《The Emperor's Weird Little Trick》 (Prologue) - Good Morning, Boyo. Just another calm night in the Empire- Nope, it would be quite the eventful night. He curled his lips into a smile, the same one he¡¯d seen a thousand times, and flashed ten thousands. His eyes didn¡¯t smile today, though.. it was just a little hard to get it to look convincing. So he pulled his sunken cheeks and perverted his otherwise natural smile into an extremely silly, goofy looking one. When the face does not comply, make it. ¡°Good morning, boyo.¡± The reflection in the mirror said, sounding quite drugged.. probably due to the shape his mouth had been contorted into by his fingers. Despite his young age, he looked quite old here - tired eyes, messy dark brown hair.. the whole package screamed ¡°I¡¯m going through a major crisis and probably throw four pills into my mouth followed by alcohol every night¡± ¡°Growing it out again?¡± A soft voice asked him - yet it sounded drained, the usually smooth-sounding instrument seemed just a bit out of tune today, and it only served to remind him that today was ¡®the day¡¯. ¡°You know, I thought as a man you¡¯d try looking all charming on your last day out there.¡± came the follow-up. The strings on that particular instrument sounded quite tired, but were clearly tough enough to pull his mood out of the waters no matter how much it wished to stay submerged within; though her voice did waver a little. ¡°Yeah, thanks for reminding me that.¡± He replied to the raven-haired lady with the gilded eyes, his own now bearing an amused glint, ¡°Now get out, woman. I need to look good for my execution, right?¡± -- Thirty minutes later the metallic door opened with a ¡®ffssshhhhhhhhhh¡¯ - it sounded like an air brake from the 21st century, spilling cold air on the one standing in the doorway mercilessly. He shivered walking through it just like he had for the past thirty years; it was an experience unique to life in these times, just one of those small things one grows up with and attaches a particular feeling to - like the smell of rain - and the smell of coffee, too. That one remained unchanged even now, as those lucky enough to still be alive from then would attest to. It was coffee now drew his attention to that awfully post-modernistic white table on which it sat alone waiting for him to spill its contents into his mouth.. how erotic! Even more so when it was a lady that made it for you. These thoughts filled his mind, bouncing around like little twits even as his feet carried him to the door with a gait that seemed somewhat reluctant. The the woman standing behind him sauntered into his mind, right after the smell of her perfume did - so he followed his instincts and turned around, let his dark eyes meet hers, and spent the next few endless moments taking what he saw in. Things become so much more real when they are about to leave - is that just how the mind works? Whether it¡¯s trying to catch that cat that just fell out of the window or feeling the tendrils of the mind clutching onto a door that you¡¯re trying to walk out of, it is always like this - everything wants us to stay, even the irritated face of the woman being stared at does not make us budge. Usually that would warrant ducking for cover, mind you, when the woman in case is a war hero. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.He¡¯d lived with her for a few years now - yet she never looked quite as good as today. Wearing wearing her official uniform, too; donning a black robe adorned with golden lines spiraling towards the neck upon which where hung a crystalline medal. Black hair and golden eyes, black robe and silvery medal, and the stern look she always carried - those were her trademarks. That was why it was so much more meaningful, so much more poignant, to see the look in her eyes. In the end, it was both a gift and a curse that he could read people somewhat well. The way her eyebrows arched and eyes glimmered signalling the onset of tears was enough to make him move purely on instinct, scooping her up in his arms without much care for the probability of him being shot. He was going to die today, and it is better to die after claiming someones lips after such a long time of denying yourself them; better still to not face any resistance when doing so, and even more so to have it reciprocated. Thus they stood there for a while until his grip on her eased up, hands sliding reluctantly off her back. Taking a few steps backwads, he did not break eye contact, not for a while longer.. until he finally raised his hand to his chest and bowed as was the custom. ¡°You¡¯re irresponsible, but do you really want to try and procrastinate away your own death?¡± She said, quickly regaining that usual icy look in her eyes, with only the wet trails on her cheeks remaining as a reminder of what had transpired moments ago. ¡°Sorry, nanny. I promise to be a good boy, I¡¯ll tell Uncle Deathy to come get you next!¡± He said, taking on the tone and demeanor of a little boy. He didn''t do so well this time, he thought. It was tougher to pull off the voice of a kid after pulling off something no one else ever had, perhaps? ¡°I¡¯ll come and get you soon enough, ya little bastard!