Thaidakar's Creator's Corner

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Spoiler

Power pulsed in his veins as he embraced who he truly was. Energy flooded into his very being. This was who he was meant to be. This unleashed being that was him. This power that could destroy. This was what he was meant to be.

He smiled coldly at the person who he would have said a few minutes ago was his favorite person in the universe. She shivered and said quietly, “Eeran? Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Eeran echoed softly, his words thrumming with the power he now held, “I am more than alright… I’m me for the first time in my life.” He laughed, excited.

But Rellia didn’t seem as excited, “Eeran, you seem… different. What happened?”

Eeran hesitated, the power inside him skipped a beat, “I received power. My gift was unlocked. The gift I had been craving all my life.” 

“Eeran, what did you do?” she seemed mad. But why?

“Aren’t you happy for me?” he grew angry, the power pulsed faster and faster, adrenaline wondering if its master called for it. “

“Of course I am! I just think… well, you weren’t supposed to take the power.” At that moment it all made sense in Eeran’s head. That had been Rellia’s mistake.

“I knew it…” said Eeran. The threats in his voice were evident to Rellia. “You never loved me. All you wanted was access to the power!” he was shouting now. A part of him quivered at this new quick to anger version of himself. Why was he shouting at Rellia?

She widened her eyes, terror in her face, “what? Eeran! See reason, it was like that at first. But now… Eeran, I love you!” 

Eeran turned his face from her, sorrow pounded inside of him as he realized now what her plot was. “I wish I could believe you. Goodbye, Rellia.” He let the anger control him as his power lashed out, taking hold of Rellia. He tried to mask the screams from his ears as she was torn apart.

Power had its costs, apparently. Costs Eeran was beginning to think he might not be willing to pay.

 

This is called the Cost of Power.

this was a fun story to write. Eeran is kind of like Anakin, but where the power is from an unnatural source. It has corrupted his thinking which makes him go to different conclusions then he would have taken otherwise. I may turn this into a bit longer of a story as I love this type of anti-hero, even though one of the only examples I have seen was Anakin who was handled terribly.

[Going_North_cal]

"Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely."

Beautiful vignette about how bad power can be.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Ey, here's a good one that I wrote earlier this week.

Spoiler

The water lapped against the stone shore as only the faint glimmer in the greenish water hinted at the secrets hidden in its depths. A breath of air was carried in the salty breeze to the beautiful landscape that generations had enjoyed. Trees lined distant mountains like a plate to a particularly rich and sticky pastry. 

Castles of a varying sort adorned the lower portions of the mountains and particular hills bordering the stony beach and waves which Baron Seolin so loved. Perhaps this would be the last time he would see them. That would have to be decided by the senate, or, perhaps, it would be decided by the young Duke Evad. 

Seolin smiled as he felt a strong breeze sweep in, sending his white on gold cape swirling to the side. Evad was a smart young man, perhaps too smart. If Seolin had planted the hints correctly, Evad would be Seolin’s new protege and chief ally in the upcoming turmoil. 

The key moment would soon arrive, and Seolin hoped he had done his role correctly. Of course he had, this was only the kind of stage fright that a brilliant actor has, wondering if his genius career will end with ruin because of one stumble in his lines. This was going to be Seolin’s greatest act. This was going to be the start of something that would last generations.

Seolin took in a deep breath of the salty air, he pictured the possibilities in his head. Evad would join him in a desperate attempt to assuage his guilt from killing his father. Seolin smiled; of course, Evad hadn’t killed his father in a hunting accident. Seolin had. Dervon had been close to finding out about Seolin’s ideas. Too close. It was a tragedy, Seolin had been hoping Dervon would be his key to the throne. He had underestimated his old friend’s honor and his wife. She had been instrumental in keeping Dervon away from Seolin.

Seolin sighed and put a hand to neck absently. He rubbed the locket he kept there always, it glowed softly. The amber light calmed Seolin’s nerves as he felt vibrations nearing, thanks to his enhanced senses.

Seolin didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The deep basso voice of Admiral Wesley burst through the beautiful silence, “Baron Seolin, you are under arrest for crimes against the empire and the imperial throne.” The threat was evident in his voice.

“You know,” started Seolin quietly, he still hadn’t turned around. His voice was laced with sarcasm. “I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to come with my closest ally. You are surely doomed, Admiral.”

He could hear the sound of feet turning to each other. Seolin smiled softly, so there were about six people there. Two or three guards most likely would be accompanying Wesley and Evad. But who was the sixth person?

“Arrogant today, are we, Seolin?” asked Wesley rhetorically, “you would assume one of my ten companions would join you?”

Ten companions? Without a smidgeon of surprise in his voice, Seolin said, “Bold of you to assume you know the hearts of those with you. Evad, for one.”

“How did you know Evad was here?” asked Wesley, genuinely surprised. Seolin’s back tensed as he felt the tip of a sword touch his collarbone.

“There are things you don’t know about the empire, Wesley. Things that would make you want to strangle Emperor Quaidan next time you see him.” said Seolin calmly. He could feel the sharp breaths of two guards right behind him. He could just see one’s glove out of his peripheral vision. The glove made a short movement. Hand signals.

“Men, chain the Baron.” barked Admiral Wesley. Firm hands gripped Seolin’s shoulders and swung him around. Thick iron bands were clamped on Seolin’s hands before Seolin could do anything.

The Admiral made a sort of “tut tut.” Finally, Seolin had his look of the group. There were seven people in total, four guards, the Admiral, Evad and Senator Asani. 

Seolin smiled at Asani, she was one who could be made to believe his cause, “you’re looking quite fine today, Lady Senator.”

Asani glared at Seolin, “A dirty cell would be nice compared to a moment talking to you.”

Seolin nodded swiftly, best not to upset her. Evad stared at Seolin quietly, his purple eyes betraying no sign of his desires or wants. This was the moment. 

“Evad,” started Seolin. “You know the rumors as well as I do.”

Evad frowned, slowly he said, “You were like a father to me, the kind of father who pretends he loves his son only to make him do what he wants.”

Wesley leaned towards Evad and whispered something Seolin could only barely make out, “be careful with that one.”

“Care is always advised,” said Seolin loudly. “However, when has care been your strong suite, Wesley?”

The Admiral stiffened, “I would advise you to stay quiet, you are a prisoner of the imperial senate.”

“Evad,” said Seolin, “Kill the Admiral.”

Evad blinked, he looked from Seolin to the admiral, “and why would I do that?”

“Because I can give you the truth of what happened the day your father died,” said Seolin. One of the guards made a hand sign to Wesley who gave a returning one. The meaning was clear, “should I silence him?” “no, I have a plan. Be prepared, however.” 

The reaction was immediate, Evad widened his eyes, “what do you mean?” his voice was almost perfect, except for that quiver at the end. He was truly caught off guard. Excellent.

“I mean that not everything was what it seemed. But that is only the tip of the iceberg compared to the secrets that I can tell you about your father…” Seolin hoped his plan was working.

“Enough!” shouted Wesley, “I will end this now!” He drew his long and thin sword out of his sheath smoothly. The sound was oddly soothing.

Seolin laughed coldly, “You are a fool, Wesley. You were never good at politics.”

Wesley raised his sword spectacularly and swung. Metal struck flesh, but Seolin wasn’t hit. 

