This was taken from some old shit I wrote and edited slightly...

(From http://spaces.msn.com/jawg/blog/cns!5C4652993F68CAF6!132.entry)

A draft of the prologue has been added, currently working on chapter 2.

 

Prologue (1st draft)

Over time people forgot about the tales, the memories, and the collected experience of life. Tales of galantrous knights, of witty elves, and of hardy dwarves. Tales that inspired and those that provided us with examples of what not to do. Nations fell, countries rose, babies were born, and the elderly returned to the elements. Life always managed to continue in its various forms, struggling to survive, and it always will. But lessons have been forgotten, manuscripts have been lost, and so life is doomed to repeat its own mistakes, in its never ending cycle. This is one such story, sung and remembered by wandering bards, fortunate enough to escape an inevitable death. Such is life. And so the saga begins...

 

Chapter 1 (Draft 2)

It was the smell. The smell of drunkards, the smell of sexual immorality, and of someone's half digested dinner. Prostitutes old enough to be grandmothers eyed him, ready to pounce at the slightest eye movement in their direction, or at least at his coin pouch. This was it. How many adventurers wind up here he wondered, telling of their exploits in a far away land. Of glory, of bravery, and of honour. Michael walked into the creaking tavern, having had its fair share of alcohol induced violence, neglected and rarely cleaned. His experienced eyes quickly caught sight of a young man at the dim end of the tavern. Taking off his fedora, michael leaned against the bar and ordered a glass of light ale. Although Michael never quite understood why ale was so popular in Multhenlund, he didn't want to appear alien. No one liked a foreigner, especially one unwilling to share some ale over a heroic tale. As he sipped on the ale he ordered, he glanced over in the direction of the young man. His hair was long and silvery like the moon, yet his face untouched by the cruel intentions of time. From a distance he looked like any other stuck up young royal, with his fancy frilled shirt and leather pants, and a gemmed sword sheathed on his belt. But Michael knew better than to judge by looks. He didn't want to make the same mistake he did 18 years ago.

Michael walked over in his direction. "How's the mead today chap?", asked Michael. "So is this the part of the conversation where I knelt down and started to tremble in fear? Angel?", said the youth coldly as he took another sip of his ale.

"Ga'abriael...", he protested as the youth cut into his words.
"I know you've been following me, and I request your absence this very instant! Don't stop for one moment under the false impression that I have any respect for your kind, or fear for that matter."

Michael smirked inside. He was reminded of his youthful days, when he was a hothead much like Ga'abriael. It was as if he had looked into a mirror. In those days, he didn't care for the law. He did what he thought was right, never hestitating to raise his sword for what he thought was justice. Handsome yet chaotic, Ga'abriael had the very same eyes, his eyes. He couldn't contain his excitement, and unknowingly allowed a smile to escape his control.

"Please, let me speak before you make a decision," Michael protested as the youth's body language turned into one of disgust. "You probably know the reason why I'm here, and I know yours. I think we can both come to an agreement on our common enemy..."

"And place my trust upon your kind? Why should I trust you?! I work alone, this has always been my fight, and my fight alone," Ga'abriael took another hasty drink from his mug.

"Its because of your father isn't it? I knew him back...”

"Don't you dare! Do not speak to me as if you knew my father... or you would've never abandoned him 18 years ago!!!" Ga'abriael slammed his mug down on the table, spraying glass and beer across the room.

Silence fell upon the tavern with everyone gazing upon the pair. Afterall, its been a quiet day, and everyone was hoping for a bar fight of some kind. But attention quickly returned to their drinking and sexual immorality; they were used to this sort of thing.

"You left my parents alone on their quest to stop those demon worshippers! You thought they were too rash and hot headed, acting without orders, and not loyal enough to the church. But who the hell in your cursed church had the guts when the time called for it? You?! Hah, don't make me laugh. You left my parents alone in their quest... and they perished..."

"Ga'abriael, nothing I can say will bring your parents back. I too have been in guilt. I now wonder how the world will be if only I assisted them from the start. If only I had... I would like a chance to redeem myself. If not for the world, then for your parents, and you." Michael extended his hands expecting a handshake. He got none. "So how about it. Your chances are much better if we travel together."

Ga'abriael sat himself back down and stared at the floor as if in deep thought. "Shall I give you some time to think?", queried Michael. "No, that would not be necessary," replied Ga'abriael coldly. "I've decided."
Michael's disappointment was quick to show. "Well if you want to find me..."

He was signaled to leave. Michael knew better and decided to leave the young man alone. He nodded and began making his way out. He was just about sick of this place anyway.

"How many do you have right now?", said Ga'abriael as Michael was walking towards the door.

"Well I was hoping you could be the first," replied Michael, as he disappeared outdoors.

Ga'abriael rubbed his jewelled sword hilt with his fingers. Staring into the gems as if they were gateways to another realm, he began mumbling to himself. "Mother...father...", whispered Ga'abriael as a single tear rolled down his cheeks. It quickly merged with his perspiration into unrecognizable globules. One drop managed to fall on a large ruby, making a small splatter.