¡± Her voice acting skills did not lose out to his, nailing the delivery of that ¡®angry nanny¡¯ voice. Certainly, she was better today. They chuckled, and only silence was left hanging in the air for the next few moments. The ''ding''of the elevator at the end of the small hallway was heard, revealing two men dressed in black robes much the same as her, whose next action was to raise their hands and beckon towards him, stony faces showing neither contempt nor respect, only their status as dogs loyal to Damian the Emperor. It was time to go. Turning on his heels, he strode to the elevator. A relaxed smile was on his face within the next second, and the air of calm he was well known for displayed itself at its finest as he stood there between the two royal dogs, whilst the elevator doors closed. Ding. (Prologue - II) ¡ª Night cast its shadow across the city lit up by blue and white. A black car had parked itself in front of the tall glass tower which grasped for the skies, surrounded by yet more of those stony-faced men for the man in the suit that approached its thick doors. Everyone knew he was a war criminal, yet he was one of the founding fathers of the nation at the same time and therefore would not simply be grabbed by his collar and forced into his seat like any other criminal in the Empire would be. These stony dogs in some part of their hearts still respected him, though none of them would admit it. Hundreds of white flashes erupted across from the buildings surrounding the one he just left. The Empire could cordon off the street, but no government could stop determined citizens from photographing what they want - the citizens of a nation are an inherently determined bunch, not much given to staying put when told to do so. It had been so since Vietnam and stayed that way. The object of their fascination - the rugged man in the suit who helped build their Empire and then to burn it down disappeared into the black vehicle, his visage hidden behind black glass. Yet the flashes never stopped. The whole area would be lit up by flash after flash, in a mess of ever-recurring white lights. It seemed this man was no puny little rebel - and despite TV screens across the Empire having displayed him as a criminal and as the man who plunged it into a civil war, he still had his fans, especially in his home country of Secundus - along whose autobahn the vehicle trundled along slowly an hour later, with not a soul in sight. The entire road network had been cleared - the Emperor was no ill-informed fool, he knew his two old friends were supported by many, even if vilified by most. The shadows are not very vocal, after all, yet were all too good at showing up where they should not. Inside, his old friend seemed quite pleased to see him. Though, as usual, his countenance did not express much of that pleasure. His long black hair covered in streaks of red gave him quite the sharp look, as did his red eyebrows, and Amynn was most likely the only one who could hold his gaze without flinching. At least, he liked to think so. The red facial hair covering the sides of his face highlighted just how sharp the features of his face were. Amynn could swear he wore it that way on purpose. It didn''t help that his eyes were orange - the man was built to intimidate, designed to cut with a glance. Good thing he was simply looking out the window sipping on juice. That is the mark of a good man! One that has a sharp gaze, but does not point it towards his poor brother. And so a lone black car rumbles along a deserted autobahn, headlights trailing along black asphalt and white strips surrounded by cold blue lights. -- The deep rumble of the engine chased away the silence nesting in the dimly-lit cabin, the two men inside unable to tell what was going on in the world outside of it. The vibration of the car underneath their bodies was a constant thing- though coupled with the way the air cool air from above them ruffled their hair this turned out to be a rather quaint atmosphere. The engine had a nice constant hum, too, though it was barely audible at all. Amynn preferred sexy rumbling engines to be louder. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Their bodies were pulled forward when the vehicle abruptly braked, letting spill the drink the red-haired man was holding onto the white fabric of his suit - now it looked as though he had been stabbed on the left side of his chest. He did not seem too pleased about it judging from the way he squinted for a split second. "Ignoring that," He stated, looking out the window, only his hair facing his friend whilst his hand patted the suit idly, "Is everything ready?" "Are we ever unprepared, Aleksandr?" Came the reply. "Fair enough," The gravelly voice replied. He had the deeper voice of the two, one that meant business, yet would still sound good reading someone bed-time stories or erotica, "They seem to be making this quite fancy. All the better for us, isn''t it?" Their bodies pushed back against the seats as the engine rumbled angrily at his reply. It seemed the car had begun moving along again, the little bastard. "Yep, it''ll make all this even better." Amynn said after a pause, watching his friend raise the jade cup to his lips, "They aren''t