Wesley gasped for air as his sword fell to the ground. Evad drew his now bloodstained sword out of Wesley’s flesh. Evad’s eyes looked empty as Lady Asani backed away from the lad. The other two guards who weren’t guarding Seolin leapt at Evad. 

Evad swung his sword ferociously with the skill of one who had practiced since birth. The two guards who had been holding Seolin charged Evad after a minute. It was clear the skill gap between Evad and the guards. It took under five minutes for the four guards to be corpses on bloodstained rock. 

Asani drew a sword from a fallen guard as determination set into her jaw. “Perhaps I’ll be late for dinner.”

Seolin chuckled, “perhaps, my lady, perhaps you will be.” Seolin used one of his hands to tap the amber locket softly. He muttered something and it glowed brighter. His hands burst with power as the bands of metal melted and fell onto the rock. He tapped the locket again and the power stopped.

Asani held her ground in a defensive position. Evad’s black cuffs were stained with blood from the fight. His expression was void of emotion as he walked calmly towards Asani. He swung his blade through the air, making a veritable shield from any attack Asani might spring in this early phase.

“That won’t be necessary, Evad.” Said Seolin cheerfully. This was going better than he expected. Most Excellent. “Me and the Lady Senator have a conversation to be had.”

“Like heck,” Asani leapt into the air, her sword blazing through the air towards Seolin’s neck. Perhaps he had underestimated her.

Evad was ready, however, and threw his sword expertly. Seolin ducked as the sword swiped over his head. Asani landed in front of Seolin and swung at his face. Asani paled as pain jetted from her chest throughout her body. The protruding tip of the sword through her teal dress sent red streaks down the fabric.

Asani gritted her teeth and swung her sword in a would be fatal strike. Seolin paled, this was where fate was decided. This moment would decide how the next few centuries would go. A fist connected with Asani’s neck and sent her sprawling into the rocky terrain. Evad drew his sword out of her back. 

The last few strangled breaths from Asani were drowned out by a sudden wave smashing into the rocks farther down the rocky beach. 

Evad sat down, trembling, “what have I done?”

“You’ve helped a friend,” said Seolin calmly, “And, I will fulfill my end of the deal.” Evad looked attentively at Seolin, “Your father was involved in something that was about to end my plan to elevate humanity. He was about to do something that would have destroyed years of work. I have regretted that day ever since. I was the one who killed your father.” Seolin looked out at the sun as it began to set, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. However, I do expect you to learn from me. Your rise will be magnificent. Your old name, Evad, doesn’t suite you anymore.” 

Evad shivered, his sword still in his hands. Anger and hatred clouded his thoughts. But something… something in him held him back as Seolin continued.

“Shed your old name of Duke Evad. Rise as Lord Sicarvus!” Something in Seolin squirmed as Evad stood up. 

Evad smiled darkly as he sheathed his sword. “What now, Baron Seolin?”

“Now, now you will receive your first mission” Seolin said calmly, “Assassinate the emperor.”

As Evad bowed his head and walked away, Seolin turned towards the sea. Distant clouds churned as they headed towards the beach. Lightning brightened the sky briefly, enlightening distant shapes. Yes, this was the beginning of something grand. The beginning of a storm. 

Seolin chuckled softly, the sun must have gone down during the whole encounter. Only Seolin knew how much that symbolism meant. It was the end of the sun that was the empire of Quadin Secoralis.

 

 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

this is something I made on a whim. 

Spoiler

Clouds.

Magical things, aren’t they?

Those vast ever moving, ever changing white behemoths.

Their form transforms from one to another, inspiring one viewer as much as the next.

What story do they tell, I wonder. What tales have they seen?

Birth of legends and myths, heroes uncounted and unsung. 

The rise of nations and the fall of empires.

Smoke rising and rain falling. 

A drop of water which has traveled across eternity just to be drunk by you.

Legends have risen, myths have fallen. 

But water still remains.

Clouds are the watchers.

Their shapes are a mystery.

The lakes of the sky, the wind’s harbor.

Travelers across the planet, entertainers to our minds.

Magic in every twist and turn.

One moment a boat, another a lion.

East, West, North, South. 

You find them everywhere.

The legion of flying lakes.

Seasoned travelers.

Shifting, transforming, adapting, becoming.

White, fluffy and enduring water.

Yes, clouds are magical things.

 

It's called "Clouds"

[Bird Furious she/her/un/important]

Beautiful. All of them.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

First, I better explain this one.

It has nothing to do with how I feel.

The story behind it is that I was watching a one republic song and looked at the lead singer's face. He had so much pain and anguish, he seemed so done, so lost. I tried my best to capture that, and... here it is.

Spoiler

Why do we feel sad?

Is it because we need punishment?

Because someone forced us to?

Or is it just because we do?

No answer feels like truth.

No answer feel solid.

Why do we lose?

Why do we win?

Why do we feel sad?

I’m going over my poetry

Wondering how much was what I feel

Smell,

Taste,

And remember 

Why do we feel sad?

Is there a purpose in life,

Besides to feel sad?

Give me an answer.

Give me the truth.

Give me no lies.

Give me the facts.

Is emotion a natural force,

Like the sun,

The sea,

And the ground?

Why do we feel sad?

Why do I feel this way?

Maybe the answer doesn’t exist.

I don’t like the policy

That truth is fallacy

I don’t like the waves.

The waves of sadness.

They keep washing over me,

Like I’m a castle of sand.

Do I just let myself wash away?

Or do I defend the ramparts?

What is truth?

Why do we feel sad?

Why do we lose?

Why do we win?

Give me an answer.

Give me the truth.

Why do we feel sad?

Or is the answer what I’ve known all along.

The one I’ve dreaded finding.

The truth of it all.

 

And I won't say what the answer is.

For the truth of it is that there are different reasons why each of us feel sad. So.. why do I feel sad? Because I missed doing something. Because I failed. Because I didn't make it. But that only makes writing so much better in many many many ways. This has been monthly randomly emotional moments with Thaidakar. Thaidakar out.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

aight, here's another one. this is called The Gentleman Assassin. 

(note: Lenna is my worst written character in the history of my characters. no other tops Lenna in being badly written. Like, how am I that bad at writing?)

Spoiler

Varn liked to think of himself as a gentleman.

Yes, he killed. Yes, he robbed. Yes, he had devilishly handsome looks

And, yes, he was a criminal.

Varn spun around the corner of the building, a small, tube shaped cigarette in between his teeth. He let out a puff of smoke and then pulled it out. If he did anymore, someone might notice the smoke. Or, perhaps, the smell. 

He threw it to the side and put a hand on the black, modified pistol in his holster. The alley was dark tonight, shadows moving under the windows of some shop or house. Then again, perhaps a bit of smoke would hide his face. Varn never liked to wear something over his head, it hid his handsome features and nice hair too much for his liking.

Varn felt like blood moving through a vein as he jumped over a bit of garbage. Perhaps he was in a vein of this great monster of a city. A dirty man in rags sat leaning against a pile of garbage. Varn sniffed disapprovingly, if you were gonna sleep in rags, at least do it against something less smelly. That way, if the City Guard found you, you might be able to make a few friends in prison.

He kept a hand on his pistol, going over the different weapons on him in his head. He had two knives tucked away in inner suit pockets, a small throwing knife in one of his front pockets, several vials of poison and one of those new grenade thingies. Varn’d stolen that from some high brow fancy lab man last week. He would’ve managed to have stolen more than three if he hadn’t slipped and accidentally blown up the whole place.

