Story Night #2

What follows are the stories told by Sunfire, Pashweetie, Tipu, Stonebiter, Kamisha, Adiomino, Altrumist, Curiose, and an unknown author. They were told at the Well of Fortune, the disignated place for story-telling.

Prizes:

7 - Anonymous : Joker/Credits [Please come to me in regards of which you would prefer.]
7 - Atrumist : 10 Credits
6 - Adiomino : Pimp
5 - Stonebiter : 10 Silver
4 - Sunfire : 5 Credits
2 - Tipu : 5 Silver
1 - Pashweetie : No Prize

Assault on Loreroot

Sunfire Story Submission:
Assault on Loreroot

Living in the peaceful land
in between the fields and trees
there you learn to understand
what the word peace means

This peace will end
and very soon
darkness is gathering
under a fool moon

Cracking an gnarling
are heard in the woods
Loreroot my darling
that doesn’t sound good

The dark lord Hunger
takes his monsters to the tree line
and blesses his monsters
with his power dark and divine

There comes the first charge
of the attack
their surprise was great
when no one fought back

Then the trees moved
and blocked their path of retreat
in the tree roof
they heard Knators go mad by the smell of fresh meat

They drop and kill
by biting in the neck
they run to the hills
but they never get back

At that time
a guerilla war has begun
until there was the sign
and to their master these minions did return

The siege took over a year
but no ground was won
Hunger showed the first signs of fear
this was no longer his idea of fun

He assembled his last men
who took off with him on this campaign
give us this unholy land
don’t let the others died in vain

In despair he ordered a full charge
there was the drumming sound of a thousand feet
the fight was cruel and the situation was harsh
but at last there was the sign of retreat

If I can’t have this land, no one can
take the torches and burn this forest down
this crown was made for only one man
deliver our land from this cursed ground

They lit the torches and head to the woods
but they all fall down with an arrow in their chest
evil shall not find in here a place to root
only a place for its last rest

Hunger went mad by this defeat.
and storms to the woods with a monstrous cry
The end was complete
when he finally died

the peace returned at last
to the green land
they gave a great fest
so take your cups in your hands

Pashweetie's Submission

Pashweetie Story Submission:
I sit here upon the GoE
Spending my time merrily
Speaking to friends, telling of lands
Teaching the wise
Telling the young
Learning to speak freely
As a bumble bee in a flower

Tipu's Submission

Tipu Story Submission:
Fear is a weakness

There was a lion who feared nothing except the crowing of cocks.
A chill would go down his spine whenever he heard a cock crowing.
One day he confessed his fear to the elephant,
who was greatly amused. “How can the crowing of a cock hurt you?” he asked the lion. “Think about it!”
Just then a mosquito began circling the elephant’s head, frightening him out of his wits.
“If it gets into my ear I’m doomed!” he shrieked,
flailing at the insect with his trunk.
Now it was the lion’s turn to feel amused.

Moral: If we could see our fears as others see them we would realise that most of our fears make no sense! Hehe

Stonebiter's Submissions

Stonebiter Story Submission:
A pinpoint of light broke through the darkness , and the the hammering sounds stopped suddenly, followed by the hushed voices, that spoke excitedly.
Slowly the bricks were removed ,one by one gently,to reveal the contents of the inner sanctum that had not seen the light of day for over a thousand years.
Lights revealed the contents of the stone blocked temple were still intact, and gently hands removed the layers of dust that covered everything.
Carefully they brushed off the dust on delicate items, untill they found what they were looking for.
A plain looking clay pot, sealed with a special emblem, that of the ancient dragons, was gently removed and packed away, amidst layers of protective covers and gently loaded onto something outside the temple and taken away.
The remaining workmen then carefully rebuilt the wall they had taken down, brick by brick, until the light diminished, then faded away.
As darkness took over the inner sanctum of the temple again, and time continued it’s relentless march outside the valley, something happened.
The last pinpoint of light focused on the glittering eyes of a dragon fresco on the temple wall, as if it seemed that dragon was smiling.
It was keeping it’s secrets still, even though the intruders had thought they had found the prize they were seeking.
The prize they had sought had slipped away from them, for the other part they needed, had not been made yet.The laughing eyes of the dragon faded away into the darkness….