paranoid enough. We can talk freely here in the back, and they can''t hear a darned thing. I love that about Damian, he does not consider us to be actual threats." "Anyone who knows you well would know you keep at least ten cards up your sleeve." Aleksandr said, his face finally turning to face Amynn, the dim yellow light highlighting the two scars running across his cheeks. "Only you know me well" he replied, "..and Reyne." The utterance of that name made a hint of melancholy appear on his face, but it was quickly turned away towards the window. The two men did not speak much after that for quite some time. Time passed slowly during such an eventful ride, however, and Aleksandr''s voice could be heard again, "Got anything on your mind in particular?" Amynn friend replied wistfully, "Just a woman." He replied, "And my wife this country, of course. It will be quite chaotic after this.. it is my sincere hope that things go as planned.. chaos is unreliable, after all." The vehicle came to a sudden stop, cold air flying towards the men as its thick doors opened. Misty morning air rushed in, and so did the warmth of the hundred thousand people outside who cheered and waved their little placards at the vehicle, the noise slamming right into the two men and sending the scent of the morning flying in the oppossite direction. Amynn had already turned to get out, his feet resting on the cement, when he heard Aleksandr who was already out of the car speak an utterance that he remembered well from the times they spent watching old TV shows and playing video games. "Chaos is a laddah." He spake, already having his mask of aristocratic stoicism on as the Emperor''s black-and-gold dogs flanked him, "Let whoever climbs it keep what lay above." Then Amynn donned his air of calm along with that mask he was used to wearing - that charming smile. "A laddah" he muttered to himself, "Your references never stop coming, do they?" The roars of the crowds gathering around drowned out whatever else he was muttering with that grin plastered across his face. -- (Prologue III) - My Legacy is a Fireworks Display Crowds thronged the streets, only being kept at bay by the walls of white gas that surrounded the two men and military personnel in a square that locked them in. Even the big white eye in the sky called the moon was out tonight to watch them. It would be creepy if it blinked, so it was probably trying hard not to. Some enigmatic entrepreuners even erected little stalls to provide amenities such as food to the crowds, wanting to make a quick buck out of the event. Military personnel scampered about yelling orders, trying to outdo the crowds in terms of how loud one could yell and the general level of obnoxiousness one could display. Men dressed in white and gold hurried about pressing various buttons on the machines next to the chairs on which Amynn Torr and Aleksandr Brennus sat, hooking long needles along their spines. Some of the onlookers in the crowd could be seen wincing, yet Brennus did not do so, not even once. The most respected and feared figure in the Empire''s short history gazed into the eyes of these white-furred dogs, and it seemed to visibly make some nervous as their movements hurried up. That was understandable, as it was said that his training and the method he used to sync with his neural implants were so effective that he could crush a man''s skull. It was said he did so in the Third War, yet no one could attest to the fact; it floated around as a legend on internet comm boards. His sharp look and stoic air only supported these claims, no sane man would want to look such a figure in the eye when blatantly trying to bring about his demise. The crowd roared all the louder seeing his resilience, only to be silenced all of a sudden by the lights going off and the visage of the Emperor floating in the sky, as though it were some magical illusion. Being reduced to murmurs, they looked on towards the building on top of which a white light appeared - this was used often for making important announcements in the major cities by the mayors, but only the ruler could use it the way he did.. what with his particular flair for theatrics. Every citizen knew the man with the purple robe, the one ''politician'' who spoke like the common man without all the restraint, measured speech, and practiced gesturing of his predecessors. Yet they also seemed to fear him; his presence in the sky under the moon upon a tall building was enough to silence a hundred thousand men. Complete and utter silence reigned; the men running stalls fanned their smoky food idly whilst looking on. "Alright folks, here we are," He stated, leaning in and relaxing himself against the podium. "It''s a really good day because firstly, the war is over. Now you can resume enjoying your lives. Secondly, this is the first time we are trying out this particular.. technology.. that of transferring a person''s consciousness - and I consider it to be a better choice than the usual.. neurotoxin route." The two men hooked up to chairs looked up at the visage under the moon, one smirking and the other intrigued. The man in the purple robe brought a glass colorless liquid to his mouth before continuing, "I want no noise, I want no clamor. I want you to see how this war ends, and that''s that. I am not going to give you a lengthy speech about my sorrow concerning my old friends and what not - it is what it is. Get on with it." