The Desert of Dreams Chronicles

28. The Weapon

2008-09-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

Bruce stood on the deck of the Fair Gwenllian. He was deep in thought, something that didn't come naturally to the knight. He usually acted before he thought, but tonight was one of those rare exceptions. Gottfried's plan, he knew, was not very heroic but more of a smart well planed operation. One that left little room for error, but if successful was far more safe. It wasn't the intelligence of the plan, though, that was bugging Bruce. He sighed and moved toward the rail. He had just had a strange dream, and didn't know what to make of it. Like most dreams, it was fading fast from his memory. What he did remember was that people he had never scene before appeared and said things to him in a strange language. He knew from experience that dreams had people and events from his life. No dream he had ever had ever had people he had never seen before. But in this case he saw people he had never seen before.

He had a lingering thought in the back of his mind, a thought that suggested that perhaps Sea Spirits did in-fact exist. But he was not yet ready to resign himself to such a strange and wild story. His official conclusion was that he was still sea sick and that caused delusional behavior.

Bruce wanted to forget his dream and decided to run over Gottfried's plan again. He glanced over to the apparatus that had been assembled upon entering the waters that Ralph's ship had been in before the storm picked up and blew them off course. The device looked a lot like a giant Crossbow. Gottfried's blacksmith had made barbed heads for the enormous arrows that this thing was supposed to fire, but simply firing an over sized arrow at the over sized snake wasn't going to be enough. The shot had to be perfectly aimed and hit a vital organ, yet most of the serpent was muscle and scale. A shot from the ballista would merely be a flesh wound. What Gottfried wanted to do was fire a few shots to aggravated the serpent then, when the snake was furious, land a harpoon strait in its mouth with the kill object attached to the other end. This special harpoon arrow had an iron loop attached near the end. Through this loop a rope was strung, to form a pulley with two ends of a really long rope hanging down. Attached to one end was the kill object. This "Kill Object" was what confused Bruce. It was a steel ball about 3 feet in diameter, with a iron hoop attached to one side. Next to this hoop was a rope. Gottfried said that when the rope was lit the ball would burst into a huge flaming ball. Bruce had a hard time believing that this iron ball could transform into a larger flaming one. But Bruce did think that the enormous Crossbow had potential. He merely agreed to attaching the ball because it wouldn't hurt to have the thing dangling from the monsters mouth. Once the Harpoon was lodged in the monsters mouth a group of men would pull on the other end of the rope to get the ball into the leviathan's mouth. The timing had to be perfect, and Bruce wasn't sure that it would work. Therefore, he was prepared to attack the thing with his sword if the plan failed. It was late so Bruce moved toward his cabin, but as he approached the door he noticed the water behind the ship swirling.

--Mark

27. Hard to Swallow

2008-08-25T11:14:00.000-07:00

Sara, Edith, and Felipe stood in the shade of the great oak. Felipe was unusually upset.
"But you have to come with me," Felipe wailed agitatedly. "I saved you!"
"That was very kind of you, good sir, but I am afraid it is my duty to remain here," Edith responded.
"But I saved you!"
"Sir, you heard my-- this woman yourself. I must wait at this place for a man whose quest is of much greater importance than yours. I cannot go."
"But I saved you!" he sobbed again.
"Felipe, you may not take the princess back to the city," Sara put in. "I spoke with one of the spirit kind last night and he informed me that she must not leave yet.
"But I saved her!" he cried for the fourth time.
"I am sorry. You will have to return alone." Sara finalized.
"But...but...LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!!!" he suddenly shouted. "GET DOWN, NOW!!!"
Sara and Edith threw themselves to the ground. Rolling backwards, Sara grabbed her daughter and with surprising strength, dragged her behind the tree trunk. Dust billowed all around them, then settled. Edith rubbed her eyes, trying to clear the sand from her vision. When she could finally see, she peered around the corner. On the opposite side of the tree, Felipe lay in the sand, writhing feverishly and clutching his stomach.
"Mother, quickly!" Edith screamed. "He's been wounded."
Scrambling from behind the tree, the two women dashed to Felipe's side. He was shaking with spasmodic motion. Tears streamed from his eyes.
"Tell me where you're hurt!" Sara commanded. The color had drained from her face and she looked old.
"Look me in the eye, boy. Where is it?!"
She lifted his face in her hands, then let it drop. She took a step backward.
"He's not hurt, Edith." Sara said, "He's laughing."
"I...I...haha....I fooled you!" Felipe managed to stutter, before giving in to another convulsion of laughter.

Sir Edward of Stranfordam, looked around. His eyes hurt.
"Curse this heat," he muttered to himself. "Curse this desert. Curse this quest. Curse Kelthisaid!"
He sighed through his teeth. Behind him he heard a disturbed murmur among the men. Turning, he was just in time to see a man topple from his horse to the brush below. The man managed to stand up and began to stagger toward Edward. Something was wrong. The man's eyes were rolled back in his head. Stumbling on, the man came up before his leader and drew his sword. Edward stepped back in fear. Remaining where he was, the man turned his sword over in his hands and firmly grasped in upside down in his hand. Blood ran down his arm and trickled to the ground as the blade sliced into his hand, but he gripped it tighter. Paralyzed in confused horror, Edward was unable to react as the man lurched forward. Swinging deftly, the man smashed Edward over the head with the hilt of the sword, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious. Kelthisaid entered his dreams.
"What are you doing, Edward?!" shouted Kethisaid.
"I have been following your orders, Master! I was doing what you told me!" Edward shouted back.
"You are on the complete wrong track, you idiot! Can you not see! This boy, Jard, your rival, is striving for the same goal you are! Yet you still oppose him!"
"I do not know what you are talking about!"
"Jard also seeks to free my kind! For a different reason, but nonetheless it is the same immediate goal!"
"Master, I did not know this!"
"Ignorance is no excuse. You have been wasting time."
"Then, Master, may I return home!?"
"You may not! You must follow this boy! Let him do all the hard work, but if he fails you must pick up the quest where he leaves it! The portal must be broken if it costs you your life! Do this. Follow this boy. Do this or you will curse the woman who brought you into the world! I will instruct you further when the time comes. As you now know, I can find ways to reach you even when you are not asleep." At these words, Kelthisaid vanished into blackness.

A blanket of what appeared to be snow lay thick over the City of Tears as Felipe's two men approached. Except for the castle itself, nearly every dwelling in the city was swathed in whiteness. As the men passed through the gate and trudged toward the castle to make their report, they realized that what they were seeing was not snow, it was toilet paper. Passing down the street, they marveled at the disaster, for not only was each house covered in toilet paper, an expensive luxury used only by the rich, but each yard was pincushioned with metal forks. How many centpieces had been squandered on this pandemic prank, neither of them could imagine. Upon reaching the king's chamber, they stood at attention, anxiously awaiting their turn to enter. Muffled sounds of King Horatio's obnoxious laughter could be heard through the door. "Hahahaha--oh oh--hahaha it was beautifully done Sheriff, beautifully done--oh hahahaha." "Thank you Thire, for you complimenth, but may I go to bed now? I am very thleepy after latht nighth exthpedition."
"Haha...what! You cannot go to sleep, you have work to do! This bit of fun took a great toll on the treasury, so the taxes must be raised! Twenty-six percent should do it! And also, Sheriff, you must make sure that each household returns those forks! We cannot afford to lose my royal silverware, now can we!"
"Thire! I am tired!"
"Be off! Go! Get out of my sight! NEXT!"
The door burst open and Sheriff Bob waddled out, grumbling to himself. Felipe's two men entered.
"We bear a report of your servant, Sir Felipe Adajo, oh King Horatio the Not-Very-Nice, ruler of the City of Tears, Lord of the Desert of Dreams, Master of the Million Pranks, etc. etc," one man announced rapidly. "We are much disturbed to inform you that said Sir Felipe has had the misfortune to be swallowed by a tree. We are sure this news is a great disappointment to you, Sire. That is our report. Good day, Sire."
With that they rushed from the room, fleeing the wrath they knew would follow.
"Swallowed by a tree! Get in here and explain this right now! Come back you...you...YOU POO-POO HEADS!!!!"
The king's words echoed down the empty hallway, but the only response from the men were receding footsteps. The two were never seen again.

--Thomas H

26. Alliance

2008-08-18T08:37:00.000-07:00

The Cock kneeled down to take a small sip from the stream they were following and promptly spit it out in disgust. With only several days of fresh water and drinkable liquids left, they would need to find Jard and Edith soon. While he did not know for sure that the bitter tasting water was poisonous or foul, he did not want to take any chances. Indeed, taking chances was a concept that The Cock absolutely abhorred. He liked to be in control of his own destiny, and always went to great lengths during operations to ensure that almost all variables were eliminated. Many men would call this paranoia, but The Cock preferred to think of it as wisdom or precision. More than once, these seemingly unnecessary measures had saved his life, and he prided himself in the few failures and casualties sustained by his little band of criminals thus far.
One of these safety measures was always leaving behind a rear guard. Even in this barren wasteland called the Desert of Dreams, with few, if any, human beings for miles in any direction save in front of him, he had made it a point to maintain at least one rear scout. This precaution paid off today, as a deep, rough, voice shouted behind him. "Ze Cock, Ze Cock! Ver is Ze Cock? I must speak vis him!" The Cock turned to see the owner of the voice; it was his rear scout, Enzo. At first glance, Enzo was an odd choice for a scout. He was a big man, standing nearly six and a half feet tall with arms almost as large around as Maximiliano's legs. A shaggy mop of black hair topped his head, and several days' growth of facial hair had begun to obscure most of his face. Despite his imposing stature and heavyset appearance, though, Enzo had some of the softest feet and fasted hands in The Cock's entire band. He could walk through miles of autumn woods without crunching a leaf, it was said, and The Cock knew firsthand that the man possessed more bo-staff skills than anyone he had ever seen. There was no question that Enzo was the best man for the position, for he would be virtually invisible to anyone attempting to trail The Cock, and he could also incapacitate any single, unwanted, tracker with several quick blows from his staff. If push came to shove, the big man could hold off pursuers longer than most, giving the rest of the men the best chance to escape.
"I'm here," The Cock called, "Vat news from ze rear, Enzo?"
"Zree men," the large man replied, "vis horses."
"Zree meen?" The Cock raised an eyebrow, either an odd coincidence, or something very strange was going on, "Take me to zem, immediately!"

"Sir Bruce, come in, I understand you have a request for me?" Gottfriend gestured affably for the knight to enter his cabin and leaned back in his chair, "What can I do for ye?"
"I need a swordfish." Bruce said, "have one fetched for me as soon as possible."
"A swordfish?" Gottfried said, slightly amused, "such fish are very hard to come by. May I be so bold as to ask why you need such a creature."
"It is not the creature itself I seek, but the nose bone. I am going to make a flute with which to trick the Leviathan."
The captain raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, "A flute, eh? Where did you hear this tale of flute charming?"
Bruce told Gottfried of the mysterious volume he had found below deck. "Much of it I couldn't read, but the part with Sir Chint. The knight had a brilliant and foolproof plan that I intend to use myself."
"Brilliant? Foulproof?" Gottfriend chuckled, "I hardly think so. The man was lucky to survive. Closer to a lunatic than a brave knight I'd say. However," Gottfried's eyes narrowed, "I'm inclined to believe the tale. Now let me tell you a story, Bruce. This ancient book you speak of, I found it, several years ago, washed ashore many leagues north of Fissabent. It was shortly after my frightening encounter with the sea spirits," he raised a hand to stop Bruce from saying something, "Believe what you like, knight, just hear me out. Anyways, we headed for the cost to take on fresh water. When we got there, I found it. Wedged between two rocks and covered with seaweed and sand. It was soaked through completely, and I feared ruined, but when this book dried out, it was in great shape. The pages were smooth, the ink not smudged, the binding worn but intact. I could barely believe me eyes. Now I'm not great when it comes to reading, but I devoured every page in there, save for those with strange markings and symbols. When I returned to Fissabent I found no one who could read it, and was laughed off and called crazy, but I'm telling you mate, there's something special about that book."
"Special indeed," Bruce replied, "It is a grand book! Priceless beyond gold or jewels, the last great volume of the old kings, the key to the future, the chronicles of another age. A masterpiece I say!"
"Easy now," Gottfried smiled, "important or not, it won't be killing the Leviathan for us. As for Chint's story, it is not my intention to needlessly risk the lives of my sailors, even a brave knight one who would jump into the sea after the most powerful creature in the seas. I may just be a ship's captain, but I am no fool. There is more than one way to kill a sea serpent."
"What do you mean?" Bruce asked, "I assure you, sir, my broadsword has struck down many a foe, and will be more than enough to destroy the beast."
"Enough or not, I believe these is a better way. If you recall, Bruce, our voyage was delayed back in Fissabent and cost a few extra crowns. That's because I had a special project for the local blacksmith. Do you wish to see it?"
"I not only wish it, but it is my right to see the weapon with which I shall kill this foe. Bring it forward!"
Gottfried stood up and walked over to the side wall of his cabin, he put his finger in knot of one of the wooden planks. Without warning, several planks in the floor opened to reveal a secret compartment. Bruce looked at its contents.

Peter was just about to take a well-earned drink from the river when, without warning, an arrow splashed into the shallows several feet away. "Aaaagh, what was that?" he saw the fletching protruding from the river and gasped, "attack! Jard, James, attack, they're shooting at us, we're all gonna die!" Instantly Jard grabbed his battle axe. He was about to say something when a voice cut him off.
"Drop your veapons, you are surrounded."
Peter whispered to Jard, "I think we should do what he says,"
"Agreed," Jard whispered back, he set his ax down carefully.
"Vat brings three men into ze desert of dreams? Who are you, ver do you come from, ver are you going?"
Jard would not give in to his disadvantage so easily, "I could tell you those things, and much more, but I prefer to give away my information face to face. Kill us if you dare, but it may cost you."
"Jard!" Peter clutched his arm. "What are you doing?"
"Fair enough," came the accented voice, and seconds later a thin man with groomed black hair emerged from behind a bush across the river. He was holding a bow and had an arrow nocked in place. "I like your style," the man said, "to whom do I have ze pleasure of negotiating vis?"
"Jard of Nuvanderim, squire of the blue trout. These are my companions, Peter my esquire, and new friend James."
The man paused for a moment, then put his arrow in his quiver and smiled, "Vell, Jard, perhaps zer are no negotiations after all. I have been searching for you."
Jard was confused, "For me? Are you one of Sir Edward's men?"
"Sir Edvard? No! I despise ze man!" He extended his hand to Jard, "I am Ze Cock."