 

Time passes silently and endlessly

 

Voices excitedly shouted as the workmen uncovered the large sandstone doors of the temple.
Engines revved on the cranes as they lifted the huge doors open , amidst the creaking sounds of protesting hinges as the light filtered into the ancient palace.
Shaking his hands nervously, the lead archaeologist carefully took the first images that modern man had seen of the previously undiscovered ancient race.
The walls were painted in dazzling pictures, of men with the heads of what was first thought to be lizards, but on closer examination was dragons, with stream of fire flickering from their mouths.
Slowly but surely, every thing was catalogued and documented.
The lists of everything was carefully recorded and saved as archaeologists and the bureaucrats from the government, were all suddenly astonished to see everything vanish in the blink of an eye.
Soldiers rounded up the scientists and students quickly, and shepherded them from the site.
When all were gone, with only a handful of the desert guides remaining to stand guard, an old man possibly a clan elder approached reverently and knelt in the shadows of the now empty courtyard of the palace.
Slowly he extended his hand, revealing the sacred tattoos that adorned his forearm and finished on the outside of his wrist.
The head of the dragon breathed fire, out over his hand and finished on his fingers as he removed the leather gloves that concealed his hands from the view of outsiders.
He wore a large green gemstone set in a gold ring, and it adorned his middle finger, and was worn from constant use over the ages.
A bundle of firewood was set upon the ground and carefully arranged by the young men and women who accompanied him, in a pre-organised shape. Then they sat behind him, feet tucked under their legs as the watched.
He stood up, and walked slowly around,tapping a young man and a woman on the shoulder, and they followed him to stand in a certain place.
When he was finished, there was a couple at each point of the compass, surrounding the fire. All of them had the same tattoo on their arms,and a similar ring on their fingers.
Slowly he walked to the fire, the tattoo blazing on his arm,as he spoke.
“Today has come to pass, from events set in place a long time ago.We are called upon to perform what we have trained to do for ages gone by.”
“You will be sent back together, to different times, to act as the guardians for this sacred place. Something has happened here, something drastic.”
“Find out what happened and prevent its occurrence.. the future and the past lays in your hands.”
He extended his arm to the fire, and a stream of light jumped from the ring on his finger into the fire.When the light faded away, he was alone again.
He walked away, and the other nomads surrounded him and they disappeared into the desert night.

Kamisha's Submission

Kamisha Story Submission:
Prelude: Welcome to your dream
“Welcome… you are here since there are some very important things to discuss. I don’t expect you to understand what I have to say but I do have to tell you some crucial information. Please pay attention as it will all make sense in time.”
I looked in my immediate area somewhat disorientated. I had just been asleep a second ago but now I was wide awake and felt the world around me. The grass beneath my feet felt soft and the breeze was slow and soothing. That didn’t calm me all that much as I was still trying to remember waking up. The woman who was talking to me was about my height and had dark hair.
“Please”, she said “listen carefully. You are no longer dreaming but aren’t awake either I had to catch you in-between, what you experience here will be very real and will be as dangerous as the real world but I do have control over the environment here… to a point. You need my help to get a head start… I would like to be clearer.”
I finally had my Barings and was feeling a bit more in my element. I felt like I had been here before though not in a physical sense but in a mental one. I was here… just not completely.
“You should be feeling a little better now. Your memory will come. This is what you call Atlantis your ancestors for years have lived here. You are about the 10th generation from then. The stories you hear about Atlantis being as advanced as it was is true I fear and that is what worries me. You see your current world is threatened once again by this city. As war was waged in the past civilizations crumbled to these relics they created. They corrupt the creatures around them causing them to cause massive damage to their opponents’ buildings and people. They have long since been deactivated but the security mechanism has reopened causing this corruption to reoccur… You are one of the few remaining that have the ability to stop this. You must find these relics and remove them. Be careful as they can corrupt people it will just be harder for them to corrupt you do to your ancestry. You may return to your dream.” The world faded and so did the feeling of reality instead of returning I awoke in my bed. A bow and a small satchel of arrows lay beside my bed against my dresser. I griped it from my bed. A small note was attached. It read “You should know what to do.” Amazingly the letter was right.

Admiomino's Submission

Adiomino’s Story Submission:
A vast mountainous region where the heather and lavender are spread out among other wild flowers across the landscape.

A large waterfall hidden by tall oak trees, roaring water flowing down to the blue rocks at the waterfall's base.

And thistle bushes laid out on the forest floor.

