Twilight

[Nevyn]

Here is a story that popped in to my mind, as I read dark-one by Master of the puppets on the org forum. Comments are appreciated.

Chapter I

In that short time before the sun settles and darkness embraces the land, the time when people hurry home to light their fires and candles, trying their best to hold the darkness at bay. It is then and only then he reaches forth. Feeding on the fear and mistrust of the world he gains strength and makes the strenuous crossover and darkness walks the land. Although he walks among men, few can see him. If it is his design or if it is mans way of survival by subconsciously diverting their eyes in presence of danger, none knows. There are a few with the power of the gaze. Some, in their own word, cursed to see his work and even his very presence, a curse most fear and would have been for not, but some covet it. They relish in its power and seek its wisdom. But he cares not, men of ambition do not deflect his path. And as these few disillusioned men seek it, they stumble in his way hoping to gain some of his knowledge. But mostly they gain nothing but ruined future and desolate lives. That is for the few who survive, the rest follow in his wake. Howling the eternal question of “why me”, and still not fathom the answer, an answer so simple yet so elusive that few seem to grasp it.

Then there are the few of innocence, mostly children. Even here the majority flee home to the safety of their mothers’ bosom. But some, some divert his path by walking up to him and laugh. With no fear they will ask the most innocent of questions, harvesting outrage from the wake of lost souls of the impetuousness. But the simplicity of the question and the innocence and fearlessness of the child often make him stop, pick the child up and carry it. The true sight of these children, people who manage to see behind the front of others, penetrate the veil of darkness he has layered around himself. Their eyes piercing through his mask and see who he is and what they see makes them laugh in glee. They feel no fear or repulse, they want to meet this stranger and his followers. Is this why he stops and converses, because his walls have been breached? Again none knows. All that is known is that the children all have become prominent persons in their respective societies and that in the fleeting moments of conversation none dies or falls ill. It’s like he stops time itself to give this being room in his life. And he will forever remember the child, for the short time that it managed to break the monotony of his walk. It is on these events that the night holds on just a bit to long as if his strength too hold back the light increased. So who is this man, shrouded in darkness and walking the shadows? Well that not even the wisest can say. All that is known is that as sure as day there comes night and in the wake of shadows he walks.

The silence of the night was disturbed by hasted footsteps, making a nearby owl take to the wings. A man huddling under his cape hastily made his way through the village while he constantly shifted his eyes around, searching for danger. In a birds eye he looked like a fearful mouse shuffling for cover as he paced through the streets. The sight made the recently scared owl contemptuously land on a ledge only a meter from the anxious man, sending him flying to the ground. The owl had gotten its revenge; luckily none other had seen it as this pitiful man frightened it. It let slip a tone of victory as the man tried to scramble to his feet and at the same time refused to let slip a small wooden box. As he got up he clutched the box to his chest, made sure he had not been seen and hurried on towards his goal. All the way silently cursing him self for accepting this mission, no gold in the world is enough when you work for Draxus. Who needs gold when you're dead? As he turned the last corner he could see his destination. A two-story building with an ominous feeling around it, there were no plants or anything living around the house, the only thing moving was a raven picking at a dead cat on the house porch. He slowly approached the building making sure none watched him walk towards the ill famed house. It was the home of Draxus a worshipper of darkness and power and a prominent, if mistrusted, member of the village council.

With shaking hands and a feverous shine in his eyes Draxus watched as the cesspool of a man approached his house. Tonight was the night; all the ingredients would finally be assembled if this lowly creature had come true to his word. From upstairs one could hear low whimpers of a child, breaking his concentration. The slip in concert with his anxiety for the nights coming events made his inner being come forth. A face consorted in a frightful rage replaced his outer façade of calmness. "WILL YOU SHUT UP, YOU SNIVELLING LITTLE BRAT! I'M MAKING HISTORY HERE AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD OUT OF YOU". The whimpering came to an abrupt halt, as the terrified child cowered in a corner trying to hold back its tears. Draxus, shameful of his lack of constraint, again donned his mask of utter calmness as he turned around again watching his lapdog approaching his house. He figured he had been a little too loud, as the sorry excuse of a man outside had abruptly stopped in his tracks. Shaking in fear as he tried to mount up enough courage to enter the perimeter of the house. Again the rages of impatience started to flow through Draxus’ body but he quickly calmed himself. This was neither the time nor the day for impatience. Finally the man, if one could call someone who lived in the waste pit of civilization a man, started to move again. Far away the coming events drew attention by something different, menacing and frightening. And as the night peaked, a man all shrouded in black continued his walk, ignoring the constant wailing behind him. Something was tingling in the back of his mind and he felt sadden. Would they never give up? Could they not see? As he pondered his own question a man, one of wealth and power if one would judge by the clothes, threw himself in front of him, begging for something more. The kneeling man did not catch the attention of the stranger though and as he was passed he withered away and were drawn in to the wake of lost souls. The man fought, screamed and howled protests but it was futile. Soon he was walking among the lost, spitting hatred on the world. Would they never learn?