--Andrew C

25: New Journeys

2008-08-05T21:12:00.000-07:00

With all of the preparations done for the trip, Sir Edward and a small troop of men were finally leaving Stranfordam. Fifteen men in all, they were leaving to go find Edith, who had the invaluable book and the dagger. His shoulder still pained him, but Edward wouldn't let that bother him. He had a young maiden to "save" and he would have to move quickly, or else Jard might arrive first. Such a situation could prove deadly because he would have to fight Jard again, and with a wounded shoulder, it wouldn't be easy. He had almost killed Jard in their last fight, but that was simply because the boy's sword had broken. It irritated him that the young knight-in-training had almost beaten him. Indeed, he would like to get revenge on Jard, but he would much more like to acquire a kingdom. Edward's men moved quickly, heading across the river and around The City of Tears, and out into the vast open Desert of Dreams. Kelthisad had said that he needed to find some sort of stream, so Edward figured that in a desert, he would be looking for a river bed. Therefore, every ditch would have to be investigated. After finding this stream, he would have to find a tree, the only tree in the desert of dreams Kelthisad had said, so Edward figured that it would be pretty easy to find. As one might have expected, trees weren't easy to find in the Desert of Dreams. Edward was beyond the point of frustrated when he went to bed that night. One, he had not found either a stream or a tree, two, it was hot, and three, he was sure a visit from Kelthisad would come along with the inevitable scolding. Even through all of these frustrations, however, he was able to fall asleep, and as he predicted, Kelthisad visited him. In a chaotic swirling of dark lights, Edward slipped into a dream.

"You fool" was the first thing Kelthisad said to Edward. "It is not some dry river bed that you are looking for, it is an actual stream, with water in it. You have been wasting both your and my time, thoroughly searching up and down every little impression in the ground."

"I-I-I'm sorry," stammered Edward nervously, "I had no idea that there was an actual stream."

"If I wanted you to search for a stream bed, I would have told to look for a stream bed, but I want you to look for the Hidden Stream. First thing in the morning you will start looking for a stream, not an empty ditch leading nowhere. Now get out of my sight you despicable piece of slime." At this, there was a sudden burst of smoke, which faded into a dreamless sleep.

Maximiliano shaded his eyes, he thought he saw something, but he figured it was just another mirage. They had been in the desert for two days, and looking for Jard had not been easy. With so few men available to search, they could only cover a small strip of the desert. As he kept riding, he decided that the water he saw was more than just a mirage. He hailed The Cock, who was riding far to the right so as to cover more ground, and pointed it out to the criminal leader.

"Zat is strange indeed," mused The Cock. "Vy is zer vater in ze middle of ze dessert?" He stood there a short while, thinking about it, then pulled out a strange horn out of a pouch and blew it. At first casual listen, the device sounded like some terrible, unintelligible noise, but upon a more thoughtful listen, almost everyone agreed that the horn sounded much like a rooster crowing. At the sound of The Cock's trademark instrument, the spread out men promptly turned their steeds towards the sound. He gave Maximiliano some brief instructions, then headed toward the stream while his men gathered around Maximiliano.

"Ze Cock vants us to meet him at ze stream, and zere ve vill look for signs of ozer people," Maximillano explained to the men, then he took off in the direction of the stream, the small band of men following him. When he arrived at the stream, he saw The Cock dismounted and holding something that he couldn't exactly see because The Cock's back was turned toward him. Maximiliano dismounted, and took a step toward his leader so he could see what he was looking at. When he got a good look at what The Cock had, he was caught totally off guard. The man was holding a petty coat. Of all the unlikely things this was what Maximiliano did not expect. The Cock turned toward him and said, "Princess Edith came zis vay, and I believe zat ze boy, Jard, is following her."

Maximiliano looked at the marks on the ground and saw that there were indeed four sets of tracks, three of which appeared to be those of men who were armored, and one set of tracks that were made, presumably by Edith, that were smaller than the others. Maximiliano also noticed that the tracks headed west. He pointed this out to The Cock, and instantly The Cock headed in that direction. Maximiliano, suprised by this sudden depature, quickly gathered the men toghether, and followed their leader, who was setting a brisk pace. He had only seen The Cock like this a handful of times in their years together, and knew what it meant: they were getting close.

--ND

24: The Necessity of Remorse

2008-07-31T18:23:00.000-07:00

Jard lied on the hard ground, unable to sleep after the night’s turbulent events. The stars performed above, filling the sky with wonderful beauty. The stars, one of the few attractions of the vast desert, brought peace to Jard. Beauty was something he appreciated and understood better then before. It was what the city was missing: the glimmer of imagination and the spark of inspiration. But Jard knew there was more to beauty then flowers or the shape of a woman’s face. There was a beauty that lay in the hearts of those who were ruled by love and compassion. For those who denied the wishes of their greedy flesh and embraced the potency of love and fellowship.
There was a weight that the beautiful stars could not suppress, though, and it wore on Jard. It was the lion of killing and violence that he wrestled with. The heavy burden of murder tormented Jard ever sense he killed the soldiers. He had been thinking about his conversation with James. It had not been difficult, in the rush of adrenaline and desire to save a life, to destroy the two guards, but the more Jard thought about his deed, the more it horrified him.
"They probably had a home and children to go to." Jard thought as he couldn't help a tear from rolling down his face. In many ways, Jard wished it didn't have to be who he was. He hated every aspect of killing.
"It’s not really their fault; they were simply doing what they were told. It’s their authorities fault. It’s that blasted Kings fault!" Jard desperately wished he could somehow show King Horatio the pain that so many of the people needlessly endured. But nothing could make the King care, he was the pon of ignorance and stupidity. Too blind to see his people as anything more then mere toys that give him money. Jard was forced to muscle away his anger to keep from shouting out into the still night air. "Could it be any worse?" thought Jard. "Yes, it could be far worse. It can always be worse." He assured himself; besides, killing the soldiers had been a necessary evil, an action spurred as much by compassion and mercy, as it was by anger and hate. He wanted to sleep, but was still too rattled to do so much as close his eyes. Indeed, lying on his hard bed seemed only to energize Jard more, so he decided to walk around the campsite.
Jard went to his horse, grabbed a flask of water, and began drinking the cool liquid. The water felt good on his dry lips and cooled his throat as he slowly swallowed it. He then tore off a chunk of bread from a loaf that he had baked before he left the city. The soft bread accompanied the water well and helped to calm his emotions. He quietly walked around the campsite for a few minutes before he retired to a large rock positioned near the horses. Sitting on the rock, Jard stared into the vast darkness in front of him.
He was mostly done with his bread when a small animal caught his eye. It moved towards Jard, and stopped a few paces in front of him. Jard didn't know what to make of it, in some ways it seemed to resemble a cat, but other characteristics seemed to indicate a rabbit. It was about a foot and a half tall and nearly two feet long. Whatever it was, Jard certainly had never, in all his years, seen anything like it. The creature’s still gaze was fixed on Jard as if he was an alien from the sky. Its dark blue eyes were exceedingly beautiful and Jard found it difficult not to stare back. For a few moments, the two starred at each other, each seemingly amazed at the other. Then, the creature scurried away as if Jard was some evil charging monster. In less then a moment, the animal was out of sight and Jard sat alone once again on the cool rock.
"Can't sleep either?" said James as he walked towards Jard and sat beside him.
"No, I'm affrayed not." Jard paused for moment, "Have you ever seen a creature that’s about foot and a half tall, maybe two feet long, something like a cat and a rabbit mixed together, with beautiful blue eyes?"
"Uhh, I guess not, why?" James said, completely confused.
"Just before you came over here, I saw a creature like none I've ever seen before walk up to me and stare at me for a few moments and then quickly dash off. It was very strange."
"Thats all it did, stare at you then run away?"
"Indeed, but its gaze was possibly the most intriguing that I've ever seen. He starred at me almost like he recognized or new me. But its eyes, they were beautiful!" exclaimed Jard. James didn't really know what to say about the mater, so he remained silent. A long pause ushered between the two new friends as they stared into the distance. Silence filled the air, only broken by unsteady snores and occasional sleep-talking from Peter.
"Gghhoosh, shhhut up, stupid crickets, gghhooshhh, gghhooshhh, wowzers man, gghhooshhh, Its...kind got a little...gghhooshh, Oh, I don't know." Muttered Peter, still asleep. Jard and James laughed at Peters meaningless words.
"James." Said Jard, cutting through the silence. "What...What happened to your father?" James sighed and looked down at the mention of his father.
"Oh, I didn't mean to...I thought...I, I'm sorry.
"No, its fine." James sat still and motionlessly stared at the shrubbery bellow the rock as he told the tale of his father. "They knocked on the door. My mother opened it to find two soldiers. They asked where father was and said they needed to speak him. My mother, knowing better then to question the army, obeyed. When my father reached the door, one of the soldiers opened a scroll that said my father had committed the crime of protesting and he would be punished by death; signed by the King without a word, the soldiers hauled my father off. We haven't seen him sense. I assume he is dead now."
"Your father was a protester?" questioned Jard.
"No, I don't think so. As fare as I know, he never spoke a word against the King, although he would have liked to."
"What was his trade?"
"He was blacksmith at the Kings court. Many people said he had the best blacksmith in the city. He built the knife that saved your life. He gave me that knife only a few hours before he was taken away. He said the blade was very special. On the blade is an engraving of a cock’s feather, which he said was a very honorable symbol. He said the symbol was for those who stand for what is right and take action to accomplish it."
Jard thought about James and couldn't help but pity the terribly unfortunate life he was given. He wanted somehow to encourage James and shed light on the dark conversation, but there just wasn't anything light about it. To break the silence Jard said, "It sounds like your father was an honorable man.”
"Oh, he was the world to me. He taught me everything I know. He showed me how to properly string a bow and the best wood to use. He taught me all sorts of different knots; slip knots, reef knots, half hitch knots, and overhand knots. He was always loving and loyal to mother and helped around the house whenever he had time. When they took him away, the last thing he told me was.." James bit his lip. "Take care of mother, don't let her loose hope. Keep holding on. I failed! Its all my fault! I am ruined!" cried James, suddenly loosing control of his emotions.
"No, it was not your fault."
"Yes it was! Its all my fault!" shouted James as wept bitterly. He jumped off the rock and fled to his bed. Burying his head in his small pillow, James cried for long time. Jard soon went back to bed as well and slept fitfully through what was left of the eventful night.

--JBC

23: Anger, Debts, and Mystery

2008-07-26T11:12:00.000-07:00

Edward sat in his room, his meal of roasted venison in front of him. His shoulder had healed quite nicely in the past few days. Of course it still hurt, but it was healing with no fever or infection. But his mind was not thinking of the condition of his wound. Granted he was frustrated, because the wound hadn't healed much faster. But his thoughts were taken with his missing con-man.

"How hard is it to kill that whelp in his sleep!" exclaimed Edward to the roasted venison on his plate. The meat, of course, had little to say on the matter. Which made Edward even angrier. "All I asked the good for nothing 'Assassin' to do was use that boy as a pincushion!" The dead deer flank, held its tongue. "Don't you dare look at me that way!" Thundered Edward at the meat. Which simply stared back. "YOU PIECE OF…OF…OF… ANIMAL! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU FOR THAT!" After which, Edward unsheathed his sword and proceeded to hack his dinner into hundreds of tiny particles, most of which would better be classified as the table that once stood in the middle of the chamber.

Outside Edwards chamber a nervous messenger stood with his hand closed into a door knocking fist an inch from the door. A posture that he had maintained for the duration of Edwards rampage. The guard at the door shifted uncomfortably, while the racket inside continued.

Once the table, meat and plate were thoroughly destroyed, Edward sat down, his shoulder throbbing. He sat in his chair, groaning and moaning loud enough for anyone outside to wonder if the knight had managed to lop of one of his own limbs. The messenger outside figured that now would be an opportune time to use the fist that had been poised in that knocking position for the past two minutes. Upon hearing the knock, Edward rapidly regained his composure and stood up quickly. An action that caused the blood to drain from his upper body, this increased amount of throbbing, and a rapid decent back into the chair.

"Yau-yau-your liege," stammered the messenger. "I fffa-ffa-fffear that I bring nad booze…I mean bring Bad na-na-na-news."

"Well what is it!" snapped Edward, doing a terrible job of covering up the grimace that covered his face. "Out with it man!"

"The Manor of Stranfordam has been broken into, and the crook…

"WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" bellowed the no longer composed knight. Being a man who could not show emotion with only his voice, he quickly stood up. Which once again caused intense throbbing in his shoulder.

"Si-Si-Sir, the Cock left, I mean the crook left these cock feathers as he made his escape," reported the messenger as quickly as he could. Upon finishing his statement he held out a bag for the now groaning knight to grab.

"Did he take anything?" gasped Edward "or just break in and throw feathers!"

"A map and one of your jeweled daggers," replied the messenger taking a step back towards the door. "They thieves were let in the front gate by the guard and…"

"WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW DID MY PRIZED GATE KEEPER LET IN THEIVES!" bellowed the knight, "EXECUTE THE MAN IMMEDIATELY!"

"Si-si-sir may I offer some more information first?" asked the nervous guard, taking yet another step back.

"Go ahead," groaned the knight remembering why he was sitting and not standing.

"The thieves pretended to be a traveling company—A noble and his servants." The servant started, "And the guard was not going to allow them passage, but since he believed that they were nobles he allowed them entrance until you should return."

"Cancel my previous order then," said Edward.

"Sir there is more info that may be of service." Upon receiving Edwards nod of approval, he continued. "They seemed interested only in your bedchamber itself. The only room they infiltrated was your bedchamber. They overpowered the guards, and bashed in the door of your bedchamber. The only thing they took from your bedchamber was the map that was on your trunk. When the time for the guard of your bedchamber to change came, the new guard noticed that the guards were tied up and your bedchamber door was bashed open. When he went into your bedchamber he found five men who quickly overpowered him too. But before he became unconscious he said that one of the men stuffed a scroll into his shirt."

"Very well," growled Edward, "you may go." After hearing this, the messenger darted out the door and was down the hall before Edward could take two of his fast paced breaths. "Guard!" commanded the knight "Fetch a maid to clean up this mess, and the doctor to look at my wound."

"Yes My liege," answered the obedient and fearful guard.

An hour later, Edward lay on his bed, a fresh bandage on his shoulder and the remains of his dinner cleared away. He lay trying to avoid sleep yet at the same time trying to obtain it. He knew that he would heal faster if he got rest, but he also knew that sleep was not restful, Kelthisad would visit him. The evil dream spirit had not paid Edward a visit since his wound, but he knew that another visit wasn't long in coming. He was right. Edward fell asleep and saw a grey smoky swirling shape of a man, standing in a dark room.