The beautiful lands produced a beauty itself. Heather, who was named after the flowers themselves, was born in these lands.

A beauty in distress was this lass. Heather trudged past the bushes without allowing herself to admire the landscape, her shadow followed behind her, and her shadow dragged across the forest floor.

She studied not the flowers, not the animals, but stared blankly at the dirt.

Have you felt a forsaken soul? - One who cannot help herself may wander endlessly into oblivion without a goal to achieve. To rack your brain without knowing what you're thinking about is truly a hopeless cause.

Winter draws near to her land and she and her father, Leorius, have not the rations to survive it. A cold winter beats down harder on those that are unprepared for its might and that is a fact known well to them.

They've a supply of blackberries, and dried out meat, and nuts. But Leorius must also endure a sickness while the winter storms weather down on him. His wife and Heather's mother already died of sickness during wintertime a few years before that.

A divine being may have seen this beautiful girl and pitied on her, for on her obscure path he laid three houses. One of cold stone, one of brick, and the last was of raggedy oak wood.

The diving being came to her in an intangible form and spoke down to her, "Continue on this path to reach 3 houses. Each of the houses with a man and one of these houses help for you and your father. The only people worthy of aid are those that can first help themselves. Ask only one of the men for aid. And the "right" man may help you in return for your hand in marriage. The first part of helping yourself is knowing where to find help.."

Heather was a desperate soul and she continued walking straight upon a crooked path filled trees and thorny bushes. Her legs brushed against the thorns of bushes, her only resolve was to continue forward and find the three houses.

She came upon the first house of stone and was bid welcome to come inside by a young gentleman. He was well dressed and on him were fine robes of silk and wool. But his house was bare and dark. He seemed like a kind soul but there was nothing he could possibly offer her.

The divine being's words rang in her ears as she recalled what she was told, "..The first part of helping yourself is knowing where to find help.."

Arrival at the second house of brick came soon after leaving the first one. This time she was greeted by a stunning young lad. His beauty struck her heart but in his house she saw nothing but brick. She was quickly disheartened and left him without a word for he was nothing but an illusion.

The third house she came to was ugly and was built out of rotting wood. When she saw the man inside her face twisted. He was an ugly, bearded man wearing tattered rags. But she was bid welcome inside his abode and she saw inside a plethora of rations for the winter.

A banquet of wonderful food and silverware was laid out on an ugly wooden table. But to her, the food was a glorious sign. Heather cried to him for his aid to her and her sick father.

And a beautiful transformation came upon the old man's body. He appeared to her as a lively and handsome young man who's stunning beauty far surpassed that of the person in the second house. And he was clothed in majestic robes that flowed across the room as he walked to her.

The house was destroyed and out from the ground a house of gold and stone enclosed around the two.
Heather knew that this was no doubt the divine being that spoke to her before.

And the divine being spoke to her. "You are wise. For you have picked me out of the others you saw before me. And you shall be rewarded for it. You will become my wife and we will live here in this wonderful house and your dad will be healthy."

When choices are laid out to you, choose not what the soul wants, but what the soul needs and be wise in your decision making. Those that are worthy receive help only after they prove they can help themselves..

The Place

Altrumist Story Submission:
The Place

Besides the richest and most beautiful river in the area there was a valley.
It was fruitful, with many plants and trees.
Simply there was talented nature in that place.
In that place, you will find a city that was waged in a way of a civilized rural life, with strange creatures to live within.
There weren’t people, though it seemed like them, and they were not angels though so relate.
They for themselves weren’t given any specific name so I will not even name them.

Life in this place was calm, not very complicated and beautiful.
Anyone care for themselves, but helping the others.
Citizens often were busy with simple agricultural works and fed exclusively from vegetable and fruit.
They did not use meat.
But the biggest and most interesting characteristic of this people was that they were all good.
Actually not even one knew what an evil is, evil nor was any citizen.
Apparently this place reminded of a clue – heaven, a word which for this folk was just some kind of word-archaism that remained from their ancestors.

In terms of their culture that was closely associated with nature and the treasures that she gave,
every four months in the not very numerous city was holding an event.
It was some kind of contest in which citizens nominated forty from their own,
and one of them was elected like person that in the last four months was most kind and most good-hearted.
So very soon it was drawing such an event.