The box was delivered to the exiting hands of Draxus who hurried upstairs to his conjuring room. The lackey petrified with fear slowly and with great trepidation mounted the stairs after his master, with the ever-present greed leading his way. As he reached the top, he entered a low-lit room, which was highlighted by a huge painting of the star of protection, in red, that covered the floor. The messenger tried not to think about what had been used to paint the circled star. In the far corner to the right a small child, not older than ten, sat silently crying, rocking back and forth. His natural instinct told him to run, but his greed was stronger. He would not run before he had his dinarii. The things he had just done justified a lot of dinarii. This would mean he could buy himself some land and power. He would finally escalate on the ladder of society. For that he was willing to give his life. Or as he had done, cut out a heart of an innocent seer before he died. A heart, according to legend, that had the power to open the gate. The gate between realities; a gate any sane person would prefer shut, barred and locked for eternity as it was meant to.

Draxus could hardly be called sane though; his quest for ultimate power had led him down an ever darkening trail and he had brought the lackey with him. After all, he needed someone to do the dirty work. An aspiring King could hardly wander around in filth now could he? Draxus slowly took the still beating heart out of the box, thankful that his incompetent, if useful, servant had performed the ritual to perfection. A pleasant surprise, but then again with the amount of gold the wretched thing was about to receive, he could probably memorise Rome’s entire Book of law. Gold well spent to be knighted ruler of the world. He placed the beating heart in the middle of the protective circle and looked down on the ancient book. He started to chant his ritual, a ritual that would eventually bring him on the throne. Pleasant thoughts of power and revenge quickly sped through his mind before the concentration devoured him completely.

The lackey stood in the corner, constantly shifting his position as his nervousness made it impossible to stand still. He watched his master, which by now where oblivious to the world, slowly chanting in his, presumably, circle of blood with candles highlighting it. In the middle of the sphere his gift was presented on the floor, a heart of a true sight and still beating. A heart he had paid a high price to come by. Not only did it involve an astounding amount of gold it meant the death of six families and countless informants. To be frank he had to kill his entire network, but for the promised reward it was certainly worth it. In the middle of the room the chanting got more intense and Draxus was swaying within the rhythm of his words. In the far corner the child sat, shivering in fear as it watched the horror in front of it. Draxus felt the power surge through him with each word he spoke of the ancient tongue, energy that could be felt throughout the world.

In the deep abyss, where he made his home, the tingle grew in strength, a tingle that started to get annoying. The creature sent his thought out and found the perpetrator and the sight brought forth a grin on the creatures’ so called face, a grin promising pain and suffering and for some a grin showing the potential of power beyond means. The creature angered by a lowly humans attempt of speaking the ancient tongue sat forth to punish the violator. To show them what the true power of the word could do to a man. The thought brought pleasure to the creature and a plan of action was thought out. This, again he sent his thought out, Draxus would know the punishment of playing with forbidden powers. As the chanting reached its peak the creature had locked on to the chanters origin and raced forward to wreck divine punishment on the disrespectful human.. Slowly a gate started to take shape in the middle of the room and Draxus ordered the child to his side. Draxus brought forth a bag from under his clothes without ever missing a word in the chant. In the door opening the deliveryman could make out a creature moving towards the gate, a creature of utter terror. But still the power of greed outweighed the feeling of utter fear and he stood, if not firmly, by the door. Now uttering his own chant “I will not leave without the money, I will not leave without the money” over and over again.

The creature saw two men through the portal, one standing at the door with a look of pure terror on his face and a man sitting in a faulty protective ring chanting. The creature immediately recognized the first verse of the chanting as the power words, which held the gate open, but the second verse was unfamiliar. This puzzled it, as there were no secrets in its life, all answers was his to take. He paused in the entry, as the second verse might be an offensive chant meant to hurt or kill it. But the feel was not right and the notion quickly left, it came to the conclusion that the meagre human had the words wrong and that they were without power. It stepped through with the intention of showing the blasphemous creature the full scope of its power and as it crossed the line with a word of pain on its lips it saw a victorious smile on the soon to be dead human. And the power of the second verse was revealed.

Draxus watched as the creature walked through and a sense of triumph flowed through his body. He stopped chanting the second verse and uttered the final word of power as he stretched forth his left arm revealing a beautifully crafted red ruby ring. At the same time he threw forth the contents of the bag showering the creature with a powder, a powder that looked like it had captured the very rays of the sun and the moon. And at that moment the truth hit the creature and it howled in protest, a howl quickly diminishing as it was drawn into the ring. A howl than mingled itself with the terrified shriek of the deliveryman and the pained scream of the child. And then there was silence. Leaving only a blackened heart in the centre of the room to testify to the sinister act. The protective ring had vanished and the three people involved lay still on the floor. A man by the door which had soiled himself, a wealthy man with a hint of a smile on his lips and a child laying on the floor clutching its face. A face, which would make a man back away in repulse as, it was completely devoid of eyeballs and eyelids.