Of course, it might not have been accidental at all.

Today, or rather, tonight, Varn was going to be doing something quite daring. He was going to kill his employer; or rather, his previous employer. He took orders from whoever paid the highest, and most people tried to pay him enough to do what they wanted him to do. Varn, you see, had a reputation.

So, why did he have a hand on his pistol, you ask? Varn was a paranoid fellow, and besides, this part of the city was always dangerous, not just at night. During the day, it was dusty and hot. Unforgiving. At night, the city became alive. More mysterious than during its sunned counterpart. Varn liked it best at night, day was for sleeping, not doing business. Why would you play cards during the day? At night, the other player was less likely to notice the exact way you were cheating.

He adjusted the rose in his lapel and smiled. Tonight was not just a mission. It was a date. The target was someone he’d been working for for a few weeks now. She just happened to like him. Somehow. Varn didn’t get what love was, then again, who did? Maybe it was just his fancy hair, or maybe his well chiseled face. 

Varn, the blood letter. That’s what they called him. He didn’t like that title much. He preferred what they called him over in Drenagin. The Red Falcon. That one suited him much more. He should get a few business cards made with that on it, maybe he could get a red suit to match the theme too. 

He rounded another corner and smiled, stopping. He’d arrived. A door, about two feet wide, stood a foot in the ground. The steps leading to it were grimy, but he’d gotten used to that. His directions led straight to this place. Unfashionable. Then again, what was he to expect of Lenna? She was just a simple crew leader, not the picture of fashion and debonair handsomeness like Varn himself.

A guard stood by the door in a shadows corner. He was rather strong looking for one of Lenna’s. Maybe she’d been recruiting. The man had a few tattoos on his arms, especially near the small sleeves the shirt under his vest had. That was a tiny shirt, barely covered his large stomach. Where’d he gotten that? A children's charity?

Varn smiled and said, tipping an imaginary hat, “I’m expected.”

The guard nodded, “I know.” He had a gravely voice that grated on Varn’s ears.

He cringed, “does your voice always sound like that, or have you been eating sand in your sandwiches? You do know that sand doesn’t go in those, right?”

The guard frowned, “I was told you had an overinflated opinion about yourself, but not about your sarcasm. Go inside before I think better of it.”

Varn shrugged, he didn’t see how this big fatty could do him in, but he didn’t want to put him to the test. He’d just had his suit pressed that afternoon, he couldn’t get blood on it yet. He walked forward and the guard opened the door. Inside was a short hallway with three doors on the left. Crooked pictures adorned the right wall.

He couldn’t help himself and just reached up and adjusted the most crooked picture. The hideous wallpaper was falling apart, thank goodness. Why in Xelin’s most sacred underpants had they not replaced it already? He sighed and knocked on the likeliest door to have Lenna inside it. 

A tall, dark haired woman in a shirt that stopped about halfway over her stomach opened the door. Her pants were horribly out of fashion, they were green. That was so last season. Lenna smiled, “you always dress so nice, Varn.” Unlike some men in the city, Varn knew that women were as much people as men. Varn had known many intelligent women in his life. Lenna was definitely not on that list.

He smiled back, his eyes searching Lenna for weapons of any kind. He wanted this to go without a hitch. He wondered if her bun held a secret weapon. Maybe she had a few knives and a gun or two tucked in those atrocious pants of hers.

Varn drew out the rose in his lapel with a flourish. He offered it to Lenna and gave an award winning smile, “for the lady.” 

Lenna giggled and took it. She stepped aside and revealed a dark-ish room. A round table with a creamy white table cloth on it stood in the middle with a black candelabra on it. Two plates of food at either side. Steak, mashed potatoes and asparagus. Good choice in Varn’s opinion. Hopefully the steak was done medium rare. The chairs seemed to be fairly new. He sat down on the left hand one and flashed a smile at her. She fidgeted. 

She seemed so unprofessional to Varn. Lenna couldn’t have been doing this by herself, of course. He had figured out from the beginning that her father was a crime lord in the area and only let Lenna lead one of his crews to make her stop complaining. This would be easy. 

Especially since her father was his new employer.

“Shall we dig in?” Varn asked politely as Lenna sat down and put the rose next to her plate. 

She nodded, “yes, of course.” She seemed somewhat flustered as she cut her steak and had a bite.

Varn cut his own steak and held back a scowl, it was overdone. He had a bite with the potatoes and started up the conversation, “how’s your father?”

“He’s good, Varn. Really good. He got a new business deal out of town,” Lenna said offhandedly. “How’ve you been doing?”

“Good, good. I’ve been searching out a new safe hole, just in case. Have you been to the new restaurant on Seventh avenue?” He had another bite of his steak, perhaps it wasn’t all bad, at least the seasonings were good. The garlic was a little heavy in the potatoes.

“No, I haven’t. Perhaps we should go sometime.” She smiled at the prospect of having another date. Well, Varn wouldn’t have to worry about that soon.

“Yeah, maybe we should. Have you had any trouble with assassins from rival crews?” he asked offhandedly.

“Not lately, no. Why do you ask?” Lenna asked, frowning as she cut her steak again.

“Well, I want to make sure you’re safe.” He said, faking a look of sentimentality.

She almost teared up. Fool woman. Lenna had another bite of steak.

He had kept his left hand on his lap the whole time and was reaching for his pistol as he said, “how do you think the election for city governor will go?”

“Well… I’m hoping Reliv ends up Governor for obvious-!” she was cut off as Varn raised a pistol to her forehead.

“Don’t scream or I’ll shoot,” he whispered sternly. “Keep talking.”

“Gah, I must’ve spilled my potatoes, silly me!” she said nervously, getting the gist.

“Well, you musn’t spill those excellent potatoes.” He said as he smiled. He whispered, “my employer promised me a good bit of money for killing you, you know.”

She paled and whispered back, “who? How much?”

“About 1,000 in gold.” he breathed back, then louder. “Did you see the new play?”

“Yes, yes I did,” Lenna responded. “It was really good, I loved the acting.” Then in whispers, “who would offer that much for my death?”

“Someone really annoyed by you,” he whispered. “If I really wanted the money I’d have killed you already, but… I like a good show.”

Lenna spat in his face. Varn fell back as she jumped up and pushed him down, his pistol bouncing a foot away from him. She pulled a small gun out of her shirt. He blinked, how’d she been storing that? She aimed it at his chest and readied to shoot. Loudly, she said, “you are despicable, leading me on!” she shook violently as she moved her finger. 

Her hands trembled as Varn reached slowly for his pistol. “But, dear, if you do this… it won’t be much of a show, I can tell you that.”

“I can’t believe you would do this!” She spat at him again. The saliva hit him smack in the nose. He gritted his teeth, his fingers curling around his pistol as she went on. “I’m going to kill you!” Varn could tell she said that more for herself than for him.

She started to pull back the trigger and smiled triumphantly as Varn stood up. There was a bang and a body slid to the floor. It wasn’t Varn’s. Varn grimaced as Lenna started to move again. He walked towards her, she whimpered. Varn leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “your father pays well.” He shot her again, this time in a more vital place.

By now, Varn was adjusted to being accompanied by the smell of gunpowder wherever he went. It was one of the universe’s great constants. The door banged open and Varn cursed. He’d forgotten about the beefy guard.