"I bring you news that none other will bring you," started the haunting voice of Kelthisad. "The boy Jard lives. Your assassin failed to kill the knight in training."

"D-D-Do explain…sir," stammered Edward nervously.

"The young 'Knight' is accompanied by two companions. The newest woke as your con-man reached for the stabbing blow, and stabbed your assassin."

"How do you know this?" asked Edward, his anger mounting replacing his fear, but only for a moment.

"I have some of my men watching this party. Unfortunately, my men cannot penetrate their thoughts at all, as if some force protects them. One or all of them are a threat to the dream spirits. You must leave at first light and hunt Edith down and retrieve both the dagger and the book before Jard reaches her. If you happen to find Jard, kill him. In order to free the dream spirits both the book and the dagger will be necessary. Fail me and your life will be in torment" With that, Kelthisad left Edward to a deep restful sleep.

Jard sat stunned. Had he not brought James along with him, he would be dead. James was shocked, he had never killed anyone before. He leaned back until he was in a sitting position, still speechless. Jard was the first to re-gain the gift of speech.

"You saved my life!"

"I guess I did."

"Well lets get this body buried," said Jard looking at the body whose blood had now soaked the ground with a dark red color. "And thank you for saving my life."

"Wow…we saved each others lives," replied the boy still in a daze. "I have always slept lightly, I always hear noises at night, and wake to them. But out here there should be no noise. I woke to find that man there standing over you with the dagger. I acted without hesitation. And now I feel the weight of a life I took upon my shoulders."

"And your action saved my life, which I am very grateful for. Had you not acted, a friend would have died instead of an enemy," replied Jard. "Now lets wake Peter and get this body buried."

Peter was shocked as well, but too sleepy to say much. They buried the body a short distance off from the road and moved their own camp farther up the road. And the three quickly fell asleep.

Farran used all of his strength to attempt an entrance to Jard's mind. No matter how hard he tried he could not force an appearance into Jard's dreams. "There is more information he needs! But this will have to wait," thought Farran. He knew that unless Jard was dreaming there was no way he could enter his mind. Jard's new found abilities were not limited to merely strength and healing. But he could repel any dream spirit that he chose. And Jard did not know enough about his abilities to know when he was repelling a dream spirit. "After all, Farran, you were the one who blessed him with these new abilities," thought the dream spirit.

Bruce sat on his bunk with a bucket at his side, a book in his hand and a look of intense pain on his face. He still woke with a seasick stomach in the morning but it was subsiding, somewhat. He found that he peered over the edge of the boat less often. But he still did have fits. At the moment he was feeling sick, it was about time for his before-bed-puking-fest. And to take his mind off the matter, he was reading a book he had discovered behind a barrel in the ships hold—a large book whose pages were old and wrinkled, a book about seafaring. Yet this book was not the common seaman's book. It was full of heroic tales that Bruce had never heard of. It was full of dragon slaying, and sea serpent killing. The book was full of adventure and heroic deeds.

He was reading on the best way to destroy a sea serpent. The way the good knight, Chint of Del-Fahgin the Serpent Slayer, killed his first sea serpent was most spectacular and heroic. First, he taunted the serpent using a flute he made from the nose bone of a Xiphias gladius (swordfish). This flute drove the serpent crazy, and it attacked Chint's ship. The knight then jumped from the rigging, sword in hand, and landed on the serpents head. Where upon, he stabbed the serpent in the eye with his sword. The serpent dove but Chint held on. The serpent tried to surface and throw off Chint. But that was the serpent's fatal mistake. Chint quickly swung down into the serpent's opened mouth and thrust a small dagger into the tiny brain of the serpent. After which he leapt from the mouth and swam back to the ship. When Sir Bruce read this he jumped from his bunk, and quickly sat down again. He had forgotten about his stomach. His stomach didn't need any help from Bruce that the ship couldn't give. Bruce darted out of the room with a full bucket in one had and a request in his mouth. He wanted a swordfish.

When Bruce exited the room he left the book on the bed. He was no scholar so he didn't pay any attention to the pages that didn't contain any stories. Pages that had strange words, and meaningless sentences scrawled all over them.

Mark

22: Destination reached

2008-07-20T16:59:00.000-07:00

Sheriff Bob snored uproariously in bed. His wife, a plump, hardy looking woman, slept beside him with her hands over her ears, a position she had long ago learned to maintain. The sun rose in the sky, and outside the neighbors' servants were venturing out on their midday errands. A frantic rooster crowed, realizing that he was five hours late. It was ten o'clock. Sheriff Bob snored on. He was supposed to be conducting an official investigation of the princess's disappearance, but little matter. He had overexerted himself by assuming a position of leadership at the counsel and deserved rest. Besides, no one expected the counsel to do anything anyway. It had been several days since Edith's disappearance, but Sheriff Bob continued sleeping.

In the bottom of a small depression grew the only tree in the Desert of Dreams, and Edith lay unconscious at its base. The wide-spreading branches of the massive oak protected her from the scorching rays of the desert sun. She slept there on the ground, completely exhausted. The sand, moist from the nearby stream, cooled her sunburned cheek. Had she been awake she would have noticed something unusual about the stream and the tree. Trickling over the ledge, the stream picked up speed as it flowed over a smooth slab of slime covered rock toward the tree. In the old oak itself a wide gap opened between the gnarled roots, exposing the entrance to an underground tunnel. Through this passage the water flowed, splashes echoing from within the subterranean chasm. As these soothing sounds calmed Edith in her sleep, Marius entered her dreams, to urge her on to one last effort.

Edith was torn from the realm of deepest sleep and entered into the domain of dreams. The distant sounds of a waterfall swirled around her, coming from first one direction, then another. Looking down at her feet, Edith realized she was standing on the edge of a stream, and kneeled down to drink. She was delighted to find that the water was cold and refreshing, sweet with no hint of bitterness. But no matter how much she drank, her thirst could not be quenched. After a while she sat down in disgust and once again tried to find her way back to that deep restful unconsciousness. Then Marius appeared.
"Edith, you are nearly there! Follow me just a few steps further!"
She ignored him, turning to face the opposite direction.
"Just push yourself a little further, Edith," Marius persisted. "You must go on!"
She covered her ears with her hands but found she could still hear him.
"Crawl over and put yourself in the stream. That is all you must do! That is it, Princess, and this part of your journey is over!"
A tear trickled from her eye, and she huddled up, hugging he knees to herself.
"You must do what I tell you now, or I am afraid something very bad will happen!" urged Marius, but Edith didn't care. She didn't care what happened. She wanted to rest undisturbed. Drawing nearer, Marius gently moved the hair out of her face and looked into her eyes. "Go now."
"No! Edith shouted. "No!" Glass shattered. Something struck Marius forcibly in the back. An arrowhead protruded from his chest. Edith stared, horror stricken, into is pained eyes-- but they were Methuselah's eyes!
"Go!" he commanded, and Edith staggered back, stumbling toward the stream. Unsure of whether she was awake or asleep, she fell on all fours and crawled out into the water. Rushing past her, the stream became a river, and it took hold of her, dragging her toward a great mouth in the tree. Then everything was dark and she was falling in blackness, falling again through a confusing swirl of indistinguishable shapes.
"You have great strength, Princess," came Methuselah's loving voice. Then she knew no more.

When Edith awoke everything was completely dark, but as her eyes focused she began to make out her surroundings. She was lying on a bed of something soft, within a small alcove of a vast cave. Turning onto her side, she gazed out at the majestic sight before her. Rising from the surface an expansive phosphorescent lake, oddly shaped columns and walls of rock wound and twisted in a vast maze of dark brilliance. Enormous crystals shone with a dull luminance in the light of the glowing lake, and the rythmless music of dripping water melded with the far off resonance of a waterfall. Edith marveled at this natural wonder, awestruck, yet fearful. Where was she? She started in fright when a hand came down on her shoulder.
"There, there, dearheart, there's no reason to fret yourself. I was just coming to see if you were awake, and here you are, sitting up in bed! Judging by the condition I found you in, I though it would be a whole day or two before you came around. It's a long fall to the lake, you know, and then of course I had to fetch you out of the water, and that took a bit. I tell you, I'm not the swimmer I used to be! Oh, but what am I doing! You'll need your nourishment of course. Just stay there, and I'll be right back." With that, the old woman hurried off along a pathway of rock that jutted out into the lake. Then she disappeared around a corner. Lying back down, Edith relaxed and closed her eyes. She was about to go to sleep again when her hand brushed up against something on her side-- something cold that made her skin crawl. It was the dagger. She immediately remembered everything that had happened, and realized that she had finally reached her destination. The woman: she was Sara, Woman of the Hidden Stream, and-- where was the book? Edith looked around, but saw it nowhere. As Sara entered once again, Edith began to ask about it, but stopped when she saw the bowl of stew Sara offered her. Edith ate, for the first since she left the city.
When Edith had finished two bowls of stew and had started on her third, Sara began asking her questions.
"Now, dear, don't eat too quickly or you'll find yourself more full than you'd wish. Tell me, how did you come to this place? A girl like you should never travel alone in the desert."
Setting down the bowl, Edith began to think back over the past several days, feeling very weak once again as the memories flooded in. Then she told Sara everything, sometimes clinging to the woman's hand, sometimes weeping as Sara wept with her. When the tale was told, Edith snuggled in the woman's arms, still shaking in the tender, motherly embrace.
"Come now," cooed Sara, "everything is alright."
"I know," Edith managed, "I know...and thank you...thank you for--" She broke down weeping. "What is it, child?" Sara hugged Edith even closer.
"I...I...never had a mother--I mean I never knew her. Father said she was captured by evil men and taken away and...and killed--and I always wondered...I just wished that I could have someone to hold me when I was frightened--and you...thank you...for..." Edith trailed off once again, as the sobs shook her body, "You've let me feel what it's like to have a mother." It was some time before Edith looked up, but when she did, she found Sara's gaze distant and her face hard.
"Oh, that king..." Sara muttered. The expression of anger on her face surprised Edith. "But he couldn't tell her the truth, poor girl. Ohhhh, someday justice will be done."
"What is it, Sara?"
"Oh, pay no heed to me, deary."
"Sara, please, what were you saying?"
"Nothing child; I'll explain later. You're much to weak right now to hear it, anyway. Come, let's get you back in bed and get some more rest."
"Sara, I don't know what you were saying, but it had something to do with me. I just feel that...I'm sorry. I suppose if you believe it would be better for me to wait, then I will. Please forgive me." Edith looked up into Sara's face, but found her friend staring off into space.
"Yes, it is so," Sara said, as if to someone else, "I shall tell her." She then looked back at Edith. "Child, I have a long story to tell you."

"Ahhh, there's nothing better than a big shade tree in the middle of the desert!" exclaimed Felipe, as he gazed up at the massive oak, "Come to think of it, what is a big shade tree doing in the middle of the desert? I hope my love was cooled in it's shade as she lay here-- for her footprints indicate that she did indeed reach this very place. Oh look! I found a book! How exciting! I wonder what it is." He reached down and picked up the heavy tome. "Hmmmm," he mused upon opening to the first page, "it appears to be a compilation of three volumes. Laws. Boring. Prophesies. Boring. Spells. Now here is something exciting!" He began to look through the book, his two men at arms peering over his shoulders. "Oh, now isn't this something! A spell for turning red roses blue! Do either of you have any roses?" he asked. The men shook their heads. "Well what about this, a spell for taming alligators! I wonder if there are any around here." He began to circle the tree in search of the reptiles when one of his men made a suggestion. "Um, my liege, do you think there could be a spell in the book to help find the princess?" one of the men asked. "What?" inquired Felipe. "A spell, to help you find the princess," suggested the man. Felipe stared in dazed wonder as he considered this possibility, then began madly flipping through pages. "Of course there's a spell that can help us find the princess!" he announced without looking up, "it's just a matter of finding it!" After several minutes of intense page flipping, numerous paper cuts, a few tears, one or two bruises, and some very close calls with hopelessness and desperation, a promising looking spell was found.
"'The Divining Rod'," read Felipe, "'a magical tool used for locating hidden treasure and missing valuables. Simply take a short stick, hold it out in front of you, turn two and a half times around, and say 'take me to what I must find.' Then allow the stick to guide you to your goal.'" he finished reading, "That sounds easy enough!"
Of course, a stick had to be broken off from the tree, and this process resulted in even more wounds, and some even closer calls with hopelessness and desperation. But when the stick had been acquired and Felipe had recited the necessary words, the magic began to work. Lurching nearly out of Felipe's grasp, the stick swooped forward, pulling him behind it. Sand filled the air as Felipe was dragged crazily along the ground, bumping over rocks, tearing through shrubbery, and losing various pieces of armour in the process.
"It works!" he shouted, "It works, it works, it works! And it's taking me to--" There was a resounding hollow thud as Felipe slammed face first into the tree trunk.

With Edith huddled close, Sara began her story.
"Long, long ago I lived with my husband in a great city by the sea. My husband was the man you knew as Methuselah, but his name was Farran then. Now the king of this city was as evil as men can be, and he tormented the people by all means of dark arts. He was, in fact, so powerful that he was created a spell over himself that rendered him invincible. With this spell his flesh could not be pierced by any weapon--or so he believed.
It so happened that Farran and myself were the last two people of the line of the good Kings of Old, and seemingly by coincidence we found each other and loved each other. But I believe that there was some deeper magic guiding us and guarding us, for from the day we married, neither of us aged a day older. Thus, we continued to live in the city, and while many around us died, we lived on.
Now the king of the city grew more and more evil every day, and finally his deeds became so terrible that Farran knew he must be brought down. So Farran consulted the great books that had been passed down to us by our ancestors, and he also searched among the mysterious items we had inherited as well. This was when he came across a dagger could shatter the evil king's spell. Upon finding this he planned to assassinate the king that very night, but I reminded him of the code of honor that the good Kings of Old, and all their knights lived by. This code, among other things, forbade any form of unfair killing. Farran, though, saw himself as justified since he believed his quest was for good and would be otherwise impossible. So he carried it out.
Had my husband confronted the evil king in a fair fight, things might have turned out differently, but at the very moment the dagger pierced the king's heart, the entire city met its death. Dukes, knights, commoners, slaves--all fell save for Farran and myself. The very buildings of the city crumbled and collapsed. Now, I must say that the people were not exactly dead, but they became forever enslaved within a spirit form.
With the city thus destroyed, Farran fled with me to the southern town of Nuverandim. There we lived, both of us ever young, for one hundred and forty years, watching as the town grew into a mighty city. During all this time, my Farran was advisor to each successive king, for they knew he was of a wise and magical lineage. Now when your father, King Horatio, came into power he had no respect for Farran and removed him from his position as advisor, sending him to live with the peasants. As for me, though, the king beheld that I was young and beautiful, and with an evil desire, stole me from my true husband and took me as his wife. Upon being separated, though, Farran and I aged at a fast pace, and after a year and a half I had become an old woman. King Horatio, being angered by this, cast me from the kingdom, but not before I bore him a child. This child was a daughter, and he named Edith."
Edith could not say anything, or even think. She just looked up at Sara, unable to make herself believe that this woman was her mother. Sara looked calmly back.
"You need not say anything, child. I shall leave you here to yourself for a while." She got up to leave but was immediately interrupted by a loud, but distant sounding yell.
"I'm coming to save you, Edith!!!! The stick says you're down here, so here I--Wooohhhaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!" There was a loud splash. Edith looked around in bewilderment.
"Well, it looks like I have another visitor," said Sara, "Stay here child, and I'll go heat some more soup." As the kindly old woman walked off, a stick that was floating in the water leapt up and landed at Edith's feet.