In the darkness of the night far, far away the Dark one felt the surge. Words, powerful words thought long forgotten, were spoken once again. Words promising destruction, wars and devastation, words that could change destinies and might throw the world in to a new age. An age that was not yet prepared. But it was not for the Dark one to decide. He would not interfere; this was the realm of others. The perpetrator would be dealt with. And just as the shrouded being was about to continue on his walk the final act of the chanting became evident before him. And he saw the creature being sucked into the ring. With a shrug he walked on, the power of truth now belonged to a man, a most intriguing notion. Certainly a first, to reveal the truth to the whims of man would undoubtedly lead to chaos. It seem he would have busy nights in the foreseeable future. His lips rippled into something that might be considered a smile, although no one had ever seen him smile or make any other facial expression whatsoever. Events had been set in motion, events the great ones had thought to be eradicated. It seemed man was more resourceful than they had thought. And as he walked away something could be seen in his eyes, a shift, from apathy to… something else, something frightening.

Chapter II

High above the moonlit city a raven circles in graceful swoops, watching the life below. Night holds its firm grip over the city, veiling it in its soft blanket of darkness. Caressing it, making shadow plays with the moon and the evening mist. In this hour the sounds are dulled and spread, making the “all is well” shouts from the city guards hard to locate. It is in this hour the lower denizens (sp?) of the city make their appearance, feeding of it like carrion birds. As the ruler of day goes to sleep the ruler of night swings its harsh whip on its peons. Urging them forward to pay him tribute. It is the time of spies, thieves and cutthroats.

As the raven makes a dive down an alley to feast on a dead rat it had spotted, it passed a beggar huddling on the streets. The man, one of the city’s unfortunates, is all dressed in a colourful collage of rags scavenged of the street. One could probably discern his past locations on the street by just taking a fleeting glance on his clothing. Clothing made up by patches of wool, cotton and even pieces of silk. And in this diversity of fibres, a toothless grin of the beggar could be spotted as he went through his spoils of the day. The raven ends its flight next to the ill fortuned rat with a happy chirp as it spots the yet untouched eyes. And as it makes it way over it spots another man, someone that should not have been there on this hour. It feels no danger though so it hops over to the head of the rat to gulp up the nutritious eyes just in case.

The man hurriedly walks by the grisly scene with a worried expression on his face, oblivious of his surroundings. If one should judge by his clothes he would be a man of wealth and thereby power. A man who should not have been walking in this neighbourhood as it was surely beneath him. A man like him shone like a weed in a master garden and would be tracked with watchful eyes by all its dwellers. But still he walked, as he owned it. As he reached the beggar he was startled when the thing shot forward its scrawny arms begging for mercy. The rasping voice of the beggar sounded like war drums to a man who wishes to be unseen and a coin is quickly thrown at the man to quiet him. Letting the dwellers of the streets know more than he would like too. The coin hits the ground with a familiar sound as it bounces down the street away from the wealthy man, which quickly rounds a corner and disappears in the night. The beggar on the other hand, who with surprising agility intercepted the coin, clutches his newfound prize and prises his luck. The gold coin could support him for a year; furthering him up the ladder of hierarchy on the street. Promising a longer life. All this raced through his head as he marvelled at the beauty of the coin, thereby letting his guard down, a crucial error in this part of town.

In a corner not far away a man, hidden in the shadows, has observed the scene. He had quickly dismissed the notion of robbing the wealthy man as he figured such a man had to have some protection form higher up, or else he would never had reached this far or have such a certain walk. Disappointed that such a lucrative opportunity looked to be wasted he was all the more interested as he heard a welcomed sound. The sound of money on cobbled stone. An evil grin spread across his face as he decided to make his move. This looked to be good night after all. Slowly so as not to be spotted he made his way towards his unfortunate prey, keeping in mind the agility the beggar had shown. His smile widening as he estimated his victim. Easy money was always good and hard to come by. So this was indeed a lucky night.

As he trekked the street, taking advantage of every shadow, he drew his weapon. The weapon a menacing looking knife with rugged and hooked edges, which is a truly powerful weapon in the right hands. In the hands of a novice such a knife often has a tendency to veer left when it impacts on its target. Thereby reducing the damage. The victim would probably still die but it opened up an opportunity for the wounded to strike back, something that easily leads to both men’s early demise. In expert hands the knife, with the form of a pyramid ending in a palm-supporting shaft, would inflict instant death on its target. Ripping up major blood vessels, depriving the brain of its crucial blood supply making the victim to instantly black out and then die, silently. It is a messy instrument, as its main function is to make the body go in to shock and bleeding it dry in record time but it is silent. The victim seldom has time to make a sound. It is a weapon, which need training and knowledge to use, where the knowledge of the location of the impact is crucial to efficiently expedite the objective. To be arrested with such an instrument leads to certain crucifixion or the perpetrator ends up in the circus. Serving as a gladiator or meat.