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.The transmission cut off, and silence hung in the air in its place. The machines beeped as they whirred to life, and the two men began sinking into their rest. In the distance, groups of masked men watch from the rooftops holding black comm devices; their lords may perish, yet their orders do not perish with them. They watch as the machines next to the chairs spew steam before whirring to life, whilst the two sitting upon the chairs exhaled, their eyes dimming yet holding onto the little glint of life left in them stubbornly. Were they waiting for something? Oh yes, they were. They were waiting for the rumbles heard in the distance a few moments later; for the blue and red flames to shoot out into the sky as promised, sending debris flying everywhere whilst buildings in the distance tumbled this way and that. Explosions ran through the Military District far behind them, as though someone let loose a kid upon the city who now ran about knocking down buildings willy nilly. The ground underneath them all rumbled and creaked whilst the Military District was being turned into a fireworks show, plumes of smoke belching out towards the skies. Stalls were overturned as the people ran for cover, despite the explosions all being far enough not to bring harm to any of them. The men fanning their food discarded their fans and ran along as well, whilst the military personnel in black and gold watched as their district collapsed; hands slowly reach for faces in disbelief. Amynn sighed, the light leaving his eyes, yet Brennus stayed back in the mortal realm for a while longer - he had always loved explosions and loud noises, and this particular fireworks show was orchestrated by him; Amynn had simply let him do so. This was the finest the 22nd century had to offer.. the sound of the works of his hand tearing into the depths of the Empire''s military network and ripping it all out with a fistful of dynamite. And so the enigmatic men who set off the explosions took off their masks in respect as Brennus as well left, leaving behind debris, smoke, and a whole lot of paperwork for the Emperor to fill. Maybe about a decade''s worth. The war was over? Now other nations would be all too willing to start a few more! Somewhere beyond the burning city, somewhere two thousand suns away, two gods gave applause to these horribly entertaining men; their maids smiling as they placed two empty cups on their table. They knew just who they were going to invite over to their tea party. It had been a long wait, after all. ------------------------------------------- And that''s the end of the prologue! Now I''ll be off to do some serious thinking and brainstorming so as to find where to take this tale. I''d appreciate some feedback and help. Things I could use suggestions and ideas on: Characters - mostly future characters. Ideas for the world they''ll be going to. It is going to be a fantasy world but the story and world are flexible enough to accommodate many things (you can even suggest Space Marines if you like.. though I don''t know how I''d go about adding them ;) ) Races too, perhaps. Got some ideas? Hit me up with em'', I''m receptive to everything and can make use of even the silliest idea in some way. Any help is appreciated. I - Tea Party I The ground above him rumbled and creaked whilst his entire being fell towards the darkness, something having dug itself deep into the back of his head, sinking into the sea of nothingness and pulling him along with it. The explosions grew distant with the moments and faded far, far away into the distance, whilst the silence grew louder- caging him in. At first the drowning man sought to move his arms and his legs, yet they seemed so far away - so heavy and unwilling to move, sleepy chunks of lead attached to a consciousness. Even the eyelids that in the past moved without thought felt like stone, trembling as they closed shut, resisting whatever in him was trying to keep them open. Just as the body grows tired after a long struggle, so does the mind. The more the tendrils of his mind stretched out to hold away the encroaching void, the more tired it grew, creaking more as it was asked to hold on. It was not as though he was surrounded in some comfortable light or anything of the sort either; surrounded by darkness and darkness alone was he, except what lay past that around him on all sides felt like something heavier - something that threatened to swallow him whole, which would lay to rest even the silent yet deep rumble he heard in his ears. There was a predator lurking in these depths and it crawled around him like a hungry serpent. At least the rumble told him there was something alive within him. Was it his heart? Did his blood still run? That force pulling on him from behind made one last tug, tearing those long tendrils into two. Scattered into four directions and stripped into dust, slithering away into nothingness. Shivers crawled up his spine like thousands of little snakes and as