《The Oceans Edge》


 #0: Prologue

    Battle of Whelkeld-1180


    ¡°As I gaze upon the battered and bloody land, the shouting and screaming, I see the blood flow and heads roll off. This once pristine land has been wrought with violence as corpses lay strewn among the rubbles. Blood. It flows in torrents and coalesces into pools. The smell of blood occupies all of my thoughts. It fills my boots, sloshing as I try to escape. Far away, atop a mountain of the deceased stands a solitary figure. His red eyes pierce the battlefield looking for signs of life. Luckily for me, a mountain of corpses is shielding me. Locks of auburn hair have stained dark red as he feeds his blade the blood of his enemies. My tears, sweat, and gushing blood mix together as I leave my good arm behind. My only regret is coming to this dastardly place. If you are ¡®lucky¡¯ enough to receive this book, run. Far, far away and never look back, for the Keeper of Blood will undoubtedly be close.¡± - Miroatlan, scribe of the Lothalican Republic.


    Seven Years Later¡­


    ¡°Hmph! Do as I say and unload the cargo, swine!¡±


    A crooked-eye, scar-faced, man walked up and down the pier. His eyes flickered in annoyance as he fanned at his face. The clothes he wore could be described as anything but modest. His rage soon turned into fascination, because although Dewhurst was indeed known for many things, the unrelenting ocean topped all others. Tempestuous like a raging torrent, yet serene. Waters tainted with algae, the pier glowed like the color of moss. Ships were undulating in the light morning breeze. The sun rose, and the clouds fell. The day full of labor and woes, all began with the sound of a bell.


    ¡° Hurry up! There is much to be done. Don''t make me wait all day!¡± The man furrowed his brow before simply turning around. He soon found a place to sit that would facilitate in enjoying the scenery.


    Not far behind, about a dozen expressionless workers hefted the crates to start moving them. The ship rocked back and forth, calm even in the wind. The goods that were transferred from the pier ended up on their way to the heart of the city, the Dewerian Market.


    For a long time, travelers would end up lost in the streets. Interesting, many scholars commented on the exhaustion of it all. A nouveau riche salesman, named Olilann chronicled his many visits into a book of his travel notes titled "The Secrets of Dewhurst."


    Excerpt from ¡°The Secrets of Dewhurst¡±:


    ¡°The winding paths and the twisting turns of Dewhurst compliment the inner psyche of what it means to be Dewerian. In my opinion, the people of Dewhurst are much more like their city than their city is like them. Their markets rise early and close with the last of their embers. It is integral to who they are. Proud, Aloof. There is no other place I would rather spend my life, alas even the sweetest of journeys must come to an end.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The market, filled with life, had awoken in a stupor. Dewerians bustled in crowds, looking for anything from scented soaps, to monster scales. Azure colored lamps, a tradition in Dewhurst that brought prosperity and good luck, were hung in every nook and cranny.


    Amidst the crowd, a curious observer scanned the stalls. Tufts of his ash brown hair masked the sparkle in his honey colored eyes. It seemed he had found what he was looking for, and so began his journey. Over to this walkway, around the corner, down a staircase, and forward a few blocks. He now stood in front of a shop.


    A large, wooden sign with black painted edges was inscribed:


    Sayand¡¯s Smithy


    Having found his desired location, the little boy nervously twiddled his thumbs, before sneaking into the shop, taking advantage of a crowd of people trying to enter.


    The shop was filled with soot and ash, even turning the wooden furniture black colored. Loud banging could be heard in the distance, along with short and sweet hymns if one listened closely. Inside the place, there stood cases, racks, and shelves double the size of the boy. They loomed over him and were adorned with many pieces of equipment, charms, or items.


    He began scouring around, before eyeing flakes of metal laid askew onto the floor. After quickly snatching whatever he could, he glanced around suspiciously, before continuing on ¡®Inspecting¡¯ the items before him. No matter how hard he tried, all he could see around him was,


    [Inspect-???]


    Turning a corner, he continued to look around for anything remotely interesting. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. His mind was filled with more questions than there were overwhelming his eyes.


    A figure walked up behind him, unbeknownst to the boy. He had had a broad back and a youthful appearance. His black hair was short and clean, complementing his dark brown eyes.


    ¡°Hey¡­ Little Fella? What are you doing in this section?¡±


    A look of terror welled up on the child''s face as he turned around and his eyes widened. He shuffled a couple of feet back, and the assailant bent down to eye level with the child.


    ¡°You know¡­ You really can¡¯t be here yet, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The child¡¯s face scrunched up, and he was almost ready to cry. Astonished, the teen ushered the child towards him and tried to get him to stop crying. With a sigh, he shuffled around for something, before pulling out a necklace chain. A rapier hung loosely off of the chain. The blade''s tip glowed a deep blue color. On the hilt of the blade, the initials C.N were carved along the side. It shone under the smithies dim lamp lights, filling the boy''s hands with a small world of cyan.


    ¡°I am Balcien. You really shouldn¡¯t be here...anyways, I am an apprentice here at this smithy. Maybe someday you will come and decide to buy some armor from me.¡±


    The child was confused but nodded his head anyway, as it was common courtesy in Dewhurst. He turned to leave and wandered out of the shop along with another crowd of people.