It is such a knife the he straps on to his right hand as he sneaks towards the beggar, trying not to make a noise. The beggar still in wonder over his luck has not recovered his senses and is still oblivious to the menace sneaking up behind him. All he knew was that he would go to sleep on a full stomach today an maybe he could afford himself a flagon of wine and a fine lady. The pictures of the night to come still flew through his head as he suddenly felt a heavy nudge in his back. In his surprise the beggar tries to turn around to see what it was that stumbled in to him but the body wont respond. The knife had expertly entered between the ribcage and found its target, the heart. The soft tissue of the pumping heart was instantly shredded and cut in two thereby stopping the blood flow to the rest of the body. The beggar sees his powerless hands open and the spoils of the day falls to the ground and then he slumps forward, dead before he hits the ground.

The assailant quickly assembles the valuables and disappears in the night leaving the beggar for the watching raven to feast on. The night is young and the first victim has already fallen, such is the life on the street in this city. The beggar will be found stripped naked as the rest of the dreg of society scavenges all of use. In the morning he will be thrown in the pit where the nights fallen are buried so they do not attract diseases. The corner or street of the fallen will quickly be filled by some other beggar eager to climb on to a better spot, hoping he will be more vigilant so as not to fall prey to the resent owners assailant. The life in Commentum goes on, undaunted by the night’s events. With the powerful striving to better their position using all and everything in their eternal quest of gaining more.

Chapter III

Darius finally reached his target. He had waited a long time for this day. Across the alley he could see the huge building and involuntary shuddered at its sight. The building in it self was not built in an ominous way, it looked more or less like any storehouse of the city. The smell on the other hand would give anyone not knowing the origin of the building want to give it a wide berth. The building was one of the larger slave pens in the district and inside hundreds of slaves awaited their fate. The smell of deceased and dead reeked in the nearby area even if hundreds of torches were surrounding the building to fight the odour. Darius put a piece of cloth to his face before he took a deep breath and moved towards the building and his fate.

Maurizio silently counted his coins, the spoils of the day. He was a powerfully built man with distinctive features from a harsh life. A long scar run from his forehead, over his left eye and ended on the left side of his lip. Giving him a look of a constant sneer. Another hint of a harsh life would be his distinctly flattened nose, broken on several places. What once had been powerful muscles now was turning in to fat, straining his cobber arm rings and giving him a plump look. He still looked to be a man not to be trifled with though. Maurizio, the districts biggest slaver, was a man of many talents and was well known through the aristocracy as someone who could solve many problems. If anybody needed to disappear he would be the man to talk to. Darius rendezvous of the night was with this man, a rendezvous that hopefully would push his career a step further.

[Ludens]

Why has nobody replied to this yet? This is a very good begining. I like it, though I was a bit disappointed when you chose to make such a charicature of Draxus. I also did have some trouble catching what you meant, especially in the beginning. There are a few grammar and punctuation issues.

But please continu, Nevyn.

[CrackedAxe]

Sorry it took you so long to get a reply to this, Nevyn. this piece certainly deserves more attention than that. You have a nice writing style, it flows well and your descriptions certainly set the scene vividly. The piece was quite atmospheric and I found myself being draw into it from the second paragraph onwards. My only problem was the first paragraph, it meandered too much without really 'grounding' the reader into the story. Like Ludens, I wasn't really sure what was going on and this is enough, unfortunately, to deter most readers from reading onwards. Which is a shame as it's nicely written.

A bit of an edit is needed for gramma and spelling. Also, try not to repeat the same word too much. I saw 'scared' repeated 4 or 5 times in the space of a couple of sentences in the second paragraph.

[Greek Phalanx]

hi there nev!

[Nevyn]

Hi there GP, I see you found your way. Thanks for the comments Ludens and CrackedAxe, as for the spelling error and such please give me some directions. English isn’t my native language so I have no idea where they might be. I don’t know where I want to go with this one. I actually never meant to write very much beyond the first paragraph, but after some though I believed I could make a story out of it, although a rather dark one. But I’ve bogged down. I don’t like the way Draxus evolved and some other characters are completely lost. I’m trying to figure a way out of this mess and save the story. I believe I need to rewrite the two last paragraphs to get the story back on track again. Anyway glad you enjoyed some of it.