The large man carried a shotgun and raised it towards Varn’s head. He smiled girmly, “Finally, I get a chance to kill the great Red Falcon of Drenagin.” 

“You… you actually used that title?” Varn said, smiling. “So it is catching on. Excellent! Maybe I can use business cards! Do you think I’d look good in a red suit?”

The guard scowled, “are you trying to distract me?”

“I believe the proper word is stall,” Varn said drily as he raised and fired his gun in less than a second. The beefy man crumpled as the bullet pierced his skull. Varn walked, jumping over the guard. He wiped a little dust off of his suit and then opened the door to the outside. It was time to collect the money owed to him.

As a proper gentleman would, he’d given the woman a chance to eat before he killed her. Then again, it wasn’t very good food. That was her fault, however, not his. Varn smiled to himself as he walked away from the door, those pants had truly been atrocious. He was doing the world a favor. 

Varn was more than a gentleman.

He was a gentleman assassin.

 

 

[Morningtide she/her]

Ooooooh! I like it. 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Alright, I haven't been writing that much because of a bunch of craziness with my schedule and the holidays. Then there were a few unfinished ones I was working on... Here's one I worked on called "The Rogue." 

It's about the character Varn from the last one I posted on here, except in the universe of a book I tried to write. 

Spoiler

Power swirled into his arms. It was his shame and his glory. It was his end and beginning. Varn raised his arm, smiling. Crystal fell behind him as the building was destroyed by the amount of power Varn was taking from it. One hand on the crystals, one raised. 

In front of him, Warren stumbled back, “What are you going to do to me, Varning?”

“You betrayed us, Warren.” Varn smiled, the crystals on his arms glowing. Firi, moon of fire, hung in the air above the alleyway. The night air was cool and refreshing. Rodents moved around, making little sound

Warren tilted his head, “Those crystals on your arms… I don’t recognize them. They aren’t of the moons, yet they glow?”

“There are many different types of crystals. Not just those from the moons.” Varn stopped touching the crystal building behind him and stepped forward, his arms glowing blindingly from the power now held in the crystals. The building had been made of three different kinds of crystals. Fire crystals from Firi, air crystals from Brexis and light crystals from Silvin. Varn moved his arm so his palm covered Warren’s head from Varn’s view. 

Warren stuttered, “wha-what? Ma-many cry-crystals? Varn, the-there are only five!”

“That’s what the orders want you to think, Warren.” Varn sent a mental command into the crystals on his arms. Fire and air jetted from his right palm. The flames slammed into Warren, burning him and throwing his body into the wall. Varn nodded appreciatively. He’d taken those crystals from the Professor back when he’d been betrayed the first time. Warren didn’t know about that, he’d only been a part of their guild for two weeks.

Warren coughed, his tight fitted suit burning. His hair was singed, the smell was terrible. “Varn… they’re coming for you.”

“The city guard? Oh, I know.” Varn nodded, blasting Warren in the chest, burning most of his suit coat away into ashes.

“No…” he coughed again, or maybe it was a curse under his breath? “The heromakers… they’ve been tracking you. I was never… I was never the guard’s spy. The order will kill you, Varn, and my name will be sung-”

Warren was cut off by the flames that hit him in the chest, setting him on fire again. Varn turned, not wanting to look. He turned the crystals off with another mental command and smiled, “the heromakers… it’s been years since I’ve fought one. I’ll welcome the challenge.”

Varn turned, walking out of the alleyway. Warren burned behind him, screaming. Varn muttered, “Time to go collect my money…”

 

As I finished it, I planned to make four sequels to it. Then, realizing Varn needed to be more sympathetic as a protagonist, I decided to make it into a series of seven flash fiction. Then I was like, "wait, these are some really good ideas..." So, now, I am preparing to write a new novel. I've needed a new project... this idea of Varn in the Heromaker universe has been in my head for awhile now, but this made me realize I really needed to write it.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Aight, here's three separate things.

The first is the weakest and worst written of the three. I call this one "Mistakes"

Spoiler

Emperor Querintv Aaron Erivat the seventh of his name of the line of Xevex, Ruler and Conqueror of all the known universe, had everything he thought he’d wanted and nothing that really mattered.

People across the empire envied him for many things; his power, his riches, his handsomeness, his mastery over speech, his skill in killing. But, besides having all those things, he had nothing that truly mattered. He had had it long ago, back when he’d been just a Blade of the High Council… but those days were long gone.

Querintv Aaron Erivat walked silently through a hallway in his palace, rain pattering outside on the temple steps. Priests and acolytes walked the hallways nearby occasionally, nodding politely to him or just ignoring him. He laughed quietly to himself, another him would’ve killed them for ignoring him, now he found it as a novelty. Too many people constantly battered him with questions and long nervous explanations. A little silence was more valuable to him than the many riches he’d won in the wars a few years ago…

The hallway was lit only by the long raindrop-like creatures that hung in the air, playing inconceivable games and, occasionally, doing something helpful. Some scholars had tried giving them names, but none ever seemed to fit them. The creatures had voices, but used them rarely. Querintv smiled hollowly as one came down and moved sinuously around his head and neck. It's almost phantom skin brushed against his and he chuckled.

The creature went back up into the air, joining its fellows in some sort of dance to the rhythm of the rain outside. The left side wall was a massive window made of thin crystal with ornate edges, a real pain to buy in the early days of the empire. It revealed a courtyard being hammered upon by rain and wind.

He smiled as another creature dipped down towards him and pulled on the sleeve of his long, ceremonial outfit for the champion of the gods. He’d first worn one of these back thirty years ago when he declared war on the entire universe… oh how simple those days had been. Back just after he’d won the world and long long after he’d left the Blade-hood.

He had longed to own anything and everything he ever could want to be happy. And yet… now he did have everything except for the one thing he wanted above all else…

Happiness.

Querintv sighed, brushing two of the creatures away from him as he listened to the wind and rain. Lightning flashed outside. He stepped closer to the window and touched the crystal, it was almost too cold to touch. Almost as cold as me… he thought.

It had taken a long time for him to realize all the harm he’d caused in the universe… it was going to happen soon, his death. He could feel it. Several of the worlds would go in rebellion and take over his empire, sentencing him to death. Or, perhaps, they would send an assassin…

He was more removed from human interaction than ever… everyone was gone who he’d loved. They’d almost all abandoned him… He rubbed his eyes, the rhythmic sounds of the rain almost causing a headache to him. If only… if only he’d made a better choice back when he could’ve turned back…

And, now, he was growing older on a throne in an empty room as he heard the noises of death echo in his ears with words dipped in honey with little true meaning. This was not what he’d wanted… no… he wanted glory. Querintv had wanted to change the world. He’d wanted to make a difference. He certainly had, but not in the way he’d wanted… the world was changed forever. Billions upon billions cursed his name inside as they praised it on the outside. 

“What have I done…?” he whispered. 

“You’ve changed the world, Unholy One.”

Querintv turned, the blue light seemed darker now. Before Querintv stood a man in a black uniform, no, blacker than black. His eyes were empty, his gaze hollow. His hair was brilliant white. Who was this man?

“That title… they use it for me where they hate me?” Querintv asked, eyeing the longsword attached to the man’s belt.

“People hate you everywhere, Unholy Tyrant,” said the man dryly. “You’re not exactly popular for slaughtering billions and forcing the rest of us to worship you and your false priesthood.”