    ¡°He sure doesn¡¯t like to talk to me, huh?¡± Balcien chuckled a bit before putting on his goggles and started to work on his next item.

 1: The Frozen Lake

    Snow. It billowed into the streets of Dewhurst, covering the azure lighting. The lamps chilled over in the freezing wind.


    A child, wrapped in furs, trudged through the still bustling streets. He glanced around, his dull eyes waiting for something interesting. Clink. Clack. His chain shook in the wind. The lights flickered past, like fairies in the snow.


    Approaching him, was a frozen lake. The trees, covered in white, swayed slightly. Ice. The lake shone under the moonlight. The grasses and shrubs covered in frost twinkled as he walked past. He sat down, taking in a deep breath, and sank into his thoughts. He watched as he became snow-draped. He sat there, unmoving, for quite sometime before something interrupted him.


    ¡°Hey¡­ Are you stupid?¡± A shadow imposed over him. So much for relaxing. He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times, before looking up.


    ¡°Are you listening? You could have frozen in the cold!¡± Light brown eyes shown through the falling snow. Her hair was neatly woven and cut to shoulder length. She frowned, before stomping off. She remarked,


    ¡°Fine! Go freeze in the cold Pela¡­¡±


    Serene. It was so much better without her nosing around. But at the same time, whenever he opened his eyes, he only of one thing. Loneliness. It chilled him, how ironic. He sprung to his feet, taking in one last look before he was gone.


    A wanderer traveled through the vast expanse of white. One step. Another. Slowly and steadily he made his way to his destination.


    Pushing the door open, he was introduced to a world of shelves. They towered over him, filled to the brim with books. Leather, Rabbit hide and Sheepskin books lined the walls. Some were sprawled across the floor, some on windowsills, and others piled up directly on the floor.


    The room, lit by candlelight, glowed a faint yellow. Many books lined the walls, stacked in neat rows, with colorful covers. He ventured through them, seemingly looking for something. He soon gazed upon a solitary figure. Long flowing hair draped down from her head, covering the books that she had stacked on the floor.  She put her book away and looked him directly in the eye. She paused, before questioning,


    ¡°Son, did you go to the lake again?¡± He stood there, silently staring at her face. His eyes flickered as he turned around and walked to the back of the shelves. He entered a side room, where he had already prepared a couple of books, some candles, and some treats.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Spring came, and the children in the town soon came out to play. They laughed, cried, and sang together. Pela, book in hand, briskly walked through the streets. He sighed, before flipping to the next page. Disregarding everything. He soon located his favorite spot, next to old willow. It was said that old willow had been planted years ago, by a famous florist. By her will, flora and fauna sprung out of the recesses of the earth and protected her. It was a famous monument in Dewhurst, and every child loved to play near it. Everyone believed that the tree was an emblem of their prosperity, for years to come.


    ¡°Ha! Who said you are gonna be an initiate mage? I bet you couldn¡¯t even light a match,¡±


    ¡°HEY! If I told you I would, why would you doubt me? Once I become a time mage, I will really make you suffer!¡±


    ¡°Ugh¡­ All they talk about is fighting and being stronger. I wish we could travel as merchants. The port in Dew isn¡¯t too shabby after all¡­¡±


    Pela frowned a bit, irritated from having to stop reading his book. He looked up, annoyed as he saw their bickering.


    ¡°Hey, Pela! Whatcha reading?¡± It was her again. She just had to bother him constantly, didn¡¯t she?


    ¡°Is that about the... conventionality of sword magic?¡± She puffed her cheeks and pouted, ¡°you can¡¯t ignore me forever okay?¡±


    He had indeed been reading about sword magic. It interested him deeply, and many historical figures were known to have used techniques using this in the past.


    A brown haired brat walked up to them. He turned to her and said,


    ¡°Why do you even hang out with this loser? He doesn¡¯t even do anything, how is he even alive?¡± He yanked Pela¡¯s hair, before kneeing him in the face.


    ¡°What do you think you are doing... Stop it!¡± She tried to defend him, but the boy''s goons held her back.


    ¡°Ha! Hey¡­ Why don¡¯t you speak back? Too afraid? You are worthless!¡± He continued thrashing him, before standing up and walking away. As he left, he smirked and taunted,


    ¡°Maybe if you had a father, you wouldn¡¯t be such a weakling.¡±


    After the group left, only two figures were left in the playground. One of them lay in the cold snow. The other was a quivering girl. She meekly looked at him, as if she did not know what to say.


    Blood dripped from his forehead. It cascaded down his brown hair. He could taste the texture as it dribbled onto his lips. His hands were shaking, and his eyes shuddered as he writhed in pain. Blood splattered, tainted snow. His book, crimson, fell onto the pavement. A reminder of his weakness, of his struggle. He stood up, shaking as he lifted himself up.


    "Are you ok?" She looked at him with downcast eyes. Worry clouded her vision as she moved to comfort him.


    He shoved her back, before giving her a chilling glare. Book in tow, he limped off. She stood there, unmoving, and watched as he left her vision.


    He sulked, as he looked up at the clouds in the sky, longing for more. It was a shame he couldn¡¯t express it. He wandered aimlessly. His feet dragged alongside the gravel, dull steps echoed through the street as he returned home.