Cheers
Nev

[Ludens]

Thanks for the comments Ludens and CrackedAxe, as for the spelling error and such please give me some directions.

My pleasure . English isn't my first language either, but I'll try:

In that short time before the sun settles and darkness embraces the land, the time when people hurry home to light their fires and candles, trying their best to hold the darkness at bay, it is then and only then he reaches forth. Feeding on the fear and mistrust of the world, he gains strength and makes the strenuous crossover and darkness walks the land. [Not incorrect, but "darkness walks the land" should be an independent sentence. As it is, it unbalances the sentence.]
(....)
If it is his design or if it is man's way of survival... [a possessive should be spelled with an apostrophe, with the exception of its (because with an apostrophe it would become "it's", which is the abbreviation for "it is").]
(...)
Some cursed to see his work and even his very presence, a curse most fear and would have been for not, but some covet the sight. [Who is cursing? Or what is cursed?]
(....)
But he cares not, men of ambition do not deflect his path. (....) That is for the few who survive, the rest follow in his wake. [I am not sure about "follow", but from the context it appears it should be without an s. It all depends on what you mean with "rest"]. Hollowing the eternal question of "why me",
(....)
Even here the majority flee home to the safety of their mother's bosom. But some, some divert his path by walking up and laughing (?). Without fear they will ask the most innocent of questions, harvesting outrage from the wake of lost souls of the impetuousness of the child. [The "of" is gramatically wrong, but I could find no way of properly intergrating the underlined part into the sentence.] And the simplicity of the question and the innocence and fearlessness of the child often make him stop, pick the child up and carry it. The true sight of these children, people who manage to see behind the front of others, penetrate the veil of darkness he has layered around himself. [Is there something missing here?] Their eyes piercing through his mask and see who he is and what they see makes them laugh with glee.
(....)
Is this why he stops and converses with the child, because his walls have been breached. Again none knows. [Not a very pretty solution, but the "because part" needs to be in the first sentence, not the second.] All that is known is that the children all became prominent persons in their respective societies and that in the fleeting moments of conversation none dies nor fall ill. It's like he stops time itself to give this being room in his life. And he will forever remember the child, for the short time that it managed break the monotony of his walk. It is on these events that the night holds on just a bit too long as if his strength to hold back the light increased. [I know what you mean, but it was not immediatly obvious to me.] So who is this man shrouded in darkness and walking the shadows? Well, that not even the wisest can say. All that is known is that as sure as day there comes night and in the wake of shadows he walks.

Ahem, there appear to be more of them than I thought . This is just the first paragraph, and I am sure I have missed a couple. If I may offer some advice: your story would improve in readability if you used more paragraphs.

As you see, your main problem is with verbs. It doesn't help that you chose to use such long and complex sentences either. I know they create the atmosphere you intended, but you are making it rather hard yourself.

I actually never meant to write very much beyond the first paragraph, but after some though I believed I could make a story out of it, although a rather dark one. But I’ve bogged down.

I would like to read a story based on this, but please don't feel obligated on my account. Write only those stories you like.

Good luck with writing!

[Nevyn]

Thanks Ludens, seems like my knowledge of English has taken a steep fall . I’ll try to do better. After all it’s the reason why I started writing, to better my English skills. Thanks again I really appreciate it . Now I’ll see if I can’t make a story out of this yet.

Cheers
Nev

[Alexanderofmacedon]

Hey Nev!

[Mouzafphaerre]

.
I like your style, the gradually thickening then lightening texture, the dark atmosphere etc. The grammar errata indicated either that English wasn't your first language, that you have clarified, or that you were American.

Please continue upon this and just keep up the pace.

Is Draxus somebody historical? I'm asking because of your and Ludens' comments.


.

[Nevyn]

Glad you like it Mouzafphaerre (there’s a handful). Draxus is fiction and made up by me as is every character. I rewrote the story some and think I managed to get it in on a track I can work with. Have I succeeded? Do you find this version better than the first? Anxiously awaiting your replies.

Cheers
Nev

[Mouzafphaerre]

.
Will reread it as soon as I get a sober head Nevyn.
.

[Ludens]

Yes, I think you have. This is certainly one of the most intriguing stories I have seen in the Mead Hall.

The addition of paragraphs has much improved readability, but there are still some points were your writing needs to be polished. For example, I initially thought the victim of the end of the fourth paragraph was Draxus (because in a metaphorical sense he threw himself down in front of the Dark One), but it was someone else. At other points, unclarity arose out of complex sentences or wrong translation (howling, not hollowing; revealed, not reviled). Don't be a slave to the spell-checker: it doesn't know what you intend to say.

But otherwise, this is very interesting. Just pay attention to the grammar.

Please, continue!