--Thomas

21: Voyages and Trails

2008-07-14T12:24:00.000-07:00

Despite the constant bustle that marked the City of Tears , the place was eerily quite as The Cock and his men moved through the city, away from the main traffic. He had been in the city numerous times over the years and knew that the sound, or rather the lack thereof, was common to the city. Ever since Horatio had taken the throne, the place was terribly void of the many beautiful things that once marked it: laughter, friendly arguments, braying animals, and so on. Now, though, the taxes stripped everyone of all but the bare essentials to survive. The result was a broken economy and unhappy citizens. It simply wasn’t fair; these people were unjustly deprived of the products of their labor, things that were rightfully theirs. They deserved better, they deserved better security, better freedoms, a better king. The Cock clenched his teeth together. It took all the control he could muster to keep from attacking the nearest guard. With great difficulty, he reminded himself that now was not the ideal time, place, or method for such deeds. There were more efficient and effective ways to humble King Horatio. Besides, he reminded himself, there was something greater at stake here. Sir Edward was up to something, and The Cock did not appreciate the knight using him as a cover-up. He unrolled the cryptic map again and glanced at the one name that held at least some pertinent information: Jard. “He is a knight in training,” one of his informants had said, “was rumored to become the next great warrior of Nuvanderim, but the skills he initially displayed had diminished.” It had not been difficult to find Jard’s dwelling, but the boy himself was another matter. They had traveled from Jard’s dwelling to the cottage of his esquire, Peter, spoken with Jard’s blacksmith, Charles, and eventually learned that Jard was recently seen leaving the city with two companions. One, presumably, was Peter, but nothing was known of the other. “Leaves ze city vis two men,” The Cock murmured to himself, “Vy does he need zese men. Ver is he going, and vy is he going zer?”
“Pardon me,” Maximiliano’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “we have been informed zat Fabio, our man from ze castle, has been forced to abandon his position in haste. He vas nearly executed.”
“Ze whoopee cushion-smith? Vy?”
“Failure to perform duties, apparently.” Maximiliano shifted uncomfortably,
The Cock remained composed, “Continue.”
“He is hiding in ze old mill as ve speak, but he brings important news.”
“News?” The Cock’s eyes narrowed, “He better have important news; ve cannot lose many spies of his status like zis.”
“Of course,” Maximiliano replied, “He wishes to tell you zat Princess Edith escaped ze castle and ran avay to ze desert several days ago. She has not been found yet. Also, Fabio has found rooster and peacock feathers in ze mill, and footprints of two men in armor.”
“and he has provided us vis two missing pieces of our puzzle, Maxi.” The edges of The Cock’s lips curved up in a small smile. It wasn’t proof, but both his intellect and his instincts told him that Jard had left in search of Edith. The boy had almost nothing to lose, but everything to gain by finding the princess. As for the feathers, it was now definitely Edward who was framing him. The map proved that Edward and Jard were connected somehow and, (judging by the fate of Methuselah, the other recognizable name on the map) it probably wasn’t a very friendly connection. The only option at this point was to find Jard; he would surely know more about Sir Edward and, better yet, lead them to Edith. The Cock never spoke of his affection for the girl. Despite all of his criminal deeds against Horatio, he actually had a secret soft spot for the Princess and pitied the life she was forced to lead. He shook the thoughts away and nodded to Ermegildo, who was standing close by, “Ermegildo, you may inform Fabio zat boz of you may return to Hahn Nacosto at once. You have served us vell.” He turned to the rest of the group, “As for ze rest of us, ve vill be traveling into ze desert. Ve must find zis, Jard, quickly.”

Bruce leaned against the rail of the Fair Gwenllian, breathing heavily. It was not the first time he had lost the contents of his last meal during the voyage, and he doubted it would be the last. He was adjusting to the life of the sailor, that was for sure, but he still woke up with a disgruntled stomach every morning. The first mate Puck walked by, “Still having a rough go of it, yer knightship?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Bruce moaned, “Up and down, up and down. Every wave seems to drain away my strength.”
“I’m sure ye’ll grow accustomed sir. Give it a few weeks and ye’ll be right as rain.”
“I do hope so, but even if I don’t, twill just be all the greater challenge!” The knight responded, still enthusiastic about his quest. “It will make for a grand tale: how the valiant Sir Bruce, after weeks of sickness and starvation, defeated the Leviathan and claimed the Golden Isle in the name of the Desert of Dreams !” Suddenly his eyes widened. Putting his hand over his mouth, Sir Bruce quickly leaned over the side and heaved. Puck was still there, standing with a wry smile when Bruce finally turned back to him.
“Aye, twill make a grand tale for sure.” The first mate replied sarcastically, “but first, ye’d better wipe off that armor again.”
Bruce looked down at himself, turned beet red, pulled out a handkerchief, and removed the bit of half-digested substance. Attempting to remain dignified, he replaced the kerchief, puffed out his chest, and calmly walked down the deck. “Well done, sailors,” he called to the crew, “keep it up, lads. We’ll be at the Golde--er, our destination before you know it. I like that knot sir…that is a splendid knot…”
Puck could only shake his head and chuckle as Bruce’s booming voice trailed off down the ship. He had met many interesting men during his voyages with Captain Gottfried, but this Sir Bruce was one of a kind.

--Andrew C

20: Marius and Prank Issues

2008-07-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

Edith stumbled along, feeling dehydrated. Well she didn't exactly know what dehydrated felt like, but this was the closest she had ever been to such a state. She knew that the water from the stream was safe to drink, but it tasted so bitter she avoided drinking it as often as possible. She'd had nothing to eat for as long as she could remember, but that had been so long ago, and her only desire was to reach The Woman of the Hidden Stream as soon as possible. She also knew that Marius was out there, supposedly protecting her, but she didn't feel too comfortable with that, especially considering her first encounter with him, which was no pleasant experience. She kept walking with the relentless sun bearing down overhead, sloshing in the river to keep her now bare feet off of the hot sand. She started to become faint from thirst, and decided to have another drink to keep her going. When she came back up from getting it, though, she became dizzy from her own sudden movements, and stumbled onto the bank which helped form the stream. Having to carry the giant book and fabled dagger was no picnic either. As she lay on the hot sand, her mind started to wander, and she drifted off to sleep. Sleep was the only way she could contact Marius, and it always had a strange feeling to it. This time, as every time, she was more prepared for the encounter with him. Each time, though, she would meet him in a different location. This time she met him in a thickly wooded forest, full of every sort of evergreen trees. She saw him, a young man, not much older than twenty years of age, and the type of man who looked like he often wore a smile on his face. This time he wasn't smiling, but had a look of worry on his face. When Edith approached him, he asked her, "Why have you stopped? We need to keep moving."

"I am tired," she answered crossly, "I have been walking for days without food, and with disgusting water. This is hardly the life I have been born into."

"I know of your poor conditions, but I bring bad news," he said. "While you were walking, I took a look around to see if there was anyone near by, and there is. There are three men that are following you. One is nobility, but the other two appear to be ordinary soldiers from your city. I am worried for your safety, and your mission. They are still quite a ways off, but they are steadily gaining on you. I could enter their minds, but I would have to leave you unguarded to do that, and I am afraid that if I left you, you would end up in trouble. You may rest a little while longer, but you will have to get moving soon. I will leave you to to get some resting sleep but i will wake you soon so you can keep moving. You still have quite a way to go, so we have to keep going: tired, hungry, and thirsty or not. It will be later in the evening when I get you up, so it will be cooler. Rest now, rest..." and with that Edith drifted off into a peaceful slumber uninterrupted by dreams.

King Horatio the Not Very Nice was furious. His daughter was missing (raising the taxes hadn't helped); her suitor had gone to look for her, and hadn't come back, or even sent a report; his Royal Whoopie Cushion Maker had fled the country and escaped execution; and worst of all worsts, the old infallible mousetrap gum trick had not worked on a single counsel member in his... well, counsel. They all had their own gum, and declined to take his fake gum. He loved to see his tricks catch people unawares, but with so many falling apart recently, it might as well have been a revolution. This was infuriating, and he would have to come up with some extremal clever and malicious way to get back at those who hadn't fallen prey to his failed jokes. Then he hit upon it. The most creatively evil way he could pull practical joke. This one would get him even on everyone who had missed out on his other jokes. He decided, that night, to have all of his soldiers, servants, and everyone else working under his command, toilet paper every house in his kingdom. No, he would go far beyond that. He would have them fork the yards too. He was so happy about his cruelly evil and dastardly plan, that he started dancing, er... hopping around his room. The servants working on the floor below rolled their eyes at the tremendous booms coming from the floor above. In a short while they would have to clean up the plaster that had broken loose from the ceiling and come crashing to the floor then get the holes patched up. But that would be after the thudding coming from the ceiling ended.

--ND

19: A Debt Repaid

2008-07-10T13:07:00.000-07:00

Peter and Jard trotted through the outskirts of the city of tears. It was the poorest area of all. Hardly anyone spoke and the facial expressions showed nothing but pain and longing; longing for a better life, for a redeemer.
"Why wont they stop staring at us?" whispered Peter as he nervously fidgeted with his hands.
"I don't now Peter, just keep moving." Replied Jard.
To their left, an old skinny dog meandered through the dusty roads, nibbling at the remains of a dead bird. Two of the Kings men patrolled the area, making sure no one dare protest. To their right hung the body of a protester, a waring to any who dare resist. Fear filled the eyes of the tiered civilians as the sun baked their skin, making even young men appear old and wrinkled. The placed seemed to have lost all the life it once possessed. Even the children were silent, and unable to find joy in anything. A small boy broke the silence as he ran out of an old hut.
"Watch out! Its a dragon! He's going to kill us!" Cried the boy. "Run! Whoa! Now its a giant fish!"
"Shut up you stupid boy." Said his older brother as he shoved him. "Wake up." The young boy shook his head in bewilderment before saying,
"But I saw it, there was a--"
"You didn't see anything, now go back to bed and stop making a fool of yourself." Interrupted the brother.
"I know there was a dragon, I saw it." Muttered the boy to himself while he headed back inside. The surrounding people were not surprised by the boys action. Such events were not uncommon and the citizens quickly returned to their work.
"Somethings not right Jard; that just wasn't normal." Said Peter quietly.
"I think you might be right Peter." Jard paused for a while. "The more I think about it, the more I'm starting think that some of Edwards words may have been true." Again he paused as tried to muster the words. "Its strange, I feel like there have been certain barriers to my thinking, but I can see past them now. Almost like I can understand things I never could even begin to comprehend before. Like I can almost sense and feel life, sorta not just see it as a fiscal form, but as a...umm, I don't know. I can't describe it." Said Jard.
"Jard, your not making any sense at all." Peter declared flatly.
"Perhaps, I'm sorry, maybe its just me. But it just seems that I'm starting to understand things that words just can't explain. You see, because you can only describe what you see, hear, feel, touch or smell. But I feel like I can kinda sense something else, well, not exactly. Right now I almost feel like were being followed by some—Oh, I don't know.
"Okay, you've totally lost me now." Said Peter, "But look over there." A middle aged lady was huddled by a house; her son sat beside her. "She looks as if she is about to burst." The lady Lady's face was red with rage. Tears flowed down her face. Then...she could hold her feelings back no longer; she lost control.
"Curse the King! Curse him!!! I want my husband back!!" Screamed the lady at the Kings men.
"Mom, stop! You will be killed!" Cried her son.
"I don't care!! Curse the King! I want my husband! Give him back!" Cried the lady.
"Shut up lady!" Said the soldiers.
"Not until you give him back!" shouted the women, and she threw her fists vainly into the men. The men said no more, and calmly stabbed her though the heart.
"MOM!!! No!!!" shouted her son. He ran to hold his mother, but she was already dead. For a little while he said nothing, too shocked to even cry. Then rage filled his mind. He ran for the soldiers and battered them with his fists. The soldiers showed no compassion and raised their swords to do the same to him as his mother. Before the they could stab the boy, though, a large axe suddenly cleaved both the soldiers heads off.
Jard did not know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of, he through his arms around the boy. For a long time the boy cried in Jard's shoulder. Eventually Jard released the boy, knowing the danger of leaving two dead soldiers in the middle of the street.
"Quick, we must bury the bodies. More soldiers are bound to come soon." Said Jard. He turned to the boy, who was still weeping, and put a hand on his shoulder, "There will be time to mourn for your mother later, a short burial must suffice for now." Fortunately they had help, the surrounding civilians were more than willing to do whatever they could for the cause. They quickly buried the soldiers, saving their swords, shields and leather armer.
"Sir," Said the boy, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I am forever at your service for whatever you want of me. I will be your servant forever."
"Do you have any family?" Asked Jard.
"No, My mother was all I had left." A new flood of tears flowed from the boys eyes. "I am ruined. The only satisfaction left in my life is avenging my families death."
"Then you may come with us. We are on a quest to find Princess Edith, and after that, I hope to end the reign of the king." Said Jard. To his surprise, he was received by a loud applause by the small crowd.
"Shhh, boy, do you want to come with us? Its now or never." Said Jard.
"Yes, I do want to come with you, but..." he looked back at the shallow grave where his mother lay. Jard could sense a deep sadness in the young man's eyes.
"What is your name," asked Jard,
"James." Said the boy.
"Then know this James. I feel your pain. I too have lost a mother. If you decide to come with me, I swear by the shield of my forefathers," he indicated his embossed shield, "that we will return to this place and pay your mother the proper respects. We have more urgent matters to attend to now. Are you with me?"
James looked up at Jard with a new sense of resoluteness and courage, one that he hadn't felt in a long time. "There is nothing left for me here Jard; besides, you saved my life. I am with you to whatever end."
Jard gripped James' hand, "Very well James, quickly gather your things and bring them out. Peter, grab the soldiers' horses, bring them over. Everyone else, please, return to what you were doing." Stated Jard authoritatively.
"We will die before we tell them what happened." Said a man in the crowd. The others nodded their heads in agreement and dispersed.
"Here are the horses." Said Peter as he handed the horses to Jard.
"Thank you. Now help James pack his things. After that, load the other horse with the weapons and armor of the soldiers. But leave room for a rider, we just may need it."
"Right away Jard." Said Peter. Sadly, though, he didn't need to help James pack his stuff because James could easily carry all his belongings in one arm. He only had a couple of small blankets, a little food, some water and a small knife his father gave him. They quickly packed the horses of the dead soldiers and said a last goodbye to the city's people.