Layman was a lad from this town who was nominated in those forty.
According to many he was one of the main contenders this time to win the honorary title.
Coincidentally or not the day before the event in the hands of Layman was found a very old book.
While most people were illiterate Layman knew how to read so primarily
because of the time his grandfather was a member of the High Council and had taught him.
He sat down and opened the book with thick covers of which had no title.
Leafed through several pages and began to read.
He read a story in which it was something like murder, anger and jealousy,
things that were connected with something called fratricide.
Conceived Layman do not understand these words as in their official language they do not existed.
Story curiosity irritated him and he fell asleep thinking about it.

The next day came and the contest voting with it too.
Every citizen had the right to vote.
People votes were counted by High Council and they named the winner.
It was not Layman, but a person who no one believed there is a chance to win.
All of the people felt strange vibrations of surprise when find out who is it, but they forgot about this feelings very fast.
Although Layman was amazed, with indifference receive this news and congratulate the winner.
But that night when he came home nothing was whatever.
He felt unfamiliarity, a condition that had never previously experienced.

He could not sleep and was thinking again about that strange story that he read the previous day.
As more he was laying and thinking the thoughts became clear
and he gradually began to understand some things from the story
and they completely poured his mind and body.
So jealousy was born in this city!

This situation was something quite new for him, and actually it would be new for every resident of this place.
So a week after the contest was hold
while he was working something in the yard
beside it passed the best resident winner for the preceding four months.
All around praised him and talked about him, while on Layman's calm no one in general was pointing any attention.
But it didn’t meant that somebody was not-good with Layman.
Or at least they believed so.
Seeing this, Layman in all of the winners behavior started to see something awkward, unnatural.
He felt anger.
So anger was born!

Layman felt it deep inside.
Anger burned his mind, giving him a strong energy that he has not known before.
Not being able to control it and in some sort of trance
he took the rake which was at hand,
ran against the winner,
swung and almost beheaded him.
Layman savored the hot blood on his skin
which splashed from dead man flesh
and before fainting single image sprang in his mind –
the head of the dead person that was barely hung on the torn neck.
Thus in affect way, the murder was born!

When consciousness again came to Layman,
he was in downtown sprawled and surrounded by all of the citizens who watched him on some confused and staggering way.
Only one thing he felt.
He was the only one who felt he should be punished.
But how to be punished when they had no idea what a fine is.
He got shook up and went with quick step in the thick woods nearby.
People move away from him and they did not know why.
They were not aware that they feel fear,
from him or from the dead rotten body!

After many months, maybe years
from a random wandering man I learned that the city no longer exists.
From rumours the man have heard,
all of the citizens started to change and resort to the mountain forest
until one day there were hundreds of people who looked more like resembled beasts
which downloaded and demolished this place from the ground,
first eating all of its most good-hearted and then burning all of the buildings.

Today in this place the color of the river water is red,
earth and plants are dried,
and I heard that in every four months occurred some strange rituals
associated somehow with those same animals that we have mentioned earlier.
The only difference is name that now is heard when there is strong wind blowing
That is Slayman.

Something that Makes Her Happy

Anonymous Story Submission:
Something That Makes Her Happy

The rushing of the water out of the faucet makes a wonderful background noise. I rest my head against the door as I lean against it, turning to press my cheek against the glass of the mirror that he had installed on the back of it when I was twelve. The glass is cool against my face, causing me to smile. While it is little relief, I welcome any I can find from the oppressive heat we’ve had for the last two weeks. I close my eyes and listen to the rush of the water, concentrating on the sound, slowing my breathing. Before long the hot water rushing out of the tap makes the room begin to steam, causing me to sigh. A bead of condensation rolls down the mirror and onto my cheek, tickling me, causing me to smile once more. There is a knock at the door, but I do not answer. She knocks again, harder. I know what comes next; I always know what comes next.

She yelled at me when I was in third grade for breaking her favorite vase, the one she had picked up at a garage sale shortly after great grandma had died. It was large and pink, gaudy as fuck, decorated with purple flowers and green vines, two large and overly ornate handles on its sides. It had been placed in the corner of the living room on a small table that had been sitting in the attic, occasionally filled with real flowers to complement the painted ones. My best friend had come over to play. We—I had been careless, bumping into the table, causing the vase to topple and smash to the floor. I heard her running before I saw her rush down the staircase. I had just enough time to push my friend out the front door before she made it all the way to the first floor. I had to pick up the many pieces of the broken ceramic mess while she yelled about responsibility, carelessness, and the price of things.