it often did in the past, wrapped its arms around his stomach and turned it into lead. At the same moment, sorrow stabbed the bottom of his throat like a knife- something wishing to come out, yet never doing so. A cold grasped him, spreading throughout his being before being splashed away by a comforting warmth that faded into nothingness. Every emotion he had felt in three decades smashed into him within the span of a few moments, then passed through him as though he was simply a ghost; a vapor floating about. When faced with death, it is not only a humble insect or a bird that struggles - waving all the limbs it can and throwing a final tantrum before its demise. The almighty human mind is the same in this regard; a mighty cockroach that knows the existence of death and tries to ward it off in vain. He poured every fiber into one creaking eyelid, managing to yank it open and taking in what lay in front of him: a simple purple hole that lay before a great orange ball that he knew to be a sun, but the purple sphere.. it pulsed in the manner of a bubble before retreating into itself, sending forth a great pulse of orange that sent him hurtling back whilst searing his vision black. --- The next thing he knew was the sound of a man choking. Who? It turned out it was him, water splashing as his head popped out onto the surface of the foamy sea. His hand desperately clutched onto the sand underneath him, pulling him onto a sandy shore that seemed to be devoid of any life. Ignoring the salty taste filling his dry mouth as he gulped, he diverted his energies to making sure the ground underneath him kept moving the way it had been due to the work of his tireless, dedicated arms. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Winds beat mercilessly against his back in the manner of the rods of prison wardens beating a man down to the ground. So the winds conspired against him in this manner, as did the rain dashing against his back from behind. He thought of how unpleasant was to have the cold curling up his back. He had always hated that particular feeling. In front of him lay the restless sky, somehow changing color every second; who kept spilling the paint like this? Whoever it was must have been a sloppy artist, splashing reds, oranges and blacks all over the place. At least the sun hung in one place even as the colors around and behind it kept changing. Warm winds rushed in from the front, stampeding past him whilst carrying with them all kinds of scents, changing every second. In a sense it was like having a thousand waiters with steaming dishes run past you every second. There was the particular dish he used to eat every day during his brief stay in Listel, and right underneath it lay the scent of dried laundry. Every moment was an array of smells placed right before his nostrils, like some cheeky home delivery service run by imps trying to play games with him and skittering right off. Thunder struck as the grey skies behind him ushered him on by swatting even more freezing rainwater at him, whilst the warm air and sunshine he felt on the front of his body treated him quite kindly. He did not bother to question why one half of this place was covered in sunrise and all the pleasant things it entails whilst the other was a raging dreary storm! Then passed by him yet another smell, this time that of coffee. That one did a number on him, going right into his nostrils and down into his chest, tying a knot in there. What followed next was perfume, of course. Now he began to grow quite tired of this charade and simply ignored these phenomenon that tried to make a fool out of him. Turning his gaze downwards he brought his mind towards more practical matters such as trying to see where his feet were going. He could scarcely make out their shadows through the mist that surrounded him as it was. The smell of dew the thick mist surrounding him carried was certainly something he could be thankful for! One kind thing that provided him some comfort whilst everything else chose to toy with him. In the distance he saw torches surrounding a clearing in the shape of a crescent.. only there did the mist clear out. Everywhere else was covered in a thick mist that he was sure would simply try and push him out if he tried to enter it and following this line of logic, his feet chose to walk towards it. II - Tea Party II There, in that clearing where the ground was made of stone covered in vines, sat two beings conversing quite calmly on wooden chairs with their backs supported by red fabrics. He approached this strange situation with little thought, knowing both of them had already seen him. He had just died, been torn into two, and spit out of a pulsing bubble in space; mind having very little thinking left inside it, if any. Sights, sounds, smells all came and left passing through leaving him empty. They left him ignored as though they were all simply strangers gazing into their phones and walking by at a subway station. The being sitting on the left gave him some attention, at the very least! He could not even see her eyes as they were covered by a mist, as though it were a veil meant for a mourning wife. She looked his way though, in a way that felt better than the phony sun