The three companions were quickly out of the city of tears and heading down a long and dusty road leading from the city. James was still emotional about his mother, who's death would leave a scar forever. Even so, there was a part of James that was excited about the journey ahead of him. He had never left the city of tears and the quest before him was something he always dreamed of. James was ready to give everything he had for Jard, the man who saved his life.
Jard tried to recall the road networks of the Desert of Dreams, but it had been many years since he left the city of tears and his memory was vague. There was one place he remember though, a small stream his father used to use to replenish the horses. His father always claimed the stream gave the horses extra energy, but Jard, understandably, never really believed him.
As Jard trotted on the old road, which was desperately in need of repair, he couldn't forget a strange feeling that something unknown was following him. The feeling was never strong enough for Jard to take action though, and a cloaked man followed them unnoticed; it was almost dark.
"Alright, lets stop here for the night." Announced Jard, "tomorrow we will search for the stream."
"Huh, about time. That bloody saddle's been warring my backside raw, I can barely sit!" Said Peter. He awkwardly tried to dismount from his horse, but his foot got caught in the saddle and he thudded rear-first into the ground.
"Ouuuuch! Ohhhhh! Just kill me now!" Cried Peter. James covered his face as he couldn't help but chuckle at Peters hilarious lack of coordination. It had been a long time sense James laughed; it felt good.
"Oh, real funny. Go ahead, just sit and laugh while I'm dieing over here!" Said Peter, only half serious. Peter tried to stand...He failed.
"Gahhh! It hurts...Jard, help me up." Jard easily lifted Peter to his feet, who slowly walked his injury off. The companions quickly had a cold dinner and made their beds for the night. It was the cloaked figure's time to strike.

Jard was in the middle of a peaceful dream when it was interrupted. He saw a blur of bright colors before his eyes focused and he saw an old man standing in the middle of a lake. To Jard's surprise, he found that he could walk on the water too. He walked towards the man.
"Who are you?" Asked Jard.
"I have gone by many names, but you may call me Farran." Said the man.
"You seem familiar, have I seen you before?" Said Jard.
"I wouldn't be surprised, I've seen many people in my time."
"No, I know who you are, your the man of the house burned down a few days ago. You're dead." Said Jard slightly confused.
"Yes, that is me. Now Jard, you must listen to me." Farran's voice became serious. "You were given your strength for a purpose.
"What? How do you know about my strength?" Said Jard.
"Just listen. You must find Edith quick. Go to the stream and head follow it north till you find a massive tree with a hidden door. There you will find a women named Sara and hopefully Edith. Sara will give you advise on what to do next. When you find Edith, open the book. Do not loose the book." Said Farran quickly. Jard was confused by the words of the man.
"What book? What are you talking about. Slow down."
"The book." Farran paused for a while, then fear s truck his eyes. "Wake up! You are in terrible danger!!"
"What do you mean? I am awake, and no one is even near me." Said Jard totally confused. the man disappeared. Farran frantically searched Jard's mind, trying to gain control of his body. He couldn't. Even In Jard's sleep, his mind was too guarded to to control completely. Farran went back to Jard's thoughts and again cried,
"Wake up!!!"
"I'm awake!" shouted Jard, still clueless that he was actually asleep. Farran desperately searched for a way to wake Jard. A horrible thought came to him. Jard instantly found himself in a massive castle with a dark cloud covering the sky. Then he heard the sound of millions of voices crying out in pain. Jard was overwhelmed by the sound, and opened his eyes to see a cloaked man leaning over his face, dagger in hand. Jard screamed and lunged to the side, barely dodging the the man's dagger. As he prepared to thrust again, a small knife struck the man in the heart. The man gave a loud cry and fell the the ground, never to rise again. Jard looked to his left and saw James, a small sheath was in his hand. Peter was fast asleep.

--JBC

18: Healing Wounds

2008-07-07T18:09:00.000-07:00

"GRRRRRRRRRYYYYHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW," groaned Edward as the last bit of arrowhead was pulled from his shoulder.
"I am sorry my liege," apologized Sir Edward's servant who was acting as a doctor, "It was the last piece, all I have to do now is bandage up the wound."
"JUST HURRY UP YOU WELP!" Thundered the anguished knight,
"Yes my liege" answered the terrified servant, who rapidly finished the bandage, and set about cleaning up his tools.
"Now leave," said a slightly calmer Edward. "but send for Richard"
A few minutes later a figure wearing a dark gray cloak entered Edwards bed. Richard had been staying in the knight's in city estate, which was really just a house in one of the nicer areas of the city. By the time Richard entered, Edward had managed to get on a tunic covering the bandage that was tightly wrapped around his shoulder.
"You called for me my liege?" asked Richard bowing
"Yes I did." snapped Edward. "Do you know of the knight by the name of Jard? The one who bears the symbol of the fish?"
"Yes I have seen him before."
"I want you to go and find him, then kill him. After you do the deed, spread these around like you did before, but leave one of these as well." Said Edward, handing Richard a handful of Rooster Feathers, and one long elegant peacock feather.
"As you wish my liege" answered the man, who promptly left the room and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Jard woke to a pain in his face. The pain was a dull pain, a pain that throbbed as if it had been there for a few weeks. An old pain. A pain that felt like it had once been a sharp pain but had since began to heal. He touched his face, he felt a jagged scab about an 6th of an inch in width, running from high on his right cheek bone, all the way down to the bottom of his chin. He sat up, he had slept fitfully all night, every few minutes his face would throb so bad that he would be partially awake, keeping him from the deep sleep that would rest him thoroughly, but not fully waking him either. He then remembered the previous days events: shortly after Peter had left, he passed out from blood loss. He had never, in all of his days, remembered loosing so much blood. Apparently he had slept since then. He looked around his surroundings. He sat on a bed made up of straw. The room was small. In one corner leaned up against the wall was a homemade bow and a quiver of homemade arrows, clearly crafted by someone with little skill in the art of weapon making. Against one wall sat a small table, on which was a piece of stale bread, and a cracked ale mug. A chair was set next to the straw mat lying on the floor. In another corner were Jard's few pieces of armor. A chain mail shirt, a leather battle vest, an iron plated leather helmet, a pair of greaves, a pair of vambraces, a sword belt, a pair or iron plated leather gloves, and a shield, the most prized of his possessions. It had a pale blue trout on it. Not simply painted onto the shield, but embedded into the metal itself, as if no ordinary blacksmith had forged it. The Shield looked like polished silver, and never had to be cleaned. Jard had never cleaned it himself, and had never remembered his father doing so either. The Shield had been in his family for as long as he could remember, and was considered one of the greatest treasures the family had, especially now that the family had descended into economic ruin.
"Peter's dwelling" thought Jard "it's a wonder he even hit Edward with that set of arrows. They are so warped, and the fletching is all crooked; must have been my lucky day." Just then Peter walked through the door, no longer wearing his customary tan tunic and brown pants, but a pair of brown red pants, and a red tunic. "He must not have a two sets of cloths" thought Jard.
"Jard!" shouted Peter when he saw his best friend sitting up, "you need to lay down and rest!" He immediately rushed over to Jard and tried to make him lay down.
"Peter I'm fine, my face hurts a little but I feel better and more capable than I did a few days ago."
"I don't know how anyone would have survived what you did, you lost so much blood! You need to rest!" exclaimed peter as he looked over Jard's face. "Oh my!"
"What? Whats the matter?"
"Your face is healing"
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"Well yes, but you were wounded yesterday!"
"Well I should hope I would heal to some degree over the course of a day"
"Jard, your face is not oozing, it is not bleeding, it has scabbed over, and not only that but the area around it is pink indicating new flesh. You have done about two weeks worth of healing in the course of one night." Stated Peter mater-of-factly.
"Since when did you know much about doctoring?" asked Jard, who himself wasn't that knowledgeable on the art of healing.
"Anybody can see that your face is not oozing or bleeding. Any one can tell you, that you have a scab on your face. As far as the pink skin, and the time line, that was just some things my Father told me. He was a physician before he died."
"Ahh I see," said Jard getting to his feet which caused Peter to react in a catching motion, this was unnecessary, for Jard had no need for any support. "But I think that it is time we got going, Edward is going to kill Edith, and we have to stop him."
"Kill the Princess Edith? But why? And I though the guard at the castle was sufficient?"
"Whoa there Peter slow down." Injected Jard, "I don't really know much but she isn't at the castle, and Edward is the man who killed an old guy by the name of Methuselah. Apparently he had a dagger that has some sort of value. Which Edith now has, and he plans on killing her too."
"Oh, um…isn't the king going to do anything about his missing daughter?"
"I doubt he even knows that she is missing." Replied Jard, "But I am going to go and rescue her, you do not have to come it will probably be dangerous."
"No you're my only friend, my Family are all dead, the princess is in danger I'm coming with you."
"Very well," replied Jard "But first I need my armor on, and a new sword."

Twenty minutes later Jard was dressed and ready, it was late morning by the time he had left Peters dwelling. Peter didn't have much food available for travel, but Jard, who had slightly more wealth, did. So Jard sent Peter over to his house to get the necessary food items for the trip, along with Jard's battle horse and pack horse. Those titles could be changed at a moments notice. The one that was tired was the pack horse, the one that was well rested was the war horse. While Peter collected the necessary equipment, Jard went to find a suitable weapon.
Jard knew of a good blacksmith by the name of Charles, who happened to be a friend of his families. Jard's father had saved Charles' life and the man had agreed to repair all of his families armor for free, and supply them with quality weapons at discounted price. Unfortunately for Jard the sword that he had used against Edward had come from Charles. Swords made by civilian blacksmiths, just aren't as good of quality as those made by the official blacksmiths for the nobility. But Most of the weapons that Charles produced
were of higher quality then the standard weapon.
"Good morning Charles!" Said Jard as he walked into the blacksmith shop.
"Mornin Jard, what can I get-chyou?" Replied Charles,
"I am here for some new weapons, I want something that wont break easy."
"Well I gots, 'uh battle ax, dat wont break undar much, but last I checks you weren't strong enough to fight wid a solid metal battle ax."
"Let me see it, I feel like I am stronger than I used to be."
"Jard its real heavy." Protested Charles
"I would still like to see it." replied Jard defiantly.
"Very well, but I will makes you a deal, if you can cut this here log in halfs with it, in less than ten minutes I will gives it to you fur free." Said Charles confidently indicating a log about a foot in diameter.
"Ok I will do that." Said Jard with a new determination.
Charles came back with a double bladed battle ax with an iron staff as well as a iron head. An ax that Jard would have struggled to lift a week earlier. Yet with his new found abilities, he was able to lift it without so much as a thought. Jard raised the ax above his head and in one quick swing cleaved the log in two.
"I would also like a long dagger, like a dirk that would be nice."
Charles was still too dumbfounded to say anything besides, "20 cent-pieces." After which he handed Jard an unornamented dirk, eyed the scar on his cheek, and sat down.
"Thank you Charles, you have always been good to my family." Said Jard as he left the Blacksmith shop, to find Peter.

Peter left while Jard was still dressing, and hurried to Jard's house, he knew exactly where everything was in the house. So it didn't take him long to find bread, salted smoked meat, waterskins, a few blankets, a map of the Desert of Dreams flint steel and tinder, and other odds and ends that would be useful on a quest; and get it all packed into saddle bags. After which he promptly rode back towards his own dwelling. Peter may have been good at finding things necessary for a journey, but he wasn't much good at observing his surroundings. If he had been, he would have notice a gray cloaked figure, following him.

-Mark

17: The Teasing Spirit

2008-07-06T17:34:00.000-07:00

Edith stumbled through the surrounding shrubbery. Her hunger clawed at her stomach, and patches of darkness enveloped her vision. How long had it been since she left the only home she knew? How long had it been since Methuselah was murdered? How long had she forced her way through this barren wasteland? There was nothing to eat, and nothing to drink but the bitter tasting water of the pitiful stream she was following. Black spots danced before her eyes. The extreme heat, her overwhelming hunger, the fatigue of sleepless nights, and the fear bore down on her. The fear of what? She could not remember. There was something... she was going to someone. Her thoughts were muddled and confused. Clinging about her face and neck, her long brown hair intensified the heat. She had long since discarded her dress and eight petticoats, remaing only in her light slip. It made no difference now. The pain in her legs, in her stomach, in her head, in her whole body gripped at her, trying to slow her, dragging her down to the desert sand. Bushes clung to her as if urging her to stop and give up and lie down. Overhead a vulture paciently circled. The sun bore down relentlessly. She couldn't take it. Edith collapsed on the ground.

"Oh the bad misery of the world! My love of loves has perished!"
Felipe mourned, raising Edith's bedraggled dress.
"She has been devoured by a terribly hideous monster, and this lone garmet is all that remains to remind me of her beauty when I am old! All is lost! Let us return home now, men.
Felipe's two men at arms glanced at each other.
"Excuse me, my Lord, but may I make an observation?" said one of them.
"I wonder if the monster had two eyes, or three?" mused Felipe, ignoring him.
"My Lord, if you will give your attention--"
"No, I actually believe it was a cyclops!"
"My Lord, look here! There is no blood on the dress! Your lady was most certainly--"
"Then it was definitely a dragon! She has been scorched to death and her ashes have been taken by the wind!"
"Sir Felipe! If she had burned up, then her dress would have burned with her!"
"You're right! Well... then...I have it! She was taken captive by dream spirits!"
"My liege, please stop that! Look right here, the footprints continue on, along a trail of petticoats."
The man gestured toward the disturbed sand. Felipe considered this information a minute then announced, "You are right. My love is alive! I propose we celebrate this good occasion by breaking for some food and drink. What do you say!"
The two men rolled their eyes at each other.
"Good, I think so too. Break out the rations! It is a time of rejoicing!"

