Tra’dielle

Because Dawn told me to:

“Tra’dielle”

“How much further?” Lord Zaurus muttered, his sharp voice growing weary, “have these stairs no end?”
A wide man, grey and awkward, led the young lord down the winding flight of stone steps. The staircase was barely wide enough for the large man to slip through and the wall torches were so sparse that every other twist of the stairs brought another round of complete darkness. “Not much further,” the portly man wheezed, his breath long since lost, “not much further, indeed.”
“What is it you wish to show me?” Zaurus asked, his voice exuding a dry curtness.
The fat man pressed his arm against the wall for support as he descended. “It was your father’s,” he panted, “he left it to you.”
Lord Zaurus looked about, his eyes straining to adjust to such faulty lighting. “What could he have possibly left for me down here? Why was this not mentioned in his will?” he inquired.
“You will see, lad,” the man said. It was clear by the tone of his voice that he wished to focus his energy on keeping his balance, rather than on conversation. The lord quietly obliged.
Almost ten minutes later, the pair of men came upon an old, cracked wooden door. The rusted metal handle barely held its place, and the holes in the door let the dim light from the other side illuminate small space where Zaurus and the fat man stood.
“Before we go through,” the man said, licking his lips that were chapped from his constant, heavy breathing, “I must warn you that your father did not want anyone to know this is here. He entrusted to me the responsibility of showing it to you, and to make sure that you,” the man paused, cracking a sickening smile, “use this however you see fit.”
Before Zaurus could reply, the fat man pushed open the door, revealing a small room. The depth forced the room windowless, but the few torches that lined the stone walls gave just enough light to see. It was completely empty, except for a woman, chained in the center of it. Zaurus counted them quickly, fourteen separate chains. Her feet, hands, neck, they were all chained to the floor or ceiling.
“What…” Zaurus stammered, his sword-like voice wavering for the first time in his life, “what… what is this? Explain this at once, Cerik!
The portly man took a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the sweat from his brow. “Your father captured it,” Cerik said, stuffing the cloth back in his pocket, “years ago, when you were still just a child.”
“It? What do you mean it?” Zaurus took a few steps closer to the woman. He had never laid eyes on such beauty before. Her face was sullied with mud, and tattered rags, barely enough to cover her, dangled about loosely on her worn figure. Even in such inhospitable conditions, though, Zaurus thought she was stunning. “What is she?”
“It,” Cerik emphasized, “is an angel.” He took a few steps closer to the woman. Raising the back of his left hand, the man began stroking her cheek softly. “Or at least she was, once. Lord Aursus captured her in attempts to stave off death, but after realizing that people still died even without this reaper of souls, he imprisoned her here.”
Lord Zaurus could hardly believe what he heard. “Reaper of souls?” he repeated, blankly, “but that is just a fairy tale, to scare children to do chores.” He moved closer to the girl, grabbing Cerik and pulling the round man behind him. “If men still died,” he said, examining her closely, “Then why did he not just release her?”
Cerik shrugged, waddling over to the wall of the room to rest against it. “Fear, most likely. He probably thought she would kill him for capturing her.”
Grabbing the angel’s chin, Zaurus raised her face so their eyes would meet. She stared back at him. Her eyes were white, lonely and hollow. He stood there, eye locked for a minute, before turning to his father’s companion. “Where are her wings?” he asked.
“Not sure. They began to kind of fade away a few years after we chained her up.”
Lord Zaurus turned back to the shackled angel. He knew his father had been cruel, but never could he have imagined this. Zaurus had followed in his father’s steps since he could remember. Now, though, he knew the true difference between them. Reaching up, he began unlatching the chains to her right.
Cerik looked at him. “What are you doing?” he squealed. “Stop that!”
“This is wrong, Cerik,” he said, moving to her left, “she should be free.”
Taking out his handkerchief again, Cerik wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, this time not from exhaustion. “Stop that,” he repeated, “she’s crazy! She’ll kill us all!”
Reaching around her, Zaurus unlatched the last chain that wrapped around her neck. It fell to the ground with an awful grinding. He looked at her, expecting her to turn to him in thanks.
