Post by SuibuOgami on Jun 15, 2005 22:22:28 GMT
A long, long time ago, on a planet far, far away, there was a land called Gil’ali. This was a special land, for it was once home to the Ogami; a race of people born with special innate abilities. They used these abilities to help protect and guide the people of the land and perform great feats. But then there came The War. No one knows anything about this war, just that there was indeed a war in which the Ogami were wiped out, fighting to the last warrior. In the aftermath that followed, famine, disease and pestilence plagued the land. Brother turned against brother and neighbor against friend. It was a time of chaos. But eventually, the waters receded; the plagues and disease disappeared and famine and pestilence were brought down. The seasons came and went, and slowly, the people forgot about war. Ogami became myth; naught but godlike creatures of fancy. People tilled the land and traded with neighbors, and life went on. All was once again peaceful in the land of Gil’ali. That is, until the time of the Witch King.
Kale slammed the hoe into the dirt and pulled back, lifted then slammed the hoe into the dirt and pulled back again. He lifted it out of the dirt and leaned on it, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off his tan forehead and run a hand through his sweat soaked short, golden hair. His clear, sky blue eyes surveyed the rest of the field in the bright afternoon sun. It was going to take him the rest of the day to finish hoeing the field.
“Kale! Kale, lunch!” He turned at the mention of food. Actual food? No; Tandra was cooking. His stomach growled. If he had to put up with another bout of Tandra’s cooking he was going to shrivel up and die! “Kale, lunch!” With defeated resignation, he let the hoe drop and trudged towards their small cottage. If he was going to die, it might as well be in his ancestral home eating his - he sighed and rolled his eyes - wife’s cooking. She may be the prettiest girl in the province, but her cooking could be hazardous to one’s health. Tandra was waiting for him at the gate. “Lunch is ready,” she said cheerily. “What’s for lunch?” Kale asked. “Sandwiches,” she answered. Kale breathed an inward sigh of relief. Sandwiches; one could hardly go wrong with sandwiches. How could she screw that up? Kale walked through the gate and stopped. There was a sound, coming from the road. He turned and there coming down the road was a rickety old wagon with the words “Nicadimus Phyladamus: International Merchant Extraordinaire.” And driving this wagon was Nicadimus himself - or Nick for short; an aging man of wide girth and thinning hair. His sparkling blue eyes lit up his jovial face and might have just added a bit of a gleam to that balding pate of his. “Well, the newlyweds! I thought I smelt love in the air.”
“Nick!” Tanta ran over and threw her arms around him as he climbed down. Kale relaxed. Saved by a merchant; phew!
That night, they sat around the table, each sipping some of Nick’s special lilac tea while he entertained them with tales of adventures and heroes and told of a darkness in the East. “Yes, they say he comes out of nowhere, leading his armies himself. They call him King Merrick, the Witch King. They say he rides around on this floating island that attacks from the sky; of course, I’ve heard this from a friend of a friend told to them by their cousin’s ex-wife’s best friends former roommate brother who swears he saw it himself.” Tandra laughed, but Kale remained silent; every story had a grain of truth in them he‘d always said. He wasn’t about to doubt it now. Nick saw the somber look on his face and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry Kale; some swear they were cursed to stupidity just because Merrick glanced at them. Of course only the stupid ones believe that!” he chuckled, and Kale had to join in. He took another sip of his tea and suddenly Nick stopped laughing. He looked up. Tandra stared at Nick, a smile on her face as if she was about to laugh; Nick stared back the same. The fire wasn’t crackling, the flame of the candle on the table wasn’t wavering; Kale put down his cup and jumped up from the table. It was as if… time… had stopped. He looked from