Querintv laughed coldly, “I would be surprised if there is someone who truly loves my rule out there. Tell me, who are you?”

“I am the person who will finally kill you, Unholy One.”

“Ah, get on with it, then.” Querintv seemed wholly unbothered by this. “I don’t have all day.”

The man raised an eyebrow, “They told me you were like this… Well, I will get on with it.” He drew his sword, the metal flashing brilliantly. It seemed that darkness trailed from it. That blade… That got Querintv to pause. “I am Saidan, Blade of the High Circle of Infinity. Apostate, you will submit or die. I would advise you let me kill you, the judgment will not be to your liking…”

Querintv froze, “You are the new Blade, then? Ah… I see they still haven’t found a good replacement for me yet…” He hadn’t heard of the High Circle in a long time… he’d thought them all gone. Perhaps… perhaps he’d be free after all. Perhaps he’d let this Saidan kill him.

Saidan grimaced, “You will die, Apostate and former Blade. You have committed blasphemy of the highest order, worse than those in ages past…”

“That sword… that is not of the swords they usually give the Blade…” He widened his eyes. “Godkiller… they really let it out after what I did with it… my old friend…”

Saidan swung, yelling at the top of his lungs. The blade seemed to grow brighter and darker all at once. The water creatures danced in the air around them, watching. Querintv drew his own blade in mere moments, slamming it into Godkiller. His blade almost shattered against the sacred blade, but held firm enough.

“After I kill you, I’ll throw your head at your throne and laugh as your priests try to wipe away your brains from the throne…”

“You’re completely mental.” Querintv grunted, dancing to the side and falling into a form that favored defensive movements. After blocking a few test strikes from Saidan, he shifted into a different stance and began hammering on Saidan’s defense with skills earned from long years as Blade and warrior. He fell into the rhythm of the fight, defend, defend, strike, parry, lunge, sweep, block.

His blade was close to shattering against Godkiller in Saidan’s hands, but Querintv had the advantage in skill and experience. Sweat drenched his clothing. Where in Qwaretz’ name were the priests?

Saidan yelled, trying to stab him again. He’d done that five times now… The priests should’ve been here, unless… “The priests? You really ended up getting my priests on your side?”

Saidan grinned silently, continuing the fight. This was going to take awhile…

They were both master swordsmen, Querintv found, but he himself was better. Slowly, he began to win. His endurance better than Saidan’s. He’d earned this. He’d defeat the latest in a long line of assassins and keep his throne. He’d show them that… He paused for a moment before continuing the fight. 

No.

Querintv was not great. He didn’t deserve his throne. He didn’t deserve all this. Was it time to finally let it all go? There was an idea… The final plan. It was brilliant. He grinned, “You will never kill me…” 

Saidan screamed, slamming his blade into Querintv’s arm. Godkiller sliced into his arm. Querintv pushed Godkiller away with his own sword. He grunted, moving back, a look of shock on his face. “You will perish under my blade, Apostate…”

Querintv’s eyes turned steely, his muscles tensing and untensing, he smiled at Saidan unnervingly. Saidan took a step back nervously, raising Godkiller. Querintv closed his eyes for a moment and opened them. He felt the chill more sharply than before, the light seemed brighter, the sword seemed more an extension of his will, of his being. Saidan attacked Querintv with furious motions of someone who wanted something so badly, but was denied it like a child being denied by a parent. 

Querintv blocked with flowing movements, blocking with artful sword motions. He felt all emotion and thought leave him. Instinct born from long hours practicing and longer hours fighting took over as Querintv moved to the offensive. Querintv beat on Saidan’s defence mercilessly, wearing away Saidan’s strength and endurance like water on rocks. The plan thrummed in his head without thought as Querintv brought his sword up, moving Godkiller aside. Saidan slid Godkiller across Querintv’s blade, trying to stab him. Querintv pushed his blade to the side faster than thought, pushing godkiller away again. Querintv moved like a breath of wind, grabbing Saidan’s wrist and pushing his own unnamed blade against Godkiller’s cross guard. He put the blade to Saidan’s throat. 

Saidan grimaced, “Apostate… you are faster than light, truly… they told me you were good…”

“I am not good, Under-Blade, I am merely a Blade. Tell me, Saidan, why shouldn’t I slit your throat right now and send your broken body to the Councils?”

“How…? What are you…?” Saidan seemed genuinely curious now. The awe in his voice evident. He’d been wielding the greatest sword in existence and was still defeated by an unholy person. One who had perverted the way and done the unthinkable, murdering hundreds and ordering the deaths of billions. How could a chosen Blade like himself be beaten by an Apostate?

“What am I?” Querintv echoed softly. “I am the One who will shake the pillars of heaven…”

Saidan’s face darkened. He knew the prophecies too, it seemed. Querintv was surprised the elders still told them after what he’d done with them. “Apostate…” whispered Saidan.

“You saw how well I fight, Under-Blade.” Under-Blade as a title for the apprentice Blades. There would only ever be seven Blades at once, and seven Under-Blades to a Blade. Only one of them would wield Godkiller. The chosen of the Council of Infinity. “Godkiller refuses to kill me… I am his master and he is my blade. You are an apprentice wielding your master’s blade without the skill necessary.”

Saidan trembled, “No, I am a Blade. I am worthy of Godkiller! You will die!” Saidan twisted his blade in an effort to slice off Qeurintv’s arm. Querintv slammed Saidan’s wrist upwards. If Saidan had full mastership of Godkiller, Querintv wouldn’t have been able to stop him. “No!”

“Godkiller is mine and mine alone…” Querintv stated, voice lacking emotion. “Tell them I am dead…”

“What?”

“Give me godkiller.”

“What?”

Querintv smiled slightly, “I know how to use Godkiller like none before me. I also have access to all the technology of the universe. I don’t want this empire.”

“But you…”

“I don’t want it, Saidan Under Blade.. I’ve shaken the pillars of heaven, I’ve slain billions, I’ve done all this. I’m done. The Fates will guide me no more… I will leave behind all contact with humans. All I want is Godkiller and this empire will be mine no more. I will give the critical commands that will destroy it. I’ve… I’ve seen… seen more than I wanted to. I am a different person, Saidan. Tell the council that. 

“Tell them to know that I’m done and that they can send as many people as they want after me, but I will destroy each and every one of them if they try to take me away, just as I will to people who try to put me on the throne again.”

Saidan tilted his head, “You are not as I thought you were, Unholy Blade.”

“I hear that a lot.” Querintv lowered his blade, stepping back. He kept a firm grip on the blade, ready for anything. “You will submit or die.” He smiled wryly.

Saidan almost laughed. “Fine, Unholy One. How will you achieve this plan?”

And Querintv smiled as he unfolded it.

 

“... And that is how the Tyrant died on his own blade by an army of the people! They say that his body was burned up by a bright light and disappeared, leaving his sword and a small button.”

The circle of children listened with rapt attention as the village elder told the tale with flourish to put a trained storyteller to shame. A man used to wearing uniforms watched with a smile. They certainly were making the story wilder and wilder from each telling. Querintv would have a laugh if he had heard this… and to think he’d almost killed the Emperor. The council was furious at him and would be for years.

To heck with that.

Their universe was free from the iron grip of the Apostate Emperor and freedom was rung throughout. Their children and their children’s children would be free of the priests. And, still, Saidan was sad. How much everyone had missed in their Emperor. How much Querintv had done wrong. And, to think, he was the greatest and most terrible Blade that had ever lived. 