"Smithers! More ale!!"

 

Chapter 2 (draft 2) <--- Pretty shitty right now... no inspiration!

Michael flopped back on his arm-chair, staring at the cobb webs on the pinewood ceilings. Letting out one long sigh, he reached for the top scroll on a pile that has accumulated in his absence. Inside was a report on a recent infiltration into the ranks of the demon worshippers. Michael twiddled his thumbs and stared blankly out the window, as if in deep thought. Three brief knocks at the door broke his chain of thought, almost startling him. "Sire, I have prepared your luncheon."

"Come in Kiernan, you know you don't need to be this formal when no one is around," Groaned Michael.

"Yes sire," replied Kiernan while placing some roasted meats and vegetables infront of his master. "Its just so very pleasant to see your safe return sire. What would you like to drink?" Michael knew that the question was merely customary. He rarely consumed any alcohol, small amounts when entertaining important guests, and only when its absolutely neccesary. As his master smiled at him, Kiernan knew what he wanted. "Your honey water will be ready soon sire." Kiernan turned around and walked towards the door.

"Hold on Kiernan, remember what I told you about that elfen boy?"

"Yes sire, that half-breed if I'm not mistaken. Son of Larius?"

"Well, I found him. He's been living with some noble, apparently adopted. And we'd be hearing from him rather soon."

"I take it that this was reason for your trip? Not to disrespect your judgement sire, but I don't trust him, especially given his family's rather... unique history."

"At times like these Kiernan, we need all the help we can get, even if he is elfen. We're running outta able soldiers. Besides, I've already got someone keeping an eye on him. If he strayed too far from the path..."

"I'll get your refreshment sire." Kiernan didn't wait for his master to finish talking, and made his way out. He wasn't very fond of violence.

Michael forked a small piece of vegetable and placed it in his mouth. "Those demons are about to strike, I can feel it."

____________

 

Ga'abriael kept whipping his horse as if his life depended on it. His mind rushing by, with his thoughts completely tangled. The only thing he wanted to feel was the wind in his face, whispering perhaps, but never of times past, present, and future. It didn't need to; the wind never took account of time. Throughout the ages, it had been listening to the dreams of children, and those very same dreams disappearing by six-and-ten. They were afterall, just dreams, and meant to end at some point. For Ga'abriael those dreams ended earlier than others. And so one day, he began whispering to the winds, for guidance, and guardianship.

Speeding through a forest road, Ga'abriael tried as hard as possible to remember his mother's smile, and the nibblies she used to make on his birthdays. Her silvery long hair, the very same ones Ga'abriael was fortunate enough to inherit, and her distinct pink coloured eyes. But she looked different from other mothers, but it never seemed to bother him. She was afterall his mother, and it never occurred to him that he should asked her why her skin was grey. No matter how hard Ga'abriael tried to remember, his mother's face remained mirky, just like his recollection of what happened in the past 10 years. He remembered wandering aimlessly, looking for his parents. But before long, was found by a man claiming to be an old friend of his father. He was clothed, fed, and educated. And so, 10 years sped past.

In the distance, Ga'abriael saw what seemed like a small crowd. Gently slowing down Prince to a trot, he deicided to go see what the commotion was all about. Travellers were in fact rarely seen among these parts of the forest. When Ga'abriael got closer, it appeared as if a few armed men had surrounded a beggar.

"So whatsa matter big boy? Why don't you show us that staff again?" One of the thugs taunted the beggar, while the others did all sorts of fancy acrobatic tricks with their weapons. The beggar paid no attention to the thugs, and was more interested in th little critter he had on his palm.

"Daph my darling! What do you mean you need to take a rest?" The squirrel twitched its nose and rubbed her face with her paws. "But darling, we have to continue travelling if we're ever gonna reach town. Besides, I'm the one that has been walking all day!" The squirrel continued to cleaned its face, not paying any attention to the beggar. "Look dear, there's no need to give me the silent treatment, not like its my fault we're taking the path through the forest, most of the other roads are closed due to the war." The squirrel stared into the eyes of the beggar, and continued to twitch its nose. At this point, one of the beggars lost it and burst out laughing, dropping his weapon, and having to hold onto his knees for support.

Ga'abriael dismounted and walked over in their direction. A few of the thugs noticed his presence, and shifted their attention. Their leader gave him a scan, and realised that the young man walking toward him was just some local rich kid. "Rich boy, nice afternoon isnt it? Shouldn't you be at home eating sweet cakes momma's making?" The rest of the gang laughed.

Ga'abriael gave a strained smile. "I wish I was actually... Now, you five gentlemen surely have nothing to do with a poor beggar do you? I mean, I doubt you'd find one piece of valuable on him."

"Look why don't you get lost? We're busy," replied the leader of the thugs. The other thugs readied their weapons, and faced Ga'abriael.

The squirrel had noticed the tension, and decided it was safer to hide inside the beggar's shirt. "Good sir, do you know if this is the correct way to town?" The beggar enquired, still completely ignorant of the situation.