Laughing swirled around her, above her, and below her. Everything had gone black, but shapes moved and twisted in her vision. She was falling, plunging downward into continuous darkness. Suddenly, she was back in the desert. Edith looked up. She felt refreshed, in a way, but still so tired.
"Hello," said a voice behind her, "how are you?"
Turning around, Edith beheld nothing but a large upright stone.
"Wha-- where are you?" she asked anxiously, glancing in all directions.
"I am right here," said the voice. It came from the stone.
Edith, circled the rock, hurriedly searching for the hiding place of the speaker. She felt like she should be frightened, but for some reason she was not.
"What is your name," the voice asked.
Edith hesitated, but seeing no reason not to answer replied, "Edith. Who are you?"
"I am Aeslab, the talking rock," said the voice.
Edith stared, bewildered, unable to speak.
"I would doff my hat to you, Princess, had I a hat-- or arms for that matter."
"You... you know me?" Edith asked hesitantly, beginning to distance herself from the rock. One step after another, she backed away, but suddenly let out a startled shriek. She was falling once again. Merry laughter echoed around her, and puffs of wind tossed her this way and that. Out of the darkness, a whirlwind of bats fluttered and chirped, their clammy wings slapping against her face. Edith threw her hads over her head.
"So you do not like the bats?" came the voice of the stone, "Perhaps flying fish will be more to your fancy!"
Immediately the bats were gone, but she was instead surrounded by scores of dripping, slimy flying fish. As she continued to decend they flipped around her, and waves of salt water splashed out of nowhere, stinging her eyes and drenching her. The merry laughter burst out once again.
"Well," said the voice, "you seem to enjoy neither bats nor fish, but what about butterflies, will they please you?"
As with the bats the fish instantly disappeared, only to be replaced by a swarm of large butterflies. Edith remained with her arms protecting her head, motionless but still falling ever downward. Then she heard another voice, firm and powerful, but ever so gentle.
"What is this, Marius? Tormenting a weary child?" came the voice, "She is innocent and tired, and deserves your care not your teasing; I would expect more of you. Now, let there be an end to this."
The butterflies vanished, and Edith found herself slowly drifting down, like a feather, to land softly on the warm sand of the desert. A gorgeous red sunset graced the horizon with it's dying brilliance as the first stars awakened and opened their twinkling eyes. Edith lay still.
"Marius, Marius," the voice chided, "after these many years you are forgetting what it is like to be tired, and hungry, and alone. You are forgetting the confusion that comes with being human, that insecurity and doubt. Do you not remember that once you were just like this girl, alone and discouraged? Marius, do not forget your dignity. Pleasure at the expense of the helpless only drags you further down. Do not give up hope like so many of your brothers, but cling to what you know. Remember what I told you?
"Yes, Farran, teacher, I remember...but...it just...it seems like the time will never come."
"But the time will come, Marius. Have patience."
"Yes, teacher."
"Good. Now, I have a job for you, to keep you occupied and out of trouble. You are to say near this girl. Gaurd her against those who would decieve her and guide her in the right direction. She will play a very important part in the plan, and even I do not fully understand her role. Protect her. Now I must be off, and you must ensure that she reached the dwelling of Sara."
"I shall, my teacher."
The voices of the two dream spirits faded away and Edith realized that she had only been semi-concious the entire time. As the last rays of the sun dissipated into darkness, she let out a long sigh and relaxed in a deep peaceful slumber.

--Thomas H

16: The Infiltration of Stranfordam

2008-07-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

Maximiliano bounced nimbly up and down on his toes and nearly giggled with excitement. He simply loved playing this role. The Cock frequently made use of disguise and deception in his dastardly deeds, and today was no exception. Maximiliano was part of a quickly assembled team disguised as a nobleman and his servants. The ploy designed to gain access into Stranfordam, Sir Edward's estate just a few miles south of the City of Tears, and see what they could find out about the Knight of the Peacock. He would be acting as the nobleman, and The Cock, along with several other skilled men like trackers, archers, locksmiths, and so on, would be his servants. Maximiliano took a deep breath and gained his composure. Throwing his chest forward and tilting his head back slightly in a disdainful fashion, he rode slowly to the gate of Stranfordam.

Now the great Hall of Stranfordam had been a noble and revered place prior to Edward receiving it. Legend told of great parties, balls, and feasts in the past centuries that would go on for days on end. The acres around the main building were said to be the most fertile in the Desert of Dreams, perhaps even better than those of Wellington in the north, and the land yielded a vital portion of Nuvanderim's food supply. Like nearly everything else in the Desert of Dreams, the estate had fallen upon somewhat hard times, but it was still fairly productive and important to the city's people. Maximiliano was nearly at the gate when a small hatch opened in the gatehouse to the left, and the face of a skinny, pale, man emerged. "Greetings sir, who seeks entrance into the Hall of Sranfordam?"
"Why sir," said The Cock, disguised as a servant, "Do you not recognize ze Earl of Fulgencio?"
The gatekeeper was confused, "Fulgencio?"
"Why of course, ze Lord of dis place, Edvard ze Fourth, is expecting his arrival."
"I'm afraid Sir Edward is away on a quest."
The Cock gave Maximiliano a quick look, "Away questing eh, do you know vere he is?"
"I do not, sir, his knightship has been acting a bit strange and discreet of late and has spoken little of his intentions." The Cock again gave Maxilimiano a knowing glance as the gatekeeper continued, "Speaking of which, I know nothing of your visit either sir, there are no visitors scheduled for weeks."
"For veeks?!?!?!" Maximiliano roared suddenly, dismounting and sauntering over towards the gatehouse, "I have traveled 'for veeks' to get here and you know nohsing? Sir Edvard invite me here himself."
The man began to get nervous, "I assure you sir I was not informed. Perhaps if you returned next month--"
"I did no' come so far to turn back." the disguised Maximiliano interrupted him, giving the gatekeeper and hard look "We vill vait....out here if need be."
The man took the ploy, "Oh no, I assure you, good Earl, that will not be necessary. Stranfordam is always open to friends of Sir Edward the Fourth."
"I should hope so," Maximiliano replied wryly, "now let me in."
The gatekeeper nodded quickly and disappeared. Within seconds the great wooden gates swung open, and the disguised party entered. Several servants came in and took the horses away, while two more led the men to their rooms. "I vonder," The Cock said to one of the servants, "If I could no take a peek at Edvard's quarters vile he is out? You see, I am ze chief aid to ze Earl, and am always interested in ze, shall ve say, 'luxuries' of other men of his status."
"Uhhh, I'm not sure, few men are allowed inside his quarters," the servant replied, "but it is just down this hall to the right if you wish to speak with the guards."
"Of course, I understand completely. Now ver is my room?"

Later that night, after everyone had fallen asleep, The Cock woke up. He had scoped out much of the Hall, earlier that day, meeting the cook, observing the guards, exploring the stables, and examining other areas of weakness and exploitation. It had almost been too easy. Silently, he crossed over to where Ermegildo, one of his men, was sleeping and shook him. The man woke without a word, he knew the plan. Both tiptoed out of their room and down the hall to Sir Edward's chamber. Just as planned, the guards were fast asleep, victims of a few smuggled ingredients into their ale. The Cock promptly checked the men for keys and found nothing. It did not surprise him, something suspicious was going on with this Sir Edward, and there was no reason that anyone would need to access his quarters anyways. This, of course, is why The Cock had brought Ermegildo along. He himself could, admittedly, pick most simple devices, but Ermegildo was an expert who had never met an unlockable device. Edward's door was no exception; Ermegildo removed several small pieces of metal from a pouch he always carried, and within seconds they were in. The Cock quickly closed the door and lit a small torch. To be sure, the room was impressive, if not a bit messy. Rich velvet blankets with gold lining graced a massive bed. On the wall hung a great tapestry with a peacock woven into it. In one corner stood a magnificent suit of armor, in another sat a small table with piles of coins on it, in yet another lay a massive oaken chest, filled with maps, small blades, and other various items that looked very old and important. Despite all the valuables, it was this last item that caught The Cock's attention. On top of the chest lay a very old looking map. There was no doubt that it depicted the Desert of Dreams, but several items caught the master thief's attention. First, was a city in the northeast corner that he had never seen nor heard of. Second was the name "Methuselah" scrawled in the corner, along with the words "dream spirits," "Jard," and "Kelthisad."
"Hey, you're not allowed in here!" both the Cock and Ermegildo turned to see a guard in the doorway. The Cock swore under his breath, he had forgotten that the guard might be changed. What he didn't forget, though, was a backup plan. No matter how secure the operation, he never operated without at least one alternative option. In several swift movements, he tucked the map way in his shirt, grabbed a jewel-studded knife from the chest, unsheathed it, and threw it at the man, pinning his arm to the wall. His aim was a bit off, but sufficient. The guard screamed in pain as Ermegildo rushed forward, grabbing a sword from the armor display and using the heavy pommel to knock the man unconscious. The Cock grabbed another dagger from the chest, drawing several rooster feathers from his hat and dropping them on the floor in the process. "Someone vill have heard ze man! Is time to go, vake ze others. Zey know vat to do."
Ermegildo nodded and ran down the hall back to their rooms. The Cock headed the opposite way , stopping at the second window he came to, climbing out of it, and dropping silently into the courtyard near the stables. Above, he could hear the escalating clamor of armor and men's voices. He had little time...but he only needed a little time. In seconds, he had released four saddled horses (they would have to ride double) and lead them out a small side gate and into the open country. The last horse had just exited when a horn went off inside the hall. A few moments later, The Cock heard someone lock behind him as he met up with his men. As was the custom with nobility, they had been given a room with a clear view overlooking the countryside, and consequently, a room that could be easily escaped from. The small band of thieves mounted the horses and galloped off into the night. A lone arrow whizzed behind them but it was too late. Despite the plans going wrong, they had all escaped without a scratch, yet with the cryptic map and one of Sir Edward's find daggers. The Cock smiled to himself, too easy indeed.

--Andrew C

15: Close Calls

2008-07-02T15:17:00.000-07:00

Edith aimlessly strolled the barren dessert of dreams. The only instruction she was given was to find the Woman of the Hidden Stream, which she had no clue how to find. Nature proved to be a problem for Edith also, the blazing heat scorched her tong and drained her energy, and the heavily layered dress she wore didn't help matters. She considered taking it off but remembered that hundreds of the king's men were probably out looking for her. She settled upon awaiting until evening to continue her search. Finding a somewhat shaded area, Edith stopped to rest. She tried to throw all emotions aside and concentrate solely her mission. She had to find the Woman of the Hidden Stream soon, or she would starve.
"If only Methuselah was here. Oh! Why did he have to die! Why!" cried Edith as she fought the tears back. She felt hopeless as she stared into the sunset over the hills. Edith was about to lie down to rest when she saw a head pop up over a hilltop.
"Oh no, could father's men already find me?" she thought. But as the figure reached the top of the hill, Edith realized it wasn't one of the Kings men, he was far to old.
"Methuselah!" she cried as she ran towards the old man. "Methuselah! Its you! You're alive! Methuselah! Oh how glad I am to see you! Methuselah, Speak to me! Methuselah?" Methuselah smiled sympathetically. Edith ran to hug Methuselah, but her arms swiped right thought him. Again she tried, throwing her hole body into him. With nothing to catch her, she fell to the ground. Then the sun dropped behind the horizon, and Methuselah disappeared. Edith wept bitterly in her hands for a long time until she could weep no more. Eventually, she gained the strength to raise her head, and she saw a sign of hope. A small stream trickled at the foot of the hill.

Jard searched the remains of Methuselah's house looking for any pieces to the large puzzle he had to solve. He was soon was discouraged, however, because the place was destroyed even more thoroughly then he thought. He man who destroyed the place obviously wanted no evidence to survive. Jard was on the brink of total discouragement when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted shreds of a white cloth tangled in a bush, just to the south of the hut. Jard went to grab it and found that it was part of a dress. Instantly, a thought curred to Jard.
"This is Edith's dress. Its not the old man they were after, it was Edith!" said Jard.
"You better go find her." Said a man.
"Edward?" Said Jard as he turned. "What did you do with her?! What?!" Cried Jard.
"Oh, I didn't touch her." Said Edward.
"Then why are you always here?"
"Same reason you are, to find the Princess. What nobler and more perfect quest then rescuing the Princess?" Said Edward.
"Then why is this house burned down and who tried to kill Edith?" said Jard.
"How would I know? All I know is the Princess is gone and I'm going to find her." replied Edward.
"Well I'm afraid you won't need to find her, because well, I am." said Jard.
"No, you see Jard, I already know where the princess is, I'm here because of you."
"What?" Said Jard confused.
"You see, I knew you would be here, I knew you would want to save the Princess, and I knew you would come here to find news. Only one man can save her Jard, you would only get in the way." said Edward menacingly as he drew his sword
"What? Edward, you can't be serious? Edward, don't!" cried Jard, but Edward ignored him.
"Please Edward! Stop!" said Jard as he was forced to draw his own blade.
"No Jard." said Edward, raising his sword. And so the battle began. Jard had the greater strength, but lacked the techniques and skills that Edward possessed. Also, Jard's weapon was of inferior craftsmanship compared to the knight, and wouldn't last forever. Edwards eyes blazed yellow as the battle raged. The two exchanged blows until both men gasped for breath. With a sudden burst of adrenalin, Jard ferociously battered Edward, pushing him back. Jard forced Edward to the wall and struck a blow that Edward would not be able to withstand.
Crack! Jard's sword broke in two as it struck Edward's. Edward retaliated with a quick swing at Jard, who barely lunged to the side. Edward quickly followed up his stroke with a powerful gauntleted punch at Jard's face. Despite his improved reflexes, Jard could not dodge it and toppled to the floor.
"Edward...what happened to you?" cried Jard as he lurched in pain.
"Huh, well I suppose I can tell you now." Edward sighed, then smiled as he reveled his plans. I'm not going to find Edith because I love her, I'll be plenty wealthy without her. No, its merely Methuselah's dagger she caries that I want. That was why I burned the house down and killed Methuselah. Methuselah needed to die, the man was evil and, fortunately very foolish. For he told me everything I needed to know to become King. You see, I had plans to take the throne before, but the news he brought far out did any of my plans. He told me how to release the greatest army the world has ever known; the dreams spirits. Now I will not just become King of the desert of dreams, but of the entire world. So, when I kill Edith, take the dagger, and—." Said Edward as he was cut off.
"Don't touch her!" Cried Jard, his head still throbbing.
"Haha, don't worry Jard, you'll be long dead anyways. Now where was I? Oh, the fool Kelthisad, king of the dream spirits. He thinks he's going to share the throne, but you see I'm just going to kill him the minute he comes back. Haha, fool. There can only be one king Jard, and its going to be me, but as for now, I think your time has come. Goodbye Jard." Said Edward, and he raised his sword to strike.
"Gahhhh!" cried Edward, turning as an arrow struck his shoulder. Almost without thinking, Jard quickly spun around, tripping Edward. Suddenly, the corrupted knight was at a disadvantage, and he desperately scrabbled towards his horse.
"Sssst!" Another arrow wised right past his ear. Edward lunged for his horse and whipped it, barely holding on. The powerful horse galloped away just before Edward could get in reach.
"Jard! What happened? Are you okay?" cried Jard's best friend, Peter.
"I'm fine, just give me a second." Replied Jard.
"Your face! You're not fine, there's a pool of blood. Here take my shirt." Peter tired to pull his shirt off, but it got stuck at his head. Disparately, he tried to yank the sweaty cloth off. He eventually pulled it off, revealing a hefty white stomach. He proceeded to to rap it around Jard's face, but soon realized he needed more. He desperately glanced around...then his eyes turned to his pants. Peter continued to sloppily bandage Jard with his trousers. Only a small amount of blood trickled from Jard where he didn't have the resources to bandage him. Peter reached for his undermost garment.
"Peter stop! I...I'm fine, just get me a drink of water." Said Jard.
"Right away Jard, I will not fail you." promised Peter as he ran off, still in naught but his underwear. Jard's head hurt more than he could ever remember, but he couldn't help but smile at Peters undying loyalty.