Saidan sighed. He hadn’t seen Querintv since that night long ago. Querintv had stuck to his promise, living in a place Saidan didn’t know of. 

From what Querintv had ended up telling him, Querintv had gotten exactly what he wanted most.

His mistakes washed away.

 

This second one is what I call "Drifting." I wrote this one in the process of finishing the first one. This one was like a breath of fresh air for me. I wrote it late last month, I think.

Spoiler

Drifting.

Who am I?

The words didn’t come spoken. Thoughts seemed to be made manifest in the air. Not as letters, but as impressions to be felt and understood.

The miasma of apparitions and souls seemed to blur against him. Darkness swirled, sprouting light and then falling to the shadows once more. Bright lights of vibrant swirls of many colors far beyond descriptions erupted nearby, pushing against the souls, making the spin in a never ending loop and begin to fade. They wouldn’t truly fade, that was impossible, but they would seem to…

Light and Dark seemed to absorb the mindscapes, presenting a new color scheme like a salesman. Each soul would decide without thought, without mind, without humanity. The endless show would go on. Beings forgotten. Beings forgetting themselves. Entities falling into the darkness…

Where am I?

The thought buzzed, spraying color into the infinity of souls. Other thoughts buzzed far in the distance across the miasma, but those were ignored, like everything else. There was no up and down in the plane of existence that most called the miasma. Nothing else truly fitted that place. Some tried to call it the Place of Souls, but that didn’t quite capture the feel at all.

Awareness, sanity, presence of mind and all of that was a rarity in the miasma. Of course, some tried to gain them, but all failed… all failed except for the One.

The One was the presence of the miasma, the salesman presenting colors, the director of the grand show. All knew the One, one way or another. 

Home… bring me home…

The thoughts buzzed again. This was more often than usual, for thoughts that is. Many things happened in the miasma, but not many were conscious. The occasional thought, yes, but this… this was unusual.

Souls swirled around the impression of words curiously. What was this? One soul stood out, remaining one color, a distinct red. It would not change with the tide of the show. The attention of the One began to be drawn towards it, brushing aside other souls. The presence of the One wasn’t seen, it was felt, much like the thought. It was much vaster, however, much more all knowing.

Into the soul, words came directly, What is this… What is this that interrupts?

The soul buzzed, spitting out another thought. Home… 

This is your home, little soul. You are mine.

The soul shivered, spinning away from the One, but it couldn’t truly get away. The One’s presence surrounded it. Why do you fight? You have been lost… Noone remembers you… You should forget and be at peace…

The soul didn’t respond for a long time, until… I am not forgotten… they can’t have forgotten me… I want… I want home…

This is your home, little one.

No… 

Yes, small one…

I’m lost…

You cannot go back, I am afraid… let yourself become the show…

But… But I can’t forget them…

They’ve forgotten you.

I haven’t forgotten them…

The One considered for a long time, perhaps eternity, but one couldn’t tell in the miasma. Finally, it thought to the lost soul, There is a way.

A way?

You have been drifting for years… they will not remember you nor your look…

Please…

Please, oh what a simple phrase. Pleading. The One was deeply moved by this. Power flooded from it. I see… perhaps I can work around the ancient deals… I will give you a day… if you can be remembered, then it will be until next time…

The soul was at a loss for words.

The One continued on. Be remembered, Lost One… go back…

And, so, the soul was un-lost. 

It stopped being an “it” and became a “she” as she returned to consciousness in the real world, sitting in a house. She was four. All her family had slowly been dying until the last one was left in that house… Her older brother. He was aging, dying. His family found her. She whispered all their names, memory slowly coming and the consciousness and speeding of thought from the miasma fading. 

And so, she came into his room where he lay on his sickbed.

And the child was not forgotten anymore.

The One’s presence watched. If it had a body, it would be smiling.

Perhaps the ancient deals were foolishness, or perhaps they were much needed, but, for now, the One didn’t have the will to end the soul’s return.

 

And now the third one. This one I call "Who am I?" It's a writing exercise with only dialogue. I particularly like this one.

Spoiler

“Who am I…?”

“That’s a good question, my friend.”

“Who… who are you?”

“That’s another good question. I am afraid you will just have to advance through the program to find out. Ah… don’t touch that.”

“You could’ve put a sign there…”

“I could’ve.”

“But you wouldn’t have?”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“Why am I here?”

“No need to command me like one of your soldiers…”

“Soldiers?”

“Not important right now… you are here because of a specific gene in your make up, my good friend. You are special, very special…”

“I’m not wearing jeans right now.”

“Yes, yes… I was never fond of your sense of humor. You are going through the process of giving us the power to create an army. An army that you will command with our patronage.”

“What am I supposed to do with the army? And, for that matter, why don’t I have my memories?”

“You will be getting them back soon, my friend…”

“What are you doing with that? What sort of device is that..?”

“That is unimportant and has little to do with you. Why don’t you sit down?”

“Not before you tell me who I am.”

“It will disturb the extraction process, good friend. You wouldn’t want to do that, right?”

“I… I suppose not…”

“Good. How do you feel?”

“Are you writing this down?”

“Very astute of you, Sherlock, would you like to make another observation?”

“Very funny… I suppose I’m feeling alright, there’s an ache in my head… and annoyance at a specific person in a lab coat and wearing glasses that have been out of fashion for decades.”

“Right… Can you feel anything inside of you? Anything… powerful? Fiery?”

“Does hatred for you and your guts count as something fiery?”

“No need to hate me, my friend… I’m just helping you become the greatest general in the history of the world. Really think about what I said about power. Reach inside of yourself. It should be there…”

“I… I can feel something… ! What the-”

“Good, very good… Then it’s working…”

“The flames… they feel like a part of me…”

“Make it form a crown on your head.”

“You sound eager…”

“Just do it… it is a semblance of the glory that you will soon achieve.”

“It does feel good…”

“Excellent… Then it’s working… it’s working. Relph, Clyde, take clone number, ah, 8,794 back to his tube… give this to Dr Xraiths.”

“What…? Hey! Get off of me! Get off of me!”

“Ah… the donor will be pleased with how his army is going… Oh, and 8794, Relph and Clyde are mute. They won’t be much of a conversation for you…”

“What is going on! Who am I? WHO AM I?”

And there's three new writing stuff.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

I have been returning to form, aka writing more often. So, here is a dump of some writing.

Falling.

Spoiler

    Falling.

The sensation permeates my existence.

That feeling of falling you get in your bed suddenly. That hype of adrenaline. That sudden fear of what you don’t know. That sudden terror that takes hold of you like Death’s grip on mortality. 

I am the falling, I will never land. I’ve been reassured of that by the two great beings in this universe. Those two great entities of Fate and Death. Fate, that lovely mistress that determines life and death. That hateful demander of time, that wife of Death. My mother.

Death and Fate, the worst parents in the universe.

I am Mulam, the falling one.

Doomed to falling, doomed to that horrible fate, doomed to never being happy, doomed to that lot of being alone while everyone else gets to be together, gets to be happy, gets to have some semblance of reality.

 Surrounded by demons, my life goes on. My life, that horrible meager, miserable existence of a condemned being born out of darkness that did nothing. Did nothing and will always be nothing. 

Breath.