Instead, she stared past him, directly at Cerik. She glared at him with a vicious intensity. Her expression was burn with a wild, unimaginable fury. Stepping out from the pile of chains that lay around her, she began to make her way to the plump man.
“Back!” he shouted at her, edging himself toward a corner of the room, “B-b-back!”
Lord Zaurus stepped forward to stop her. He knew that Cerik deserved whatever punishment she was about to unleash upon him, but Zaurus was a compassionate man. Placing his arm on her shoulder, he attempted to stop her. The angel threw her hand back, pushing him enough to cause him to stumble and fall over the metallic bindings on the floor.
“L-l-lord Aursus…” Cerik stammered, “L-lord Aursus said I c-could do what I wanted with you.” She was only a few steps from him, tall and emanating a furious anger. He was a pile of blubber, on the ground weeping. “It was h-him! Blame Aursus!”
Watching in horror, Lord Zaurus saw the angel bend over and grab the man. As she came to pull him up from the ground, however, Cerik did not seem to move. She was holding something, though. It was small and translucent, and shone with a strange illumination. Zaurus could see it, but yet could not make out what it was. Holding it from both sides, the angel began to tear it apart.
Cerik cried out in an awful squeal. He flailed and clawed at the angel in vain. She tore what she held in half, and Cerik slumped over lifelessly.
Zaurus lay on the ground, staring in disbelief at what he had just seen. He knew what had just happened, but could not bring himself to believe it. Suddenly, she turned. Zaurus could not ward off the fear that shackled him. It immobilized him.
She stared at him with her white eyes for a long time, before walking toward him. She held the same pace as she had while walking toward Cerik, and maintained the same intensity about her. Zaurus watched in silent, unmoving terror as she approached him. When she reached him, he closed his eyes, expecting the same torment she had shown before.
After a moment, he felt nothing. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He saw a hand, extended out in offer. Puzzled, he grabbed it warily. Her hand was so warm. It made Zaurus feel calmer than he had ever felt before.
Pulling Zaurus to his feet, the angel stared blankly at him. Her expression was unchanging, locked in a joyless gaze. “Thank you,” the lord murmured. He could not find his words. She took a few steps back, casting her eyes to the ground. “What is your name?” he said finally after a few seconds.
She said nothing, keeping her eyes fastened to the ground.
Zaurus stepped toward her, grabbing her chin again and raising it to have her eyes meet his. “Do you have a name?”
The angel opened her mouth for a moment, but no words came out. She opened it again, this time, a breath of air slipping out. Zaurus nodded in quiet encouragement. She tried again. “…ra…”
“Ra?” he asked, but she shook her head.
“…tra…iell…” she sputtered, “…tra… dielle…”
Zaurus smiled. “Tra’dielle?” he asked. She nodded slowly, her expression still unchanged. The lord felt as though he had heard that name, somewhere long ago. It felt familiar to say. “It’s nice to meet you, Tra’dielle. My name is Lord Zaurus.”
She leaned forward, staring into his eyes deeply, as if she was searching for something. Her forehead furrowed.
“I believe you knew my father,” he said, softly, “it may calm you to know that he is dead.” He could see her worry lessen. Looking over her shoulder, Zaurus was immediately reminded of the corpse that now lay in the room. “What did you do to him?”
She broke his gaze, looking to the ground again. She opened her mouth to whisper again. “… g… gone…” she murmured.
“Cerik was a wicked man,” Zaurus said, “he deserved oblivion.” He sighed. “So many wicked men. My father was wrong in trying to end death. There are too many people who deserve it.”
Quickly looking up, Tra’dielle placed her hands on Lord Zaurus’ face. “…let… me…” she whispered, “let… me… kill… for… you…”
“Kill for me?” Zaurus smiled, weakly. “You wish to let me choose who should live and who should die?” She nodded. “I could rid the world of men, wicked men, like Cerik. I could rid the world of those who would take ten steps from others for but one step of their own…” He stopped, returning himself to proper thought. “But I freed you. Return to wherever you came from.”
The angel shook her head. “…cannot… I… am… yours…”
Zaurus did not understand, but did not push the subject. He could see how much struggling to talk was straining her. He grabbed her hands from his face, and pushed them together in his hands. “If you cannot return, and you are mine,” he said sternly, the sharpness of his voice returning to normal, “then I shall use you, Tra’dielle, to end the lives of the wicked. We will create a better world together.”
The angel nodded, but did not smile.
She could not smile.