 

 

Rest of Chapter 2 TBC.

Same quiz nancy took

 

My childhood was a hard thing to explain. It was at the same time, my happiest years, and the worst of my days. I think I was happy then, not because I had any reason to be happy, but because children were naturally resilliant. My most vivid memories involved me roaming around the neighbourhood, adventuring and exploring every corner of my little world. For most of these early days, I would sneak out after school and arrive home just before mom came back. Homework came 2nd... or rather third. I think my stomach ranked slightly more important. Not only was I a seasoned scout, I was also a budding entomologist. Worms, grasshoppers, dragonflies, and cockroaches, you name it, I've caught it (okay so i lied a little on the cockroaches... did I mention I was also an acomplished little liar?). My grandmother once found a plastic bag on the window sill. Curious, she opened it up to see what was inside. Well, lets not go into detail, but I never thought she had a facination for science, even to this day.

 

But life was also hard, unbeknownst to me in my little world. My father had left for Australia in search of wealth when I was five. I didn't feel that bad about it at the time, a five year old didn't know better. Memories of my father in my early days were murky. I remembered a tall man (well at least by my standard) who lived with us, whom i called baba. I guess he was my father. But this idea of a "father" was developed later on from what my mother told me, and from what I learnt in school. While the money kept flowing in, I soon realised that living away from my father wasn't the norm.

 

While technically I was the eldest grandson on my father's (by olden Chinese standards), I had a cousin that was born 3 month earlier than me. My father was the least favourite in his family as he was brought up by his grandmother. My mother was in a similar position. Imagine my popularity. Being a smooth talker right from my age, I was quickly branded a little "hooligan". I quickly noticed that I wasn't liked from either sides of the family. I was always given the smallest portion of treats by my grandparents, and the least of attention. I think children are very sensitive to these things. But I didn't have the slightest clue why I wasn't liked. I wasn't ugly, nor was I stupid, and yet I was somehow despised.

 

Sixteen years down the track, I arrived back at the very same place where I grew up. At first glance, everything seemed the same. There were fewer trees in the courtyard, but it was winter, and you'd expect fewer leaves in the subzero temperatures. I walked up the very same dark stair cases I walked everyday. The same creaks, a little louder perhaps, under my exponentiated weight. I walked into the kitchen. It was just as dirty as I remembered it. It was dirty, but felt familiar. It felt like home. There, standing in the corner was my grandmother. Being near deaf, she didnt notice my footsteps. When she turned around, her face was near blank, almost puzzled. It was not I introduced myself did she notice the resemblance of my face to my mother. Then a big smile came across her face, a little proud of how big I grew. For me, seeing my grandmother gave me mixed feelings. There, standing infront of me was the grandmother who probably favoured me the least in my youth. But I also saw a pale old woman who recently lost her husband. I gave her a down vest I bought the other day. I told her the cold was coming, so I got her something along the way. It became obvious to me that I was the first to give her something like this. Its as if she wanted to tell me something, but didn't know how or what to say. She didnt have to. Grandma then took me on a routine tour of the place and asked me to stay for lunch. I accepted.

 

I politely asked my grandmother if I could go for a stroll around the neighbourhood, and was met with an understanding nod. With hands in my pocket to protect them from the cold, I took the same alleyway I took every morning. Like every alleyway in Shanghai, they were narrow, smelly, and full of overflowing sewage water. But then the memories came back, and nothing else seemed to matter. When a couple walked past, giggling, I noticed that I had been smiling the whole time. I quickly tensed up my face muscles and wondered whether they had been giggling at me for smiling so dumbly. I guess it was the nostalgia. Everyday I took this path to school. Since I only lived about 300 metres away from school, I could run out the door 1 minute before the bell rang, and still manage to get to class on time. I was expecting to hear the voice of children on the playground in their PE classes. But the only thing that met my ears was the damp and chilli breeze of the Chinese winter. My old primary school was nolonger there.

 

When I asked my neighbours what had happened to the school, they told me it got torn down to make place for office buildings, then moved elsewhere. When I asked where it moved to, they said the place where they moved to also got torn down, and the school then merged with another local primary. My school had ceased to exist, not even in name. I was really disappointed, and all I could say was...

 

FUCK!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!!! FUCKEN COMMIES! YOU TORE DOWN MY SCHOOL!!!

(You expected something sentimental here didn't ya?!)

Fortunately, my foul language, and odd accent ensured no one had a clue as to what I had said.

 

But seriously, its depressing. Having something so close to you just disappear... replaced by uniform office buildings. I mean, my memories are the only things I have. No matter how bad some of these memories may have been, they're still mine, mine alone. When you ask a single mother whether they'd still have their invalid child if they knew of the hardships to follow, most would say no. But when you ask them whether they love their child, the response is universal among parents, no matter the family structure, or the child's appearance. Thats the same way I feel about my childhood memories. They're my memories whether I like it or not.

 

They're the only ones I have...