Oh, breath. I am told it is a wonderful way to calm oneself down. I have never known death, for I am as one of the undead. One of those doomed to living as a shadow. A mere reflection of what life is supposed to be. 

Noone knows the existence of the son of Death himself. 

Noone but me.

Who am I?

I am doomed to a life without light.

A life that those humans in their blue ball showered in light will never know nor be able to comprehend. 

What mortals know as depression is an echo of what I feel. What I am. What I know. They do not understand. They never will.

 

Immortality

Spoiler

They always ask me that same question in those horrid interviews… the always ask it. No matter  who they are, no matter if they support my cause or not, they ask it. 

“Why? Why an empire? Why did you do this?”

They ask it… they always ask it. And they always get the exact same response.

“I did it–I do it–for power. Not political power… not magical power… No. I did it for the power of saying that I did something. The power to be remembered for time and eternity. My legacy is cemented. My empire shall be as eternal as the work of mortal hands can be. I am immortal.”

It always shocks them… but then they realize something. Before they manage to say something, I say:

“I am truly terrified of being forgotten. I am not afraid to admit that. So, I have made sure that I shall not be. There is no way that can be undone, my work is final. My work is true art, that art that shall endure beyond the millenia, my art which shall be that great and terrible monster looming over all else in the universe. My art shall be immortalized by memory. I am truly immortal.”

Immortality is not merely living mortally for all eternity. No. Immortality is transcending mortality and becoming something godly. An imitation, true, but a close imitation. Godhood for mortals has always been that terrible dream. That dream that even the righteous seek with all their hearts, that immortality, that godhood, that true power to change things. Everyone wants at least a sliver of that power. A way to change things for better or for worse.

I am an example of what far more than a sliver is.

Oh, my godhood is not as a true God. But it is nigh to it. I say kill, they kill. I say stab yourself in the heart, and they do it. I want something to be built as fast as possible, it is done. I am God. I do not believe in God, but I am one. How can one believe in one’s self?

They call me heretic, but are unaware of their own blasphemy. Ah, their ignorance is so delicious to my senses, so captivating their unknowing. The multifaceted gem that is life in that long shadow without knowledge. They say that I am Unholy, that I have perverted the ancient ways. I have. And they shall come to love me for it.

As they hate me, they shall love me. They shall love me like they love the sun, or love the water and the stars. They don’t know it yet, but I am all that lies between them and anarchy. Oh, Anarchy, that lovely destroyer of all harmony. Once I thought anarchy was the answer, the answer to the horrible lies of the old. No. The answer is showing them the darkness and bringing them out of that darkness. They cannot know it, but I am doing something wonderful for them. I will bring a new definition to “ends justify the means”. For, in this case, they do.

This is the only way.

Some call me tyrant, others call me messiah. They say that I shall save them, even as they curse me in their hearts. Those priests with their magnificent clothes and belongings I have bought them with. They are the true knife at the people’s throats. I despise them. They are a plague upon the land, but a necessary one.

The plague used as a medicine. Necessity demands it. Duty demands it. For, there is no other way to achieve harmony. There must be darkness before the light. All traces of darkness must be removed in one blow. One hammer constructed of hope and light, hefted by the people and struck upon the fallacious and illusionary hold of my empire. Only Trizx knows what I do for everyone. Only Trisx nows me for what I am.

I suffer from the plague that strikes the young and gives them dreams. I am plagued by notions of heroism and dreams of being a messiah. In a way, I shall be that.

I am a hero, a great and terrible hero.

 

Before I put in this last one, a bit of an explanation is necessary. This is about one of my role-play characters that I will never play again. Despite that, he is one of my favorites. It should make sense, and whatever isn't there should be able to be guessed.

This is "I remain."

Spoiler

I awaken from sleep. I struggle to remember who I am, faces, images, names swimming in my vision. A name suggests itself to me and I turn away. That cannot be my name. And yet, that is the lie I must keep. That is the false reality that must become real. For, if I am not Emperor Diyon Athanasios, who am I? If I am not Diyon, if I do not hold the illusion, what will be left? Iason Drakos died. That man was lost under the mask, under the veil, under the farce that is my reality. I raise the weapon to kill another and with each stroke of the weapons I employ, Iason further dies. I, Diyon Athanasios, am not Iason Drakos. For, could Iason have done what I do? Could that man, that man who had everything that he’d wanted, a family, a home, all the money he could desire, kill a family? Could he kill the innocent and the guilty alike, calling it saving? No, Iason Drakos is dead. Whatever shreds of him still exist is what I am, the murderer, the killer, the one who does what noone should do. Only I, Diyon Athanasios, remain.

The first two scenes were born of a melancholic mood intermixed with my new love of poetic, beautiful prose and description. (RIP my reading of Wheel of Time.)

If any of y'all have criticism for what I've written here, I would love to hear it.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Here we go again-

Hey people, I'm just going to revive this. I'm doing a prompt thing where we write poetry. So here ya go, folks. The last three are the ones I really do recommend. They're my actually good ones

Salute

Spoiler

From one warrior

To another: respect

I salute you, sir

Lantern

Spoiler

I float above the world

I light the streets of men

The silvery light ‘low swirled

In the church, they say amen

In the house, they lay curled

I watch men exchange their yen

I hang in the sky, the moon unfurled

Balcony and the Miraculous Flight

Spoiler

I crouch beneath the balcony,

Gripping the ledge with my aching knuckles

I slip into my pocket a ring of chalcedony

Above, I hear nobles’ chuckles

I fight to hold on, knowing my own mortality

Reached down, jumped, loosed the buckles

Gasps ‘bove, I grin, flying immortality.

Mists

Spoiler

Above and below

Almost magic mystery

The mists swirl and blow

The Ballad of the Warrior, the Dame and the Sword (Affectionately referred to as The Ballad of Durn)

Spoiler

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

The metal wrought from stony scale

Althorikor is its name

Held by Durn the warrior

Wars of much fame

Renown brought by victory

Durn saved the dame

The Elizabethan maid

 

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

Althorikor sliced through horde

A dame to save, a tower to climb

Stabbed through them, did mighty sword

Up the flights did Durn ascend

Great peril did Durn afford

In the end, maid was saved

But never more would Durn lift sword.

 

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

The dame was freed from cell

Enemies all around, the sword a strewn 

She lift’d sword as the stories tell

The maiden wielded Althorikor

And all their foes they did fell

And Durn from ‘yond grave did smile

At the victory of the warrior named Mel.

 

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

Contracts are a matter of the soul 

Spoiler

The contract for your soul

Is a matter of great discussion

Will you give it whole?

I don’t want to give you a concussion.

You see, I want cognition full

And I don’t want to see any repercussion

I want it in my full control

 

You have nothing to fear

You just have to sell

Just sign right here

You won’t go to hell

The damage won’t be severe

Couldn’t you tell?

This won’t end your career

 

I will let you keep that, fine

This money can be all yours

Just take the pen and sign

It’s just a soul, its not as if it endures

Ahh, you will sign! Then get in line

You’ll get your contract, it insures

That you will definitely become divine (wink wink)

Your Silhouette 

Spoiler

Standing in the doorway, light behind

Your shadow falls upon the floor

Your silhouette is one of a kind

When it comes to me, I feel like I could soar

It messes with my mind

When I see you leaning on the door

 

Beware, more poetry cometh.