and all the meaningless warmth it threw at him. Dressed in black, she was quite a modest lady it would seem, as her clothes covered everything from her legs to her neck. Hand moving as though it caressed the path it traversed, she motioned him to seat himself on the chair in front of her. Next to her sat an eight foot tall man who was not nearly as kind as her, judging from the way his eyes were held closed even as Amynn leaned back into the chair in front of them. A grand man he was, of course, with all that nobility and wisdom that surrounded him, but a heartless one. Amynn''s - if he even was that anymore - arms rested on the table in front of him. The woman did not seem to mind how their trembling made her tea cup shake, the air of warmth and grace staying all the same even as tea spilled onto her robe. He watched this lady as the white cup laid before him was brought to his lips and was spilled onto the table due to the lack of grace that his hand possessed. Onto his ruined face it went, scarcely any of it entering his lips. What entered was soothing however; heavenly. He heard the woman''s voice for the first time, one that had an indescribably calming quality. Like a wise elder sister and grandmother all at once stuck in the throat of a young songstress is how it sounded, echoing in his head. How on earth did she speak without moving her lips? There she was, sipping away whilst talking. "We see you have had quite the journey. Have you not?" "Well.. ofcoursh, m''lady. It was.. quite the.. thing it wash.", replied the voice that belonged to him. "Oh my. You''re quite the charmer with that middle ages talk, aren''t you? I knew we picked up a good man." "I would, yes indeed, I would pick you up any day, m''lady. A good man that I am, I waited years to kiss." Her hand paused briefly hearing this, was she trying to hold in a laugh or was she shocked? He kept spilling his tea as he had been, hardly concerned with it all. "Now now, let''s not waste the limited time we have in lucid, dreamy talk.." She said, that graceful hand of hers curling as she clicked her thumb, thunder going off next to his ears and rattling his head. His eyes opened a bit wider, now alive. "Sorry. Where the shit am I?" He bit his tongue realizing he''d just cursed in front of her. Who knows what she''d do? "This would be your internal world. As you can tell, it is collapsing quite quickly." She said with that calm tone of hers. Pieces of the sky withered away and fell next to them like droplets of rain. The knot in his heart grew a bit larger. It was harder than before to get out the next sentence, "I apologize, I have no idea what to say. Please.. go on." "I give you two choices.." She started, pausing and quirking her lips, "No, no blue or red pills." He showed his appreciation for her attempt to cheer him up by lighting up one side of his face in a smile. "I know you''ve brought me here for some specific purpose. Just let it go along the way you want it to.. maybe I do not wish to die just yet." "You are dead." replied a voice out of the blue. The man had his eyes closed still, yet his words were clear and filled with the authority of a king. "Yet here are my arms, being awfully graceful with your tea." Amynn''s hand clutched the cup tighter. "A creation of the organ in your head." Came the reply, ignoring the obvious irritation in the one it was addressing. "Just like this whole crumbly world.. just like that hug you gave your lady." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. "Don''t tell me you''re a buddhist?" A nice little jab thrown towards the man. "Tell me what your face was like before you were born?" Did he evade, or was that a hit? "You nicked that from a Buddhist.", Amynn''s voice now sounded more agitated, straining his throat to the fullest. "I personally met him, he was a good fellow. Married, too, I think. Does that not make you jealous? What is worse, losing a war or losing a woman?" That one knocked the wind out of his opponent, whose hand now came slamming onto the table, breaking it into two as he stood up facing the eight foot tall king. He had been through so much recently and the last thing he needed was this. If things went to shit, he would just be dead anyway - for real this time. Blast it all. "Oh, the little man is quite agitated. Maybe if you were made of sturdier stuff, you would not have lost the way you did.. how does it feel to attain your ideal of being a martyr?" The man stated, his legs hoisting him up. He was a mountain that slowly rose up into the sky blotting out the sun behind him. The water on the shore was swallowed up by red flames, rising up towards the sky as the wood next to the men burned and crumbled into black within the span of a second. The proper lady simply stood up and dusted her skirt off. Amynn felt a great pressure on his shoulders that could shove his feet deep into the ground if it willed to do so. Yet he stood tall, lucid and dreamy as he was, heart beating out of his chest whilst the fires of anger rose up in his chest. He gazed up at the mountain before him, whose face was masked by the hood of his robe. He himself was a shadow due to how he stood in front of the sun. "Little Mynn, if you punch the air, what