--JBC

14: Urgent Counsels

2008-06-28T18:21:00.000-07:00

The great counsel sat in silense. The old oaken clock ticked monotonously, then suddenly broke the silence with three loud bongs. Three o'clock. King Horatio the NVN jittered with excitement in his seat. Felipe, sitting next to him, leaned over and whispered something. Horatio smiled.
"Just wait," he whispered back.
The echos of the clock chime faded and the ticking resumed. Gathered around the table, the nobles of the city waited quietly for the final member of the counsel to arrive. Finally, the door at the end of the room creaked open and Sir John, a baron of Nuveranderim entered.
"My humblest apologies, o King, at my delay. I am afraid--"
"Don't you worry yourself about it," said the King amiably, "no one minded the short wait. Now please have a seat."
Sir John stared in surprise. This was not the response he had been expecting. He detected a sense of foreboding lingering in the countenances of everyone besides the King and Felipe, but nothing else seemed wrong. The King smiled. Felipe rubbed his hands. Sir John sat down.
A long silence ensued, ended by a loud crash as Felipe fainted and toppled from his chair. The King, aghast, stuttered as if trying to muster up words. Finally he succeeded.
"EXECUTE MY ROYAL WHOOPIE CUSHION MAKER!!!!" he bellowed, "This is inexcusable!!!! I am calling off the counsel!!!!"
"My Liege, begging your pardon," put in the king's servant, "but this incident is minor compared to what could be happening to you daughter right now!"
"Did you not hear me! I am calling off the counsel! My daughter can wait! Now get out of my sight! Execute my royal whoopie cushion maker, and raise the taxes ten percent while you're at it! I am going to bed!"
With that King Horatio the NVN stormed from the room. A groan came from beneath the table.
"I think I may have bruised my cheekbone," whined Felipe, struggling to stand up, "but despite the overwhelming pain I can think of nought but my poor love, Edith, lonely and alone--Ouch! Oh, my toe! I think it may be bruised as well! But I cannot allow physical wounds to hinder me! Edith is in danger, and must be rescued! Forget the counsel! I am off!
Felipe dashed out the door, and a sound very much like that of a man in full armour falling down a flight of stairs ensued. Then silence reigned again. The men around the table stared at each other, waiting for someone to speak. Eventually, Sheriff Bob stood up.
"It theems to me that that the dithapearanth of Printheth Edith ith too great a dithathter to be ignored. I thay that we continue the counthel even though the King is abthent."
There was a murmur of agreement.
"I propoth that we handle thith matter thientifically, and thouroughly exthamine all the evidenth we have. Then we will determine our acthion."
"Let us begin, then!" shouted Sir John, and the counsel was underway.

The water wheel of the old abandoned mill groaned and creaked as it struggled to make yet another revolution around its rotting axle. Cascading over the small waterfall, the river continued to propel the wheel on, year after year. The nearby residents cared nothing about the mill; it had no place in their daily lives and there was no reason why it should. No one ever paused to think how once this tumbledown, water-logged, mossy structure had been the most successful mill in the city. But when the owner died, and another man who knew nothing of the miller's trade bought the property, it fell into disuse. The old customers merely went other places to buy their flour. It was under this new landlord that the mill became nothing more than rustic scenery-- and a hideout for criminals.

As the splashing river and moaning planks made other sounds inaudible, two such men were holding an urgent conversation within.
"Was there anyone else there?" Edward was frantically prodding his accomplice.
"I...I think so...It looked like the old man was speaking to someone who ran out a back door as soon as I shot."
"Was this person holding anything?"
"Well, I couldn't see that well, and I wa-"
"Was the person holding anything!"
"I...think she was..."
"It's a 'she?' You're sure?"
"She was wearing a dress, I am almost certain."
"What kind of dress?"
"I...well I assume the usual sort of dress."
"Did she look like she was used to wearing that kind of dress?"
"Sir! I don't know that!"
"And you said she was holding something?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"I don't know, exactly. She had something--a box I think--and then the old man gave her something else, and then she ran."
"What did he give her?!"
"I couldn't tell, Sir."
"Oh why did I hire you idiot! Which way did she run?"
"North, Sir. Toward the gate."
Sir Edward, sat solemnly in thought for several minutes, then looked up.
"Richard, I believe it is time I set out and rescued princess Edith, don't you think?"
"Wha--"
"Good. We'll be off tomorrow. I'll expect you to have everything prepared for us to leave the city."
"Yes sir."

--Thomas H

13: Voyages and Framings

2008-06-26T18:41:00.000-07:00

Sir Bruce of Wellington rose early the next morning. The sailor's warning's had not fazed him a bit and he had slept well. "'Tis a grand day for sailing." he said to himself, squinting in the bright morning sun coming through the window and pulling a light coat of chain mail, something he only took off when he slept, over his head. "Yes, what better day to start an quest so noble, so upright and so selfless as the search for the Golden Isle." He headed downstairs, grabbing and quickly consuming a bowl of hot porridge. "Do pass the compliments of Sir Bruce of Wellington, Knight of Nuvanderim in the Desert of Dreams, subject of his honor King Horatio, bearer of the red--"
"Yeah, yeah," the young inn-servant he had been speaking to cut him off, "whom should I pass the compliment to."
"The inn-keeper of course," Bruce replied, "He has a fine business here. Farewell young lass." He walked over to the stables, mounted his horse, and galloped into the streets. "Now to the docks," he thought. Even though Bruce was not always the most intelligent knight (he preferred to rely on his strength in most situations anyways), he did possess a very keen sense of direction. Summoning this instinct, he judged the sea to be, more or less, to his left, and rode in that direction accordingly. His guess proved to be correct, and, after a bit of asking around, he was soon speaking with a man called Gottfried. As it turned out, Gottfried had fallen upon hard times. For years, he had been known as one of the most skilled, and cunning mariners in the sea, but several storms, a shipwreck, and a mysterious encounter to the North had ruined his reputation and cost him all but his first ship, the Fair Gwenllian, and his fiercely loyal first mate, Puck. It was clear that Gottfried was a desperate man, and, lucky for Bruce, a bit superstitious after his most recent voyage to the North. "You realize, good sir," Gottfried said, "that few, if any, sailors give any credence whatsoever to the stories of old Ralph and Dekel."
"Be that as it may," Bruce replied, "I have faith in the man. Ralph, that is. Dekel may have imagined a spirit in his mind, but no one sees a island unless it is really there."
"Do not dismiss such spirit stories so lightly," said Gottfried, "There is something very different about those northern waters. Enough of this, though, you say you are willing to finance a voyage east, into open and uncharted seas, in search of the Golden Isle?"
"That is my proposal indeed," came the knight's reply, "I have nearly one hundred crowns with which to purchase the necessary supplies, as well as a guaranteed ten acres of land and two-hundred crowns to every sailor upon successful completion of the journey."
Gottfried stroked his short beard thoughtfully and gave Bruce a hard look. "A generous offer, o knight. May I assume that the captain of such a voyage will be further rewarded?"
"Why of course, of course!" Bruce exclaimed, "A ship of your choice and command of the entire Desert of Dreams navy should I go on to succeed Horatio as king. Which," he added, "I almost certainly will. What say you man?"
Gottfried paused for a moment, then spoke, "I must admit, Sir Bruce, that there is little left for this captain to live for, it will take nothing short of a miracle to regain what I've lost. I have become very desperate man." He paused again, the smiled recklessly and grasped Bruce's gauntleted hand, "And you have just won this desperate man over. Puck, oversee Gwenllian's resupply and find me a crew, keep the, er, details of our trip as vague as possible, but tell them of Sir Bruce's offer, we sail at dawn tomorrow."
"Aye sir!" Puck threw a quick salute and scurried off towards the more crowed area of the port. Gottfried turned and motioned for Bruce to follow him, "As for us, knight, I think we'd best have a chat with old Ralph."

Barely a blade of grass rustled underfoot as a hooded figure made his way through the sparsely wooded foothills south of Nuvanderim. Following a faint path that only a handful of men knew of, he glanced furtively in every direction for anything suspicious. Nothing. Up above, a lone hawk circled in the sky. To his right, a cow grazed on the grass, green after the recent rain. Good. The cloaked man jumped over a small stream, stopped at the first oak tree he came to, turned to his right, and walked thirty three paces. He stopped by a small boulder and tapped it deliberately three times. Without warning, an arrow fletched with rooster feathers thudded into the ground less than an arm-span away. "Identify youself," a commanding voice came out of nowhere. The man relaxed and removed his hood, "Fear not, for is I: Maximiliano, of ze brotherhood." The voice suddenly became lighthearted, "Maximiliano, you old scoundrel, here to see Ze Cock himself, no?"
"Of course," he responded, all business, "is very important, now shut up and let me enter." In a motion that would have startled most men, the boulder that Maximiliano had tapped suddenly rolled several feet in one direction, exposing a roughly hewn tunnel and complex system of ropes and pulleys that attached to the boulder. Wordlessly, he nodded to the sentry operating the pulleys, grabbed a lit torch, and headed down the tunnel. Hahn Nacosto, as it was known to the few who knew of it's existence, was the hideaway of none other than The Cock himself: expert thief and now leader of his own band of men. Though located outdoors in a small, isolated valley, the only access to the place came through a long, twisting tunnel. One so long and confusing, in fact, that it was virtually impossible for a person to maintain any sense of direction whatsoever. Therefore, when someone arrived at Hahn Nacosto he would have essentially no geographical idea where he was. Not so with Maximiliano; he, as one of The Cock's most trusted agents, was one of the few that had actually worked on the construction of the tunnel, but that is a different story. After more than fifteen minutes of following the lengthy corridor, he exited in the tunnel, squinting despite the fact that the sun had started to disappear over the valley's ridge. He walked swiftly past archery ranges, gardens, chicken coops, and sparring men. Coming to large tree, he grabbed a rope, whistled shrilly, and was whisked up into the foliage. In the trees, Maximiliano walked crossed several catwalks and came to a small tree-house. A voice came from inside, "Maxi, old friend, come in, come in." he did accordingly, and there, lounging in a hammock and twirling a small dagger in his had, was The Cock. The room was sparse, occupied only by an old map on the wall, several candles, a bow and quiver, and a bag of rooster feathers. "Vat news of King Horatio the Fool?" The Cock himself was fairly nondescript. He was a bit taller than most men, and somewhat skinny; his shoulder-length black hair was brushed back, and small goatee surrounded his mouth; his eyes were dark and piercing, and Maximiliano knew from experience that he missed very little. "Horatio?" Maximiliano responded, "Not much, he is little concern at ze moment, but--"
"He is king," The Cock interrupted, "He is always of our concern. Still, continue."
"Of course Cock." Not even Maximiliano knew The Cock's real name. He continued, "I'm afraid you are being framed."
"Framed?" The Cock sat up and leaned forward, "How so."
"A house in Nuvanderim burned down not long ago. Ze arsonist left feathers from a cock on ze grounds. Ze house belonged to old man, uh, Methuselah, ze called him."
"Attacking old men?" The Cock said angrily, "Plundering ze weak?!?! Zat is not my style, zat is not vat I do, vat I stand for! Zis person must be found and," he paused, an wicked smile forming on his lips, "confronted!"
"Zer is more," Maximiliano offered, "Ze morning after, a man was seen searching ze remains. Sir Edvard, zey call him."
"Sir Edvard," The Cock mused, "Ze knight of ze Peacock, if I am no' mistaken. Perhaps it is time ve pay zis, Sir Edvard, a visit, eh Maxi?"
Maximiliano smiled as he caught the look in his leader's eye, "Yes, is time indeed."

--Andrew C

12: Energized!

2008-06-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

Methuselah disparately gasped for air as blood poured out of his chest. He felt death take hold and his face turned pail. With his last gasp he cried out, "Atra Jard Waíse Sköliro! Atra Jard Waíse Sköliro!" A faint smile hovered across Methuselahs face as his body disappeared and the hut collapsed.