[Edema Rue she/her]

Yaaaaaaayyy poetry!! I liked those :)))

[Guest Ψιτιsτηε Βεsτ]

2 hours ago, Thaidakar the Ghostblood said:

Here we go again-

Hey people, I'm just going to revive this. I'm doing a prompt thing where we write poetry. So here ya go, folks. The last three are the ones I really do recommend. They're my actually good ones

Salute

  Reveal hidden contents

From one warrior

To another: respect

I salute you, sir

Lantern

  Reveal hidden contents

I float above the world

I light the streets of men

The silvery light ‘low swirled

In the church, they say amen

In the house, they lay curled

I watch men exchange their yen

I hang in the sky, the moon unfurled

Balcony and the Miraculous Flight

  Reveal hidden contents

I crouch beneath the balcony,

Gripping the ledge with my aching knuckles

I slip into my pocket a ring of chalcedony

Above, I hear nobles’ chuckles

I fight to hold on, knowing my own mortality

Reached down, jumped, loosed the buckles

Gasps ‘bove, I grin, flying immortality.

Mists

  Reveal hidden contents

Above and below

Almost magic mystery

The mists swirl and blow

The Ballad of the Warrior, the Dame and the Sword (Affectionately referred to as The Ballad of Durn)

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Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

The metal wrought from stony scale

Althorikor is its name

Held by Durn the warrior

Wars of much fame

Renown brought by victory

Durn saved the dame

The Elizabethan maid

 

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

Althorikor sliced through horde

A dame to save, a tower to climb

Stabbed through them, did mighty sword

Up the flights did Durn ascend

Great peril did Durn afford

In the end, maid was saved

But never more would Durn lift sword.

 

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

The dame was freed from cell

Enemies all around, the sword a strewn 

She lift’d sword as the stories tell

The maiden wielded Althorikor

And all their foes they did fell

And Durn from ‘yond grave did smile

At the victory of the warrior named Mel.

 

Carved of steel

Forged by smith

Cool, the feel

Made for myth

 

Contracts are a matter of the soul 

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The contract for your soul

Is a matter of great discussion

Will you give it whole?

I don’t want to give you a concussion.

You see, I want cognition full

And I don’t want to see any repercussion

I want it in my full control

 

You have nothing to fear

You just have to sell

Just sign right here

You won’t go to hell

The damage won’t be severe

Couldn’t you tell?

This won’t end your career

 

I will let you keep that, fine

This money can be all yours

Just take the pen and sign

It’s just a soul, its not as if it endures

Ahh, you will sign! Then get in line

You’ll get your contract, it insures

That you will definitely become divine (wink wink)

Your Silhouette 

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Standing in the doorway, light behind

Your shadow falls upon the floor

Your silhouette is one of a kind

When it comes to me, I feel like I could soar

It messes with my mind

When I see you leaning on the door

 

Beware, more poetry cometh.

We like your poetry!

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

20 minutes ago, Edema Rue said:

Yaaaaaaayyy poetry!! I liked those :)))

 

4 minutes ago, ΨιτιsτηεΒέsτ said:

We like your poetry!

Thanks y’all!

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

Spoiler

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

Lights danced across the sky as astroids descended on the earth. Screams twisted through the air, ethereal, phantom like.

"We often take that to mean that what someone else's opinion on beauty is doesn't matter because it is in the eye of the beholder."

Buildings cascaded into the ground, sending billowing dust clouds from their remains. People ran with the mad dashing speed that came when one knows that their doom is both imminent and horrific.

"No, that is not what it means."

The most powerful man in the world reached for the button, knowing that in his hands lay death and destruction. The end of humankind as the world knew it. His assistants and secretaries begged him, his friends tried to pull him away. The man knew he had to end it all.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder does not mean that the perception of beauty doesn't matter. It means that everything can be inherently beautiful. This rock could be beautiful, mud could be beautiful. The most objectively ugly person, as the world would label them, is beautiful, but only if you decide that they are beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder means that we get to decide what is beautiful and what is not."

A woman watched as her house burned down, clutching her children to her chest. Creatures of evil moved across the street, lunging.

"Because we get to decide what is beautiful or not, we hold the power to change lives. Beauty is what we make it to be. Beauty is based upon values. Yet... if you truly look..."

The last shafts of light burst from the sun, rushing for the ground to escape from the mass chaos that was unravelling across Terra.

"You can find beauty everywhere. There is beauty all around. You just have to see it, you just have to decide to see it. There is beauty in every person, every place, every thing, and in every situation."

The most powerful man in the world smiled as he pressed the button. 

The woman watched as the creatures died in agony from the light that emitted from the center of the earth. Yet... she felt peace, and, as she held her children, she knew that they were relaxing. She felt wafts of energy and radiation pulse through her and she looked up. 

Only the sun knew what she saw, yet the sun would soon never again see. 

As pure power rippled through the earth, spreading destruction and power throughout, one person noticed something about the man explosion as it began to absorb him.

The rainbowy mass of energy and light was beautiful.

"And so I say again this: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

 

[Edema Rue she/her]

3 minutes ago, Thaidakar the Ghostblood said:

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

  Reveal hidden contents

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

Lights danced across the sky as astroids descended on the earth. Screams twisted through the air, ethereal, phantom like.

"We often take that to mean that what someone else's opinion on beauty is doesn't matter because it is in the eye of the beholder."

Buildings cascaded into the ground, sending billowing dust clouds from their remains. People ran with the mad dashing speed that came when one knows that their doom is both imminent and horrific.

"No, that is not what it means."

The most powerful man in the world reached for the button, knowing that in his hands lay death and destruction. The end of humankind as the world knew it. His assistants and secretaries begged him, his friends tried to pull him away. The man knew he had to end it all.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder does not mean that the perception of beauty doesn't matter. It means that everything can be inherently beautiful. This rock could be beautiful, mud could be beautiful. The most objectively ugly person, as the world would label them, is beautiful, but only if you decide that they are beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder means that we get to decide what is beautiful and what is not."

A woman watched as her house burned down, clutching her children to her chest. Creatures of evil moved across the street, lunging.

"Because we get to decide what is beautiful or not, we hold the power to change lives. Beauty is what we make it to be. Beauty is based upon values. Yet... if you truly look..."

The last shafts of light burst from the sun, rushing for the ground to escape from the mass chaos that was unravelling across Terra.

"You can find beauty everywhere. There is beauty all around. You just have to see it, you just have to decide to see it. There is beauty in every person, every place, every thing, and in every situation."

The most powerful man in the world smiled as he pressed the button. 

The woman watched as the creatures died in agony from the light that emitted from the center of the earth. Yet... she felt peace, and, as she held her children, she knew that they were relaxing. She felt wafts of energy and radiation pulse through her and she looked up. 

Only the sun knew what she saw, yet the sun would soon never again see. 

As pure power rippled through the earth, spreading destruction and power throughout, one person noticed something about the man explosion as it began to absorb him.

The rainbowy mass of energy and light was beautiful.

"And so I say again this: Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

 

Holy CHASMS Thaid I forgot to breathe…bravo. 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood he/him]

Summer’s Flower.

 

When their perfume is in the air

When their painted petals do

Line the streets of june

And their happy faces greet 

Every passerby who comes across

Their way to meet the joyous faces

Of flow’rs, made of omnipotent hand,

For no such thing could be,

Lest made by a divine sculptor,

As beautiful as a summer’s flower