Tandra to Nick, then back again. No, time couldn’t have stopped; he’s still moving. “Tandra?” His voice shook. Suddenly, the door creaked. He looked over. It swung inward and knocked against the wall. There, with the stillness of a painting, stood a cloaked figure. He stood there a moment more, then lifted his foot and walked slowly in, his heels clicking ominously on the wood floor. The hood turned as if glancing toward him then did a double-take, focusing directly on him. “Why aren’t you frozen, boy?” a rough voice rasped. The figure started walking toward him, a black gloved hand coming up and pulling the hood down revealing a handsome, middle-aged man of means. He had cold, icy blue eyes and a large sloped nose. His face was angular and he had a broad forehead mounted with long black hair. All in all, not a bad looking man. Kale did the only thing he could think of; he backed up. Suddenly he was being lifted, his wrists and ankles bound by invisible shackles. “How did you resist the freeze spell?” the man asked menacingly. Kale didn’t respond, staring hard at the stranger. He didn’t know who this man was, or even what was going on, but this man was vile. Just being near him made Kale want to wretch. An iron shackle closed about his throat, constricting his air passage. He couldn’t breath; he struggled for air. His heart was pounding. Why couldn’t he breath?! Kale snarled and glared down at the man. “Answer me!” Suddenly the shackle loosened and air filled his lungs. He felt light headed. Kale found his voice. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “Who are you? What do you want?” The man leaned back, intrigued by the venom in Kale’s voice. For some reason the man now looked more regal, composed. “Very well, I’ll tell you; it won’t help you anyways. I’m the Witch King Merrick, soon to be your new king. Bow.” With a wave of Merrick’s hand, Kale was now kneeling on hands and knees. Kale glared at the floor. “Why are you here?”
“For your lovely wife of course; tales of her beauty have spread far and wide and I wanted a taste of her myself. Do you know that in some countries, on the night of a woman’s wedding, the lord of that land may take her to his bed if he chooses?”
“No!” Kale snarled and suddenly the invisible shackle was about his neck again, squeezing. Slowly, it tilted back his head so he was face to face with Merrick. He lifted a boot and planted it on Kale’s face, pushing him back as Merrick hissed, “Oh, yes! Enjoy your last breaths.” The shackle squeezed until he saw colors floating in front of his eyes, his head feeling lighter then air. Merrick waved his cape brilliantly over Kale’s wife and suddenly she was gone, her seat now empty. Merrick strode out, the door swinging shut behind him. Kale struggled against the bonds holding him down, but it was to no avail. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and now in his last few moments of life he could do nothing to save his wife. Oh Tandra, he thought mournfully. They’d met at the summer festival, he’d remember that much. Darkness engulfed him.
To my readers: Okay okay! Don't panic! More will come in time just let me get my creative juices flowing alright?
Kale slammed the hoe into the dirt and pulled back, lifted then slammed the hoe into the dirt and pulled back again. He lifted it out of the dirt and leaned on it, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off his tan forehead and run a hand through his sweat soaked short, golden hair. His clear, sky blue eyes surveyed the rest of the field in the bright afternoon sun. It was going to take him the rest of the day to finish hoeing the field.
“Kale! Kale, lunch!” He turned at the mention of food. Actual food? No; Tandra was cooking. His stomach growled. If he had to put up with another bout of Tandra’s cooking he was going to shrivel up and die! “Kale, lunch!” With defeated resignation, he let the hoe drop and trudged towards their small cottage. If he was going to die, it might as well be in his ancestral home eating his - he sighed and rolled his eyes - wife’s cooking. She may be the prettiest girl in the province, but her cooking could be hazardous to one’s health. Tandra was waiting for him at the gate. “Lunch is ready,” she said cheerily. “What’s for lunch?” Kale asked. “Sandwiches,” she answered. Kale breathed an inward sigh of relief. Sandwiches; one could hardly go wrong with sandwiches. How could she screw that up? Kale walked through the gate and stopped. There was a sound, coming from the road. He turned and there coming down the road was a rickety old wagon with the words “Nicadimus Phyladamus: International Merchant Extraordinaire.” And driving this wagon was Nicadimus himself - or Nick for short; an aging man of wide girth and thinning hair. His sparkling blue eyes lit up his jovial face and might have just added a bit of a gleam to that balding pate of his. “Well, the newlyweds! I thought I smelt love in the air.”