[Nevyn]

I highly appreciate the interest Ludens, thanks for taking the time on commenting. Grammar as is plain to see is not one of my strong points. I do try to improve but it is woefully inadequate (It doesn’t matter that I might know a lot of fancy words if I don’t know where and in which order I should put them now does it ). Hopefully I’ll improve as I go along. My last paragraph ends the first part and the introduction to my story. Next I will try to guide you through my dark and twisted world where people aren’t very nice. So I think I want to explore more of the people in the world and what lurks below the “sunny” surface. I hope you’ll enjoy it. Be careful not to get too sober Mouzafphaerre, the world is a much happier place when drunk .

Cheers
Nev

[Mouzafphaerre]

.
I never drink Nevyn, I had to sober up from over-tiredom.



*leaves the tab open to reread the story*
.

[Mouzafphaerre]

.
Nevyn,

I hope you don't mind me reposting your story with less erroneous grammar:

In that short time before the sun settles and darkness embraces the land, the time when people hurry home to light their fires and candles, trying their best to hold the darkness at bay. It is then and only then he reaches forth. Feeding on the fear and mistrust of the world he gains strength and makes the strenuous crossover and darkness walks the land. Although he walks among men, few can see him. If it is his design or * men's way of survival by subconsciously diverting their eyes in presence of danger, none knows. There are a few with the power of the gaze. Some, in their own word, cursed to see his work and even his very presence, a curse most fear and would have been for not, but some covet it. They relish in its power and seek its wisdom. But he cares not, men of ambition do not deflect his path. And as these few disillusioned men seek it, they stumble in his way hoping to gain some of his knowledge. But mostly they gain nothing but ruined future and desolate lives. That is for the few who survive, the rest follow in his wake. Howling the eternal question of 'why me', and still not fathom the answer, an answer so simple yet so elusive that few seem to grasp it.

Then there are the few of innocence, mostly children. Even here the majority flee home to the safety of their mothers' bosom. But some, some divert his path by walking up to him and laugh. With no fear they will ask the most innocent of questions, harvesting outrage from the wake of lost souls of the impetuousness. But the simplicity of the question and the innocence and fearlessness of the child often make him stop, pick the child up and carry it. The true sight of these children, people who manage to see behind the front of others, penetrate the veil of darkness he has layered around himself. Their eyes piercing through his mask and see who he is and what they see makes them laugh in glee. They feel no fear or repulse, they want to meet this stranger and his followers. Is this why he stops and converses: because his walls have been breached? Again none knows. All that is known is that the children all have become prominent persons in their respective societies and that in the fleeting moments of conversation none dies or falls ill. It's like he stops time itself to give this being room in his life. And he will forever remember the child, for the short time that it managed to break the monotony of his walk. It is on these events that the night holds on just a bit too long as if his strength to hold back the light increased. So who is this man, shrouded in darkness and walking the shadows? Well, that not even the wisest can say. All that is known is that as sure as day there comes night and in the wake of shadows he walks.

The silence of the night was disturbed by hasted footsteps, making a nearby owl take to the wings. A man huddling under his cape hastily made his way through the village while he constantly shifted his eyes around, searching for danger. In a birds eye he looked like a fearful mouse shuffling for cover as he paced through the streets. The sight made the recently scared owl contemptuously land on a ledge only a meter from the anxious man, sending him flying to the ground. The owl had gotten its revenge; luckily no other saw that this pitiful man had been frightened by it. It let slip a tone of victory as the man tried to scramble to his feet and at the same time refused to let slip a small wooden box. As he got up he clutched the box to his chest, made sure he had not been seen and hurried on towards his goal. All the way silently cursing him self for accepting this mission, no gold in the world is enough when you work for Draxus. Who needs gold when you're dead? As he turned the last corner he could see his destination. A two-story building with an ominous feeling around it, there were no plants or anything living around the house, the only thing moving was a raven picking at a dead cat on the house porch. He slowly approached the building making sure none watched him walk towards the ill famed house. It was the home of Draxus, a worshipper of darkness and power, and a prominent, if mistrusted, member of the village council.

With shaking hands and a feverous shine in his eyes Draxus watched as the cesspool of a man approached his house. Tonight was the night; all the ingredients would finally be assembled if this lowly creature had come true to his word. From upstairs one could hear low whimpers of a child, breaking his concentration. The slip in concert with his anxiety for the night's coming events made his inner being come forth. A face consorted in a frightful rage replaced his outer façade of calmness: "WILL YOU SHUT UP, YOU SNIVELLING LITTLE BRAT! I'M MAKING HISTORY HERE AND I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER WORD OUT OF YOU". The whimpering came to an abrupt halt, as the terrified child cowered in a corner trying to hold back its tears. Draxus, shameful of his lack of constraint, again donned his mask of utter calmness as he turned around again watching his lapdog approaching his house. He figured he had been a little too loud, as the sorry excuse of a man outside had abruptly stopped in his tracks. Shaking in fear as he tried to mount up enough courage to enter the perimeter of the house. Again the rages of impatience started to flow through Draxus' body but he quickly calmed himself. This was neither the time nor the day for impatience. Finally the man, if one could call someone who lived in the waste pit of civilization a man, started to move again. Far away the coming events drew attention by something different, menacing and frightening. And as the night peaked, a man all shrouded in black continued his walk, ignoring the constant wailing behind him. Something was tingling in the back of his mind and he felt sadden. Would they never give up? Could they not see? As he pondered his own question, a man, one of wealth and power if one would judge by the clothes, threw himself in front of him, begging for something more. The kneeling man did not catch the attention of the stranger though and as he was passed he withered away and were drawn in to the wake of lost souls. The man fought, screamed and howled protests but it was futile. Soon he was walking among the lost, spitting hatred on the world. Would they never learn?