The knocks on the door turn to pounding, her voice rises. There is a small buzz in my ears while I continue to concentrate on the torrent of water. My breathing becomes slower and deeper, each breath taking in the humidity saturating the air while my thoughts wander.

I remember how, when I was in eighth grade, I had begged and begged for a pet, a real one, too, and not just another fish. He and she had talked about it, though she had mostly yelled about how it would be costly and messy and “stink the place up.” He had finally convinced her, though I never knew how, and they took me to choose the one I wanted. It was small, reddish-brown, with a black mark on its forehead and a black tip on its tail. It was full of energy and I fell in love at first sight. She took an instant dislike to it, though. “Loud” and “too much trouble” was all she would call it, never by name. I loved it, though, and would share my bed when I could, which wasn’t often and not for long. One day, after school, I came home to a mess in the kitchen, down the hall, and into living room. She started yelling the moment she saw me and the entire time I was cleaning. She had never wanted anything like that in the house and this was the reason why. I didn’t even get to say goodbye because she made him take it back before I got home. I was just left to clean up the mess while she yelled.

The sound of the water becomes muffled, as does the pounding at the door. My arms feel heavy and my breathing becomes even deeper. I don’t notice the heat so much any longer, though my face is covered in sweat. I brush my hand against my cheek and feel a slick warmth spread over it and trickle down. I smile again, though I do not understand why.

She yelled at me last year when I told her I was in love with my best friend of twelve years. We had met on the first day of kindergarten, sitting next to each other on the bus and then again in the classroom. Over the many years we had known each other, we experienced so much with each other, been in trouble together more than a few times, and had come as close as two people ever could. Expressing myself in such a way to the one I felt the closest to was one of the most difficult things I had ever done. I feared there would be words of anger or hatred, of disgust and rejection, but there had only smiles and hugs and acceptance. In the end, however, it was known that we would only ever be friends. As it turned out, she would be the one to reject. I sat at the kitchen table and listened to her while she yelled. “Deviant,” “abnormal,” “disgusting”… the list went on. I did not move. I did not speak. I only stared at the table, my arms at my sides, while she yelled.

I smile as I begin to feel a tingling coolness spread across my body. I can hear something, a voice—her voice, perhaps—and a pounding. My thoughts are hazy and come to me slowly. I feel something pushing hard against me and I slump forward. I hear her voice more clearly now, yelling still, always yelling. But there’s something different about it this time, something in her voice I’ve never heard before. She must have seen the mess I have made. I’m always making a mess in one way or another, of something here or there. I open my eyes, though it’s difficult to see, the light seems far off. I see that she is kneeling over me, but her face is blurry. Her hands grip mine, but a sticky slickness causes hers to slide off, leaving mine cool and tingling. I feel the tingle spreading everywhere, wrapping around me like a soft cloth. I can still hear her yelling, she’s always yelling about something I’ve done wrong.

I smile and close my eyes; I don’t hear her yelling any more. Maybe she’s finally found something that makes her happy.

Crash

Curiose's Story Submission:

And I was riding.

Riding and riding, going in circles, creating an incoherent roadmap. Where am I going? Please don’t ask me that question. I don’t even know, myself. Away. Just away.

There were noises everywhere. Strange shuffling, and chills- the wind against my face. There was crying.

I would ride. Continue to ride.

And a pain would appear. A sudden bloom of pain- flowering amongst my body, ravaging it with its very being. It would not go. Pain would stay; throb angrily second after second.

I would ride faster, and harder, ignoring the pain. Getting to my destination. Getting closer, closer. But the pain would explode and firework at its own will. No control, no remedy. But I rode on. I always rode on.

The pain became distracting. I fell forward, closer, closer to that ground…

And I fell.

And I shattered.

Tiny little fragmented pieces. The shards a cut up jigsaw puzzle where the pieces don’t seem to fit. Each piece a sharp glass, reflecting and mirroring everything I did. I would put the pieces slowly back together, slowly, painfully. All the pieces left their tiny cuts, left their scars wonton. The blood soaked the ground.

Slowly, I got up. I began to ride once more.

Not as fast this time. The broken shards breaking and cracking against each other. I look back and I see the extra pieces that never seemed to fit, laying in the ground distantly.

I kept riding.

Closer, closer, away, away…

And I made it up that hill.