“Nick!” Tanta ran over and threw her arms around him as he climbed down. Kale relaxed. Saved by a merchant; phew!
That night, they sat around the table, each sipping some of Nick’s special lilac tea while he entertained them with tales of adventures and heroes and told of a darkness in the East. “Yes, they say he comes out of nowhere, leading his armies himself. They call him King Merrick, the Witch King. They say he rides around on this floating island that attacks from the sky; of course, I’ve heard this from a friend of a friend told to them by their cousin’s ex-wife’s best friends former roommate brother who swears he saw it himself.” Tandra laughed, but Kale remained silent; every story had a grain of truth in them he‘d always said. He wasn’t about to doubt it now. Nick saw the somber look on his face and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry Kale; some swear they were cursed to stupidity just because Merrick glanced at them. Of course only the stupid ones believe that!” he chuckled, and Kale had to join in. He took another sip of his tea and suddenly Nick stopped laughing. He looked up. Tandra stared at Nick, a smile on her face as if she was about to laugh; Nick stared back the same. The fire wasn’t crackling, the flame of the candle on the table wasn’t wavering; Kale put down his cup and jumped up from the table. It was as if… time… had stopped. He looked from
Tandra to Nick, then back again. No, time couldn’t have stopped; he’s still moving. “Tandra?” His voice shook. Suddenly, the door creaked. He looked over. It swung inward and knocked against the wall. There, with the stillness of a painting, stood a cloaked figure. He stood there a moment more, then lifted his foot and walked slowly in, his heels clicking ominously on the wood floor. The hood turned as if glancing toward him then did a double-take, focusing directly on him. “Why aren’t you frozen, boy?” a rough voice rasped. The figure started walking toward him, a black gloved hand coming up and pulling the hood down revealing a handsome, middle-aged man of means. He had cold, icy blue eyes and a large sloped nose. His face was angular and he had a broad forehead mounted with long black hair. All in all, not a bad looking man. Kale did the only thing he could think of; he backed up. Suddenly he was being lifted, his wrists and ankles bound by invisible shackles. “How did you resist the freeze spell?” the man asked menacingly. Kale didn’t respond, staring hard at the stranger. He didn’t know who this man was, or even what was going on, but this man was vile. Just being near him made Kale want to wretch. An iron shackle closed about his throat, constricting his air passage. He couldn’t breath; he struggled for air. His heart was pounding. Why couldn’t he breath?! Kale snarled and glared down at the man. “Answer me!” Suddenly the shackle loosened and air filled his lungs. He felt light headed. Kale found his voice. “I don’t know,” he rasped. “Who are you? What do you want?” The man leaned back, intrigued by the venom in Kale’s voice. For some reason the man now looked more regal, composed. “Very well, I’ll tell you; it won’t help you anyways. I’m the Witch King Merrick, soon to be your new king. Bow.” With a wave of Merrick’s hand, Kale was now kneeling on hands and knees. Kale glared at the floor. “Why are you here?”
“For your lovely wife of course; tales of her beauty have spread far and wide and I wanted a taste of her myself. Do you know that in some countries, on the night of a woman’s wedding, the lord of that land may take her to his bed if he chooses?”
“No!” Kale snarled and suddenly the invisible shackle was about his neck again, squeezing. Slowly, it tilted back his head so he was face to face with Merrick. He lifted a boot and planted it on Kale’s face, pushing him back as Merrick hissed, “Oh, yes! Enjoy your last breaths.” The shackle squeezed until he saw colors floating in front of his eyes, his head feeling lighter then air. Merrick waved his cape brilliantly over Kale’s wife and suddenly she was gone, her seat now empty. Merrick strode out, the door swinging shut behind him. Kale struggled against the bonds holding him down, but it was to no avail. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and now in his last few moments of life he could do nothing to save his wife. Oh Tandra, he thought mournfully. They’d met at the summer festival, he’d remember that much. Darkness engulfed him.
To my readers: Okay okay! Don't panic! More will come in time just let me get my creative juices flowing alright?