The box was delivered to the exiting hands of Draxus who hurried upstairs to his conjuring room. The lackey petrified with fear slowly and with great trepidation mounted the stairs after his master, with the ever-present greed leading his way. As he reached the top, he entered a low-lit room, which was highlighted by a huge painting of the star of protection, in red, that covered the floor. The messenger tried not to think about what had been used to paint the circled star. In the far corner to the right a small child, not older than ten, sat silently crying, rocking back and forth. His natural instinct told him to run, but his greed was stronger. He would not run before he had his dinarii. The things he had just done justified a lot of dinarii. This would mean he could buy himself some land and power. He would finally escalate on the ladder of the society. For that he was willing to give his life. Or as he had done, cut out a heart of an innocent seer before he died. A heart, according to legend, that had the power to open the gate. The gate between realities; the gate any sane person would prefer * shut, barred and locked for eternity as it was meant to.

Draxus could hardly be called sane though; his quest for ultimate power had led him down an ever darkening trail and he had brought the lackey with him. After all, he needed someone to do the dirty work. An aspiring King could hardly wander around in filth now could he? Draxus slowly took the still beating heart out of the box, thankful that his incompetent, if useful, servant had performed the ritual to perfection. A pleasant surprise, but then again with the amount of gold the wretched thing was about to receive, he could probably memorise Rome’s entire Book of law. Gold well spent to be the knighted ruler of the world. He placed the beating heart in the middle of the protective circle and looked down on the ancient book. He started to chant his ritual, a ritual that would eventually bring him on the throne. Pleasant thoughts of power and revenge quickly sped through his mind before the concentration devoured him completely.

The lackey stood in the corner, constantly shifting his position as his nervousness made it impossible to stand still. He watched his master, which by now where oblivious to the world, slowly chanting in his, presumably, circle of blood with candles highlighting it. In the middle of the sphere his gift was presented on the floor, a heart of a true sight and still beating. A heart he had paid a high price to come by. Not only did it involve an astounding amount of gold it meant the death of six families and countless informants. To be frank he had to kill his entire network, but for the promised reward it was certainly worth it. In the middle of the room the chanting got more intense and Draxus was swaying within the rhythm of his words. In the far corner the child sat, shivering in fear as it watched the horror in front of it. Draxus felt the power surge through him with each word he spoke of the ancient tongue, energy that could be felt throughout the world.

In the deep abyss, where he made his home, the tingle grew in strength, a tingle that started to get annoying. The creature sent his thought out and found the perpetrator and the sight brought forth a grin on the creatures’ so called face, a grin promising pain and suffering and for some a grin showing the potential of power beyond means. The creature, angered by a lowly human's attempt of speaking the ancient tongue, sat forth to punish the violator. To show them what the true power of the word could do to a man. The thought brought pleasure to the creature and a plan of action was thought out. This, again he sent his thought out, Draxus would know the punishment of playing with forbidden powers. As the chanting reached its peak the creature had locked on to the chanters origin and raced forward to wreck the divine punishment on the disrespectful human.. Slowly, a gate started to take shape in the middle of the room and Draxus ordered the child to his side. Draxus brought forth a bag from under his clothes without ever missing a word in the chant. In the door opening the deliveryman could make out a creature moving towards the gate, a creature of utter terror. But still the power of greed outweighed the feeling of utter fear and he stood, if not firmly, by the door. Now uttering his own chant “I will not leave without the money, I will not leave without the money” over and over again.

The creature saw two men through the portal, one standing at the door with a look of pure terror on his face and a man sitting in a faulty protective ring chanting. The creature immediately recognized the first verse of the chanting as the power words, which held the gate open, but the second verse was unfamiliar. This puzzled it, as there were no secrets in its life, all answers was his to take. He paused in the entry, as the second verse might be an offensive chant meant to hurt or kill it. But the feel was not right and the notion quickly left, it came to the conclusion that the meagre human had the words wrong and that they were without power. It stepped through with the intention of showing the blasphemous creature the full scope of its power and as it crossed the line with a word of pain on its lips it saw a victorious smile on the soon to be dead human. And the power of the second verse was revealed.

