let his mirrored spear blade simmer. As he turned once more he back gripped the spear and pivoted in the space of a few seconds, sending his spear spiraling in his hand in a dizzying burl. His hands twisted and jerked faster and faster, keeping up with the spears rotations. Finally in one last turn he diverted the swing upward and let go. The spear flew high into the air, flipped twice, then plummeted back towards the ground. Holding both arms overhead, he caught his spear with both hands and brought it back into his single grip. He fell to one knee again and bowed his head. “Very good..”

A fated departure.

“But uncle! The things I could learn and discover there, you must see the virtue of this voyage! Please give me your blessing, I would rather not leave without it..”“You’re not to step foot aboard that skyship and that's final Xan!..I won't have you ending up like your poor mother..” A momentary pause followed in which his uncle drank heavily from a bottle of ale and the youth before him simmered with anger and snapped. “I wont end up like her and you know it….the captain said the voyage would be perfectly safe!” A splutter followed and his uncle angrily slammed his bottle down and barked. “You've been conversing with that cad of a captain?! I told you to stay away from those filthy blaggards!” Xan’s eyes shimmered with resentment and he slowly replied. “I am a man now, I can do whatever I choose uncle..” The surly man shook his head and bared his teeth like a feral animal. “I wont have it I wont! Your not to go!” With a small shake of his head, Xan turned on his heel and forlornly strode from the room. His uncle spat venomous words at his back as he turned the door knob. “Fine! Go and fall out of the sky for all I care you ungrateful little whelp!” Slamming the door behind him he squared his shoulders and breathed deeply, taking in the fresh air and renewed sense of freedom in equal measure with every liberating breath. “Right...better find the captain and tell him the news...it seems that my uncle approves and is delighted to see me go to discover the world for myself.” He allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction before taking the first step into his new life.