The Angel of Passing

Alright, I decided that my blog would be a nice way to post my short fiction for my creative writing story.

It’s called The Angel of Passing!

Lord Aursus had chosen this grassy field because of its history. There had been a war here. It had been a great battle that claimed countless lives. There was no colour in the foliage. There were no trees. It also seemed as if there was never a sunny day here. Always overcast. Always dark.
Rumour had it that so many men had died in the fields that there were still many lost souls there. Many wandering spirits. They said that the Angel of Passing still scoured the fields in search of the forgotten. They said that if one wanted to see the Reaper, they should go there.
That is why the Lord had picked it.
He was a large man, tall and muscular. Those above him knew of his powerful loyalty and unrelenting sense of duty, but those below him knew only of his frightening stare and his brutal efficiency. Those under his direct command knew of his strength and tactful leadership. He was a cruel man. He was a wise man. He was a leader.
Lord Aursus sat on his horse, staring into the grey sky. He had not seen a single bird since they had arrived, nor had he seen so much as a deer or rabbit in passing. This was not what unnerved him, though. It was his horse. The horse was well bred and well trained. It had been born for a life of servitude and had never shown the lord a single shred of dissidence, yet it was obvious it wanted nothing more than to turn and run from this place. It stayed only out of complacency of its master.
Breaking his thoughts, Lord Aursus watched a soldier approach him. He looked down from his horse, peering down with his notorious stare at the man that had come to him. “Is everything set?” he asked, knowing the answer. There would only be one reason for him to be approached.
“Yes, my Lord,” the young man replied, a masked fear in his voice, “All forty men are in position.”
“And what of the boy,” Aursus paused, “the sacrifice? Has he been properly briefed?”
The soldier nodded. “Yes, he has been prepared as well. He has a complete understanding of what he is supposed to do.”
“Perfect,” Aursus said, with a powerful dignity, “Then let us make history.”

***

Lord Aursus rode his horse around the large circle that was his men. They were all a few meters apart, with their bodies to the ground. The only man Aursus could readily see was the boy that stood in the center of all of them. He was a young boy, thin and quiet. He had been picked for both his youth and his innocence. His parents claimed that he has never committed one dishonest deed and that he was the most benevolent person in the entire county. He had been the perfect candidate for this sacrifice.
“Men,” Lord Aursus shouted fiercely, “Today is a day that shall live in the hearts and minds of all throughout the world. We do a great service to every living man, woman, and child and they will not even know of our deeds. Since the dawn of time, man has lived in fear of death. Every thought we have and every action we make is followed by the same notions of duty to the afterlife. We are slaves to the hereafter. We cannot live for today. I say that these constraints are damaging to us all. These constraints are making us all weaker, merely pawns of death to be played around with and then discarded. I say that these constraints should be shattered. These constraints, on this day, shall be shattered.”
Lord Aursus rode up to the boy. He held a small, jade-encrusted dagger in his hand and a quiet look of fear on his face. He was young.
“Boy,” Lord Aursus began, “Know that what you do is a great service to all of mankind. Know that you will be remembered and spoken of for all time.” The lord looked down at the boy with his fierce, stabbing gaze.
The boy returned a glance, feeling Aursus’ eyes go even deeper into him. They went past his eyes. They were even going past his mind, straight into his soul. A bead of sweat rolled down the boy’s forehead. “I will, my Lord,” his voice quivering and unsteady, “I will.”
The wind began to blow wildly. It was the only sound any of them could hear from the complete silence of the field they were in. There was not a single bird in the sky, or any other animal on the ground. It was a strange look to see the wilderness so devoid of life. Lord Aursus trotted his horse away from the circle of men to his own position. He turned around and dismounted. Without the restraint of his master, the horse turned and galloped away. He paid no mind to the beast. He could not spare any.
“Ready, men,” Lord Aursus shouted, knowing the sharp sound of his voice would pierce the wind and reach all of his men’s ears, “Ready, boy.”
There was a silence. The wind stopped.
“Let the sacrifice commence!”