Draxus watched as the creature walked through and a sense of triumph flowed through his body. He stopped chanting the second verse and uttered the final word of power as he stretched forth his left arm revealing a beautifully crafted red ruby ring. At the same time he threw forth the contents of the bag showering the creature with a powder, a powder that looked like it had captured the very rays of the sun and the moon. And at that moment the truth hit the creature and it howled in protest, a howl quickly diminishing as it was drawn into the ring. A howl than mingled itself with the terrified shriek of the deliveryman and the pained scream of the child. And then there was silence. Leaving only a blackened heart in the centre of the room to testify to the sinister act. The protective ring had vanished and the three people involved lay still on the floor. A man by the door which had soiled himself, a wealthy man with a hint of a smile on his lips and a child laying on the floor clutching its face. A face, which would make a man back away in repulse as, it was completely devoid of eyeballs and eyelids.

In the darkness of the night far, far away the Dark one felt the surge. Words, powerful words thought long forgotten, were spoken once again. Words promising destruction, wars and devastation, words that could change destinies and might throw the world in to a new age. An age that was not yet prepared. But it was not for the Dark one to decide. He would not interfere; this was the realm of others. The perpetrator would be dealt with. And just as the shrouded being was about to continue on his walk, the final act of the chanting became evident before him. And he saw the creature being sucked into the ring. With a shrug he walked on, the power of truth now belonged to a man, a most intriguing notion. Certainly a first, to reveal the truth to the whims of man would undoubtedly lead to chaos. It seem he would have busy nights in the foreseeable future. His lips rippled into something that might be considered a smile, although no one had ever seen him smile or make any other facial expression whatsoever. Events had been set in motion, events the great ones had thought to be eradicated. It seemed the man was more resourceful than they had thought. And as he walked away something could be seen in his eyes, a shift, from apathy to… something else, something frightening.

Corrected parts have been highlighted with colour, removed words and phrases being replaced by an asterix.
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[Nevyn]

Thanks Mouzafphaerre, I have edited the story. The things I have not included are the inclusion of “the man” instead of “man”. I talk about the race of man and not just one dude, so it was intentional. I did not correct anything in the owl incident either. It was the owl that was happy none saw it scared not the messenger. Other than that I think I have included all you’re corrections. Thanks again for bearing with me. It’s only recently that I have gotten the interest of actually writing, before that all I cared about was the proficiency of talking the language. I couldn’t care less of the grammar of it.

Anywhoo, I’ve started planning the next chapter and hope to have it up soon. Hopefully with better grammar. It takes some time as I need to bee in a certain mood to write this story, can’t be chirpy if I’m to write in a dark and gloomy fashion . So I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if it is erroneous.

Cheers
Nev

[Mouzafphaerre]

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Those points actually I was uncertain.

Impatiently waiting the rest.
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[Ludens]

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Impatiently waiting the rest.
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So do I!

[Nevyn]

A quick update. Not the best one but a start. I will probably change it some later, got to read through it a couple of times first and find out where this is going.

Cheers
Nev

[Ludens]

Very good!

(Sorry for not commenting more: I am supposed to write a report for the uni, but I have to finish it tomorrow, my notes are not complete and I am going mad trying to get something interesting on paper. )

[Nevyn]

Thanks Ludens. I’ll try to correct a few things by the weekend. The one thing I don’t miss about school, the paperwork. The beer , the women , the freedom all good things but…


Edit
I just reread the second chapter and I felt it was all wrong. It has gone from a dark mood to a more indifferent one, which was not the intention. The descriptions are also more to be wanted. I have the scene clear in my head; I just don’t seem to be able to put it to paper. Well, at least I have fleshed out the scene, now I just have to find a better way of writing it.

Cheers
Nev

[Ludens]

I just reread the second chapter and I felt it was all wrong. It has gone from a dark mood to a more indifferent one, which was not the intention. The descriptions are also more to be wanted. I have the scene clear in my head; I just don’t seem to be able to put it to paper. Well, at least I have fleshed out the scene, now I just have to find a better way of writing it.

Any progress on this? I hope you have not abandoned the story.

[Mouzafphaerre]

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[Nevyn]

I have no intention on abandoning the story. Work is killing me at the moment. I’m just too tired to work up any inspiration to write. Hopefully I’ll get some more time to write soon. Christmas is closing so I’ll probably have more time in a couple of days as things slow down. Hopefully. Anyway thanks for reading.

Cheers
Nev

[Nevyn]

Been a while. Here’s a quick update, not much. Still trying to figure out where to go with this one. Inspiration is slowly coming back. Anywhoo, sorry for the delay.

Cheers
Nev

[Ludens]