kind of sound does it make?" The mountain teased, his eyebrows rising as though impressed by the display of furor. His hand held Amynn in the air within the next moment, as though it simply had passed through the distance between them like a flash of light. His fingers clasped around the smaller man''s neck, tracing his veins. Amynn felt as though he had been turned into water, finding himself rather floaty and light. He thought he had turned into a wisp, but he was not exactly right. Instead he was the tea in the cup held before the great mountain he had sought to fight, who, taking a moment to gaze at it simply threw it to the waves of the ocean that hungrily rose up to swallow it whole. The world around the two beings began to crumble, mists clearing out as mountains fell and were replaced by flat lands upon which grew green grass. The woman turned her face to the man who stood gazing towards the sea, a contemplative look on his face. Her voice spoke again, "What did you gain from doing that?" Her brother replied without bothering to turn towards her, "Testing his mettle. Strong will, applied inefficiently." Her voice rose, lips curling in a way that was not so friendly. "You could have done that differently. I for one did not appreciate you taking on the role of a pretentious monk." "Ha! Those were among the very few questions that stumped even my juicy brain." He replied cheerily, turning around and walking off nonchalantly. "Curious folk, all them. The one before him was a curious case, too. Told me to.. ''fook off'' when I asked him something similar." His laughter could be heard in the distance as he continued speaking, "I should have asked him that other favorite of mine. ''Do polar bears shit in the woods?'' Bah! Good old earthmen. You wouldn''t hear something like that anywhere else, my good sister." Meanwhile Amynn sank to his watery grave having been beset upon all sides the sea. ---- Endless waves of time gush by, and in a humble abode carved out of pale wood, a Seolfur child leaves his liquid shell, surrounded by the busy chattering of maidservants attending to the woman laid upon a rickety bed. Above them, the dark sky flashes its evil looking smile- the thin crescent moon. 3 - The Stubborn Prince I''m baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! I apologize, procrastination is quite a pain. With that said, here''s a chapter. -- A dozen white-clothed maids, and a gruff man, all of them hurrying about frantically like villagers trying to put out a fire - fetching water, towels, this and that. Angry little raindrops smashed against the windows like the hands of angry spectators wanting to break into some special occasion; How hard had these faithful folks worked for the past few days, running to and fro for the sake of this woman. The stubborn prince, centerpiece to this tumultuous occasion, chose to have mercy on them and leave his watery abode . This being a signal to the hard-working men and women present, all loyal workers from the looks of it, the end of their long struggle. As for the maiden who had, laying upon the bed, struggled the most of them all: she hoped never to bear child again, if all were so miserly and cruel. These unkind thoughts skittered about her tired mind, like children jumping about in the presence of a mother too tired to impart discipline; sleep tugging at the sleeve of her neck, pulling her forcefully into the land of dreams, she unwillingly indulging it- after sending towards her lively-looking offspring one tired glance. The looks etched on the faces of the maids was the last thing the delivery of a healthy child would bring, however, unless in this world children were all hated devils. Perhaps it was so, as they all gazed upon him with trembling faces. ''Why does the child not cry?'' This question had run through the midst of them, splattering white dread across all their faces. A smack on the stubborn prince''s cute little butt was all it took to get him to relent and entreat them with his cries- sighs took off left and right, like burps that begged to leave stomachs too full with food; only these stomachs were full of trepidation. It worked somewhat; a few rose-painted lips curled into smiles, and young men resumed their stoic look. Amongst these well-dressed young women stood an old woman; her manner of dress nothing that would inspire praise. Like a perverse inspector of ancient treasures that pale hand of hers inspected the round belly of the child - such a sad fate, to be touched first by a hand riddled with nerves blue and green- a new life invited in by one already in cohort with death. If this old lady had one redeeming feature, it was that her wrinkled face possessed those agreeable eyes whose corners exhibited a gentleness only the old could. Those crinkles left soon, pulled in another direction by what one can guess was disgust and contempt. Shaking her wrinkly old head, she exclaimed, "This one, my lady, is cursed by-" Their leader''s gruff eyebrow quirked up sharply. That must be why the decrepit woman spoke faster, words spilling forth, "His eye, sire, is not present! Not just that, it seems to have been burned by magicks, no doubt the work of the Gyl-" "Leave." came the rather curt