The boy raised the dagger into the air in front of his chest. He held it there for a few seconds. Fear and duty were both tearing at his mind. If the boy waited any longer, he knew the brawl inside him would drive him mad. Tears violently spilled out of his eyes. The boy began to openly weep. This seemed to be the only way he could deal with the amount of stress.
Before he could wait any longer, the boy drove the dagger straight into his chest, right into his heart. A lethal wound. The boy stared at the knife in his chest, almost in disbelief. The blade felt warm. It made his whole body relax, emanating a sort of calmness throughout him. There was no blood. He would have stared at the knife forever if a light had not distracted him.
He looked up. Where the grey sky had been was replaced by an unyielding, blinding light. He could not stand to stare at it, yet he could not bear to look away. A figure began to approach him from light. It was a woman, with long, elegant golden hair. She was tall. She was naked. She was beautiful.
Massive pearly white wings flowed behind her like silk curtains. The wings did not look material, nor made of any sort of feathers. It seemed they were made of pure energy. Perfect energy.
She was an angel. She was a goddess.
She smiled, flying to the boy so calm that it was almost as if time were slowing down. The boy had never seen such a smile. So forgiving. So loving. Never would he see the equal of this angel’s look. She landed on the ground, right in front of him. Tears rolled down his face. He lunged at her, throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her breasts.
“I am sorry,” he cried, as loudly as he could, “Forgive me! Please, forgive me!”
The angel smiled. She wrapped her arms around him, embracing the boy. She radiated with such love. She felt so warm. She forgave every sin.

“Now,” Lord Aursus shouted to his men with a wild fervour, “for the honour and glory of man, now!”
The forty men leapt from their positions. Each was holding what looked like a massive crossbow, heavy and brutal. They all fired in unison. From the crossbows shot massive linked chains that flew through the air like arrows. They made horrible, deafening grinding noises as they flew.
The chains began to wrap around the angel and the boy. All the links were anchored to the ground, making movement impossible. The boy was silent, but the angel began to scream a wicked, soul shattering scream. It echoed through all of their minds.
The men began to waver. Some of them fell to the ground holding their heads, others were paralyzed. The rest ran forward, grabbing their chain and holding it down with as much strength as they could muster.
“She is ours,” Lord Aursus shouted, running toward them. “She is ours!” he repeated, “She is ours!”
The angel began to violently fight her shackles. She twisted and flailed wildly. One could not help but pity her fruitless struggle. The links were too strong, her powers too weak. She stopped moving and stared at the boy. Her smile was gone. Her radiance. Her love. She looked at him solemnly for a moment, before mouthing to him a mute ‘I forgive you.’ The boy did not want forgiveness. Not now.
“Half of you,” Lord Aursus called, “secure the restraints and prepare for her to come with us, the other half of you help the men that have fallen to her cry.” The lord looked around at his men proudly as they shuffled about the grassy field that they stood. Today, they had conquered death. Today, they had imprisoned the Angel of Passing.

Woot

Got 91% on my 231 midterm. Woot, guys, woot. Pretty sure I aced the lab, too.

Not too shabby.

So, this august, everyone in the store is getting a “cost of living” raise of 50 cents. But, also, I am nearing my raise that happens every 500 hours or so. So if I get to 3641 hours before august, I’ll get the both raises to kick in, and be making $11.60 an hour. If not, I’ll be at $11.10. Hopefully I will, though, if all goes according to plan.

Also, cute video.

My’zarak

A while ago, in an RP with Stephanie, I posted this little peom thing. It’s what I’m submitting in my Creative Writing class, so tell me what ya’ll think.

My’zarak

The tales of old have told a place,
of which there is no heart.
A land where no man dares to pace,
‘tis where this story’s start.

The ghostly grounds of My’zarak,
the secret land of death.
The ashen grounds of My’zarak,
the land that claims the breath.

A man by name of Ulland Rahl
did come to this land’s shore.
This dire choice he’d wish recall,
there none had lived before.

‘Land this ship then search for treasure,’
was the man’s desire.
An easy walk, a thing of leisure;
the prize he would acquire.

He set his foot upon the ground,
and felt the chill of death.
A wheezing, windedness he found,
‘The land that claims the breath’.

Met with a forest, dark and dank
the trees looked twisted more.
The windless air was stale but rank,
like thoughtless tales of yore.

A darkness ‘crept down from the trees
and came upon the man.
This cloud of death smelt of disease,
then Ulland’s fears began.

A dragon, born from death and hate,
emerged from tainted zone.
No scales or skin or life did trait,
instead a beast of bone.

It made no sound, though thought emit,
into Sir Ulland’s mind.
A chilling score of words and wit,
and thoughts of other kind.

“Be gone,” began the dragon’s roar,
“Make haste within your ship.
For demons, devils, wait in store;
your mind they wish to rip.”

No more was there to say to him,
for off did Ulland run.
Escaping from the land of grim,
a land that’s free of sun.

Though in the distance, was it found,
his saviour dragon’s fate:
An evil monster took the ground,
began to desecrate.

The ghostly grounds of My’zarak,
the secret land of death.
The ashen grounds of My’zarak,
the land that claims the breath.