reply, "I will do what needs doing." With that, the woman could say nothing more, because his back was already turned to her, and his red mane would most certainly not be answering her. "B-but m''lord, this is.. is your first and only child-" chimed in a soft voice, carrying with it hesitation. Had the young maids already taken a liking to the tyrant prince who worked them to the bone even before he was born? "That''s an order. For all of you!" Came the reply, this time louder. With that, all of the maids bowed once, then left through the door curtsying still like a group of Chinese dancers; the men-soldiers amongst them bowing stiffly, followed behind. The Seul''for, to whom belonged this couple, had long been engaged in a long-drawn, brutal war with those known as the Gyldinae. It had been long enough to rob their opponent of their patience: enough for them to resort to what was seen even by foreigners as underhanded, brutal methods; one such method manipulated children''s vitalities from within the womb, transforming them in various creative and beautiful ways: one commonly used method resulted in the city having to watch noxious plumes of green rise out of homes at least once every month. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. In return were the victims forced to resort to equally crueler tactics: that of abandoning children suspected of being these carriers of bombs, or even worse, frying their ''core'' - the part of a person from which regulates magical energies. This was what the father had in mind in this case. The leader of the clan in these harsh times had been expected to lead from the front, whether in battle or at home, and his child would be no exception to the rule. White was showered across the warlord''s grief-filled face by a flash of lightning, jolting him out of his reverie. Turning his face towards the table upon which laid the child, he walked with reluctant steps towards it. His calm hand rested upon the child''s face, a wall of trepidation forcing away his magical energies whenever he tried to force them into his hand. "They really pulled the wool over my eyes this time, didn''t they?" He muttered in a low voice, looking at the arm that would soon be bloodied; electricity whirring within his nerves, coiling up and around his arm like a spring waiting to explode out. - They stood lined up against the wall, mostly staring at the floor. Some found their hands on their mouths, as if wanting to stop something from spilling out. Others held their foreheads, and the less composed fell to their knees and were rocked by sobs. The rumble of thunder shook the floor and pounded against their ears, but they knew that there would rumble forth a sound far greater than that soon enough: that of the magic of their lord who possessed among them all the keenest instinct for the manipulation of electricity. It was no small feat, considering almost everyone in the tribe possessed an innate talent for it. They knew to close their eyes when white lights shone from under the door. Forced open their eyes were against their will by the door flying off its hinges, their lord himself slumped in their midst against the wall. They all were quite quick to notice how his arm was adorned with red- not blood, but burnt skin rising up around it in a circle. For him to have a misfire would not be unheard of, but a rebound was nigh impossible unless his magic was repelled by someone with far greater ability than his. Such men and women were rare to say the least, and the presence of one among them was dire news. Therefore they formed up quickly in neat circles, spilling into the room and taking positions they had practiced a thousand times. Their eyes peered into the room filled with smoke, the veins of their arms puffing up with power as they prepared for meeting their enemy- "Look!" Said a young man with his finger pointed towards the grey smoke in front of him, "The child!" "Don''t worry about the child! The rotten enemy''s here!" said a voice from within the fog as his footsteps ran towards the table. He had not seen the translucent barrier surrounding the child and was promptly sent wheeling back towards the wall next to his lord. "I told you to look, didn''t I? We don''t have any specialists with us.. this is an utter disaster" the voice from before spoke again. The tightly-formed circles moved slowly towards the table- so slowly, in fact, that the fog had all but cleared up, revealing the child as well as the mark on his temple that held up the barrier - the mark of Seo-Lofor, the great founder of their clan. That was enough for them to lower their arms, since such well-trained men could not be stupid enough to never have read the Silver Manuscript, in which this mark appears as a sign of protection from their founder. So they collectively sighed for the second time that day, and the women left to tend to their lord. His arm would need some working with, but perhaps he''d be thankful to the little prince for the lovely design work done on it. The prince cried, the maids rushed in, and the black night sky smiled its devious crescent smile as it had the whole time, satisfied by the show put on before it. As for the child, his name came to be Isenordal.