Jard woke with an unusual amount of energy. All the sudden, he felt strong and capable. He hurried to the kitchen to eat his breakfast. Jard quickly finished his food, and headed headed towards the lavatory to get ready. Today was a big day for him. He had decided to delay his quest and enter the annual Jousting and fencing tournament. It was the only tournament that was open all citizens. Edith was going to be there and this was he chance to prove his worth. Even better, the King would probably grant him knighthood if he won. He washed himself and went to his mirror to comb his hair. It was hard to grasp, but there was something about his reflection that was different. He looked...Good! Really good.
"Well, its alright with me, Edith is going to love this." Said Jard, still admiring his face. Jard smiled as he readied his horse for the tournament. He saddled his belongings, including a rose he hoped to give to Edith, and trotted towards the arena. He was about half way when he noticed an old house; it had burned to the ground.
"Oh great, probably the result of one of the Kings failed pranks." Thought Jard, "But why would the King play a prank on that old guy? Hmm, very strange," he mused. Eventually, his curiosity took over and he stopped to get a better look. To his surprise, there was a knight there. He was forging through the rubbish as if he was looking for something.
"gahhh! Where is it?" Shouted the knight.
Sensing the knights frustration Jard replied, "Would you like any help?"
"Does it look like I need help?! Now shut up and leave me alone!" Said the knight "Edward?" Jard paused for awhile, "are you ok?"
"I'm fine, now get out of here!" Said Edward. "Ok, as you wish. I just wanted to help." "Leave!" screamed Edward with a strangely evil glare in his eyes. Jard obeyed, still shaken by Edwards behavior. "Since when does Edward act like that? He was always a little rude, but never like this. And why wasn't he away on his quest? Was this his quest? Perhaps that old man had something Edward needed." Thought Jard as he tried to make sense of the incident. He strolled through tournament grounds to meet his friend, Peter. Peter was Jard's esquire, a humorous boy with enormous dreams but, unfortunately, no skills to back them up. Jard was committed to teaching him though, and they practiced nearly every night. Nothing could separate Peter and Jard, they were best of friends. "And here he comes, ten minutes late, and...Looking good! Whoof, what happened to you? Hail Sir Jard the beautiful!" Said Peter, obviously in a good mood. "Aww, thank you Peter. Yea, I don't know, I just drank this green liquid last night, and this is what happened." Jard replied jokingly.
"Oh, right, of course, I should have known." said Peter, playing along, "Um, you didn't happen to save a shot for me, did you?"
"Not a drop." Said Jard as they started to laugh.
"Well, I'm affrayed I'm going to have to hurt you for that!" Said Peter as he jumped on Jard, knocking him to the flour.
"Oh, were playing dirty now, I see." Said Jard playfully. "Well, take this!" Jard grabbed Peter and prepared to lift him off his chest. To their surprise, Peter wasn't just lifted to the side, but in fact, throne half way across the room! They both froze before Peter finally spoke. "Alright Jard, what happened to you?" He sat up gingerly, suddenly realizing another change in Jard, "Why, even you're accent is gone!" He exclaimed.
Jard was equally surprised, "I..I don't know. But I'm not complaining, with this strength and a new tongue there's no way I'll loose the tournament." he said, right before he was interrupted by the tournament official. "Attention, attention one and all! We are sorry to announce that for reasons confidential the tournament will be postponed to a later date. We are sorry for your trouble and hope to have the tournament as soon as possible." Jard sighed at the news. Something wasn't right. The King wasn't even there to rally off one of his hideous jokes. He resolved to at least go to Edith and offer her the rose he brought. "Well Peter, go ahead and go home, I'll be leaving soon." Said Jard.
"Yea, guess there's no sense staying here now. See you soon." Peter replied. Jard waited for Peter was out of sight before heading towards the Castle. He silently went though everything was going to say to Edith. He didn't even bother with knocking on the door because he new they wouldn't except any visitors. He went straight for the Castle wall with Edith's window. With his new strength, Jard scaled the wall with ease. Peaking over the widow, he look into Edith's room: it was empty. He climbed inside to get a better look, but Edith was nowhere to be found. He was just about to leave when he heard footsteps approaching the room. Jard jumped in Edith's enormous closet just before the door opened. "This is ridiculous, why do we have to clean this room five times a day, even though no ones even here anymore." Said a lady.
"I'm afraid we will never understand that King." Said another lady.
"Indeed, I'm not surprised Edith ran away after the way he had treated her. But we better not talk anymore, never know when one of his men might over hear us." Fortunately for Jard, the ladies were lazy and didn't clean the closet. He slowly and quietly left his hiding place And headed out the window. He couldn't help but think of the pain she must have felt in order to run away. "Shes probably alone right now, with no one to comfort her." thought Jard, "I must find her; and the King, the King must be stopped. This strength was given to me for a reason."

Edward lied alone in his bed, dreading the night that would follow. It had been a day since his agent killed Methuselah, and he still had not found his body. "Surely he could not have survived?" Eward thought. "No, he must be dead, no man could survive that." But there was another problem Edward had. He also couldn't find the dagger he was supposed to steal. The night before, Kelthisad had given him specific instructions to take the dagger, but no matter how hard Edward looked, the blade could not be found. Edward knew Kelthisad would not be happy with the news. He desperately tried not to sleep, but eventually his body gave in and Kelthisad gained control. "I see you failed me gain, you good-for-nothing whelp!" Said Kelthisad in total frustration. "I give you two simple tasks, and you fail them both miserably."
"I tried, but the body was not there! And the sword was gone. I...I searched for hours." Said Edward, begging for sympathy.
"Oh, so the body just disappeared, along with sword?" Edward didn't reply. "You're even dumber then I thought! I'm giving you three days to find that sword, or you will learn to dread the night!" Said Kelthisad.
"I will not fail you...My master." Kelthisad smiled as Edward bowed. "The throne will soon be ours." Kelthisad laughed wickedly as Edwards dream faded.

--JBC

11: What Methuselah Saw

2008-06-26T13:11:00.001-07:00

10: Methuselah Falls

2008-06-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

Two cloaked figures crouched in a dark alleyway. One of the men was speaking agitatedly.

"But Sire, mere days ago you considered this man your friend! You sought his advice, and went to him for counsel! How then can you now--"

"Enough, man! You will obey my command! It is true that I trusted him, but I was mistaken. He is an evil deceiver and must die! And he knows too much already." The second man's eyes glowed strangely.

"Sire, I do not understand..." the first man's voice trailed off at the sound of a dagger being drawn. "It is as you wish, Sire. I will kill the man."

"Take these," said the second man, giving him the tail feathers of a rooster, "Scatter them around the area, after you have completed your work. The Cock always leaves them after every crime, and it is best for now that he is blamed."

"Yes, sir." The man scurried away down the alley.

Watching him go, the second talked to himself. "I wish I could have him leave one of these," he muttered, drawing a peacock feather from beneath his cloak, "but for now, I have 'honor' to maintain."

"Princess Edith!" exclaimed Methuselah as he peered out the crack in the door.

"Let me in, quickly, and close the door," she whispered hurriedly. The old man hustled her into the house, taking her to a seat by the fire.

"Before you tell me why you have come, let me go get you something warm to drink." As he hurried away, Edith gazed around at the mysterious objects littering the cottage. Rusted swords, engraved with strange writings hung on the wall. Bottles filled with weird colored liquids were scattered here and there. On a shelf lay the sculls of animals she could not recognize. They seemed to be staring at her. She tried to relax, but found herself clutching the great book even more tightly. Finding Methuselah's house had been difficult, and had taken much longer than she expected. A sympathetic peasant allowed her to hide in his house for some time while the King's men lazily searched the city. When day grew into evening she had borrowed some common garments, and set out on the streets, taking a roundabout way through the back alleys. It was as she neared her destination that the startling incident occurred. When a soldier walked by she had rushed around a corner to be out of sight. But as she rounded the corner, she ran directly into a tall, grim faced man--a man she recognized. It was Sir Edward IV. He showed no sign of recognition, though; and she slipped away apparently unnoticed. Nevertheless, she shuddered in fear as she left. Something in his eyes was strangely terrifying.

"Here's a good hot cup of tea for you," came Methuselah's voice as he entered the room with the steaming beverage. "Now tell me, why have you come?"

The soothing aroma of the fragrant tea calmed Edith and she began.

"I...I don't really know exactly, I just... just had to."

Methuselah nodded in understanding.

"Oh! It's my father!" she burst out, "It's one thing after another! He's so...he just doesn't seem to care about me at all. I mean, he pretends like he does, but I know... Oh! Now he's arranged the worst possible marriage for me! And, and...I've just had to handle so much on my own, with no one to talk to and..." She began crying. "You won't make me go back will you?"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes, dear. But tell me, what is this book you have with you?" Methuselah stared at the book intently.

Taking a deep breath, Edith wiped her eyes. "I don't know, but I felt I had to find out. I found it in the castle treasury...I don't honestly know why, or how, I was in the treasury, but somehow I was and the book was there. And then I took it, I don't know why. It was almost like I had no choice, but I did in a way. When I opened it the writing inside intrigued me. And even more intriguing was the fact that I could only open to the same page, every time. It was written in a strange language, but I felt that I had to know what it said, so I brought it to you."

Methuselah smiled. "You've come to the right old man." Then in a more serious tone, "That book you hold is the Ancient Book of the Great King, the most valuable, mysterious, and powerful book in existence. It is full of prophesies, spells, and the Great Laws of Old." The old man stretched out his hand. "May I look at it?"

Edith handed him the book, and he took it gently in his hands. Gingerly he opened it to a page covered in ancient writing.

"See, that's the page!" exclaimed Edith, "it opens there every time."

"Hmmmm," Methuselah took a long look at the page, "the first part is definitely a prophesy, written in the common tongue of old." He paused for a long time, looking up only after Edith began shifting in her seat. "I suppose I can read it to you." He took a deep breath and began.

When one laughs and many cry

Three will set out in honor's search.

One returns with nought but a lie.

One surveys from seabirds' perch.

These two see all through selfish eye

But fail to see they must choose sides.

The third, the fish, will travel far

To bring to life the infinite race.

The Not Very Nice one will be brought down

But one far worse will take his place.

'Tis said no mortal in the time of dread

can end the reign of Kelthisad.

The quaternary must be complete.

One from the Mountain

One from the Sea

One from the Sky

And the One of Mystery

"The second part is in a strange and ancient language. I think I can make it out."* Methuselah's began to read, but immediately stopped, his eyes scanning the page. He suddenly grew pale. Edith stared at him, worried.

"What's wrong!?" she asked, sensing urgency.

"It's worse than I expected," Methuselah muttered to himself.

Then he looked up, his eyes fearful, but resolute.

"My lady, you must leave this place immediately! The words here hold great power and state many terrible things, but for now they are not yours to know! Quick take this!"

He shoved the book into her hands.

"And wait, you must have something else."

He rushed out of the room, promptly returning with a thin black dagger. It's blade shimmered with an evil light, but was hidden as the old man thrust it into its sheath.

"You must take this as well, hurry."

As he handed her the knife, a strange tingling shot through her body. Edith shuddered. Footsteps thudded in the dark outside. She thought she heard mens' voices.

"Come here!" Methuselah shouted, crossing the room and shoving on a panel of the far wall. It swung out to a deserted alley. "Flee from this place! This path will take you to the city gates! Seek the Woman of the Hidden Stream, and protect the book and the dagger with your life! Go! Now! The time has come!

The window opposite them shattered with a crash. An arrow clattered to the floor. Screaming, Edith grabbed Methuselah's arm and tried to drag him out the passage with her.

"Let go!" He commanded, his voice powerful. "I must remain. Now run!"

A muffled twang. A searing hiss. A thud. Methuselah lurched forward. His eyes widened in pain.

"Go."

Edith fled, sobbing and stumbling. She looked back only once and beheld an enormous burst of flame. Methuselah's old hut crumbled and collapsed. She kept running.

--Thomas H

9: Bruce Enters Fissabent

2008-06-22T20:40:00.000-07:00

Bruce took another deep breath of the sea air as he rode up to the gates of the town. It was certainly no Nuverandim, a wooden wall no more than nine feet high surrounded the village in a rough square, though one side was open to the sea. Rickety towers marked the corners, and two unkempt guards stood by the open gates regulating travelers. Despite such rough appearances, the town bustled with people, probably fisherman and travelers, Bruce thought. "Halt." the less-than-commanding voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked down to see one of the guards standing with a spear haphazardly point at him. "Who seeks passage into Fissabent?" The question sounded like it had been asked hundreds of times a day, which it probably was. "Sir Bruce of Wellington," Bruce replied, "Knight of Nuvanderim in the Desert of Dreams, subject of his honor King Horatio, bearer of the red--"
"Yeah, yeah." the guard cut him off, "carry on. Good day sir." Bruce nodded and rode forward, catching a slight whiff of rum on the man's breath. Many more pungent smells greeted him as he entered Fissabent; so much for the fresh sea air. Bruce glanced around for some sort of inn or tavern, anyplace he could find a hot meal and information about his quest. "You lad!" he called to a young boy, "where is the nearest place for a weary knight to find room and board?"
"Right down this street, and to your left, sir." the child replied, "Look for the Sea Serpent Inn, best clam chowder in the whole world!" Bruce flipped the boy a coin, "Thank you lad, I'll be sure to take you up on that."
The boy was true to his word, the Sea Serpent Inn showed many signs of wear and tear, but it had all that a traveler could ask for: friendly owners, soft pillows, and good food. Bruce was halfway through his bowl of chowder when, upon silently scanning the room's occupants, his ears perked up at the conversation of two grizzled old men. Bronze skin, rough stubble, smoking pipes, tattoos, and gold rings indicated their primary occupation: sailors. "Be that so?" one of them said, "well forget your tales of mind-stealing sea spirits. That be too many days in the sun and you knows it."
"Days in the sun?" the other man responded, "Methinks not, but they ain't no more gibberish than your claim to have seen the Golden Isle."
"'tis true," the first sailor responded, "I seed it with me own eye." He indicated his left eye. The other one had a patch over it.
"Excuse me good sirs." Bruce interjected before the second sailor could say anything, "but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."
"Yer not from around here, are ye?" the sailor without the patch asked. "I most certainly am not!" Bruce responded, clattering as he sat down in his armor, "I am Sir Bruce of Wellington, Knight of Nuvanderim in the Desert of Dreams, subject of his honor King Horatio, bearer of the red--"
"Yeah, yeah," the man with one eye said, "I never put much in all them fancy titles. They calls me One-eyed Ralph, and that's me mate Dekel."
"A pleasure to meet both of you." Bruce put on his best smile. "So what can you, er, 'sea dogs' tell me of these sea spirits, and golden island?"
"Well, your knightship," Dekel said "the sea spirits, also called sirens, is magic beings, capable of invading yer mind."
"tain't true," Ralph responded flatly.
"I just be givin' the general opinion of folks here abouts." Ralph replied, "Whether ye believe such things is up to ye, but I've seen them, nay, felt them."
"Felt them?" Bruce asked.
"Aye, the spirits be invisible, save for the rare occasion when the light shines just right, but that don't matter. 'Tis said that if ye sail too far north in the Desert of Dreams, that the spirits will enter your ship, and either drive ye mad, or magically send ye back the way ye came. I was part of such a voyage. Thank heavens they only sent us back."
"Hmmm," Bruce murmured, "that would explain why there are no seaports where I come from."
"Aye, that it does." Dekel said, taking a puff on his pipe, "'Tis also said that these sea spirits are descended from or related to the landlubbing dream spirits."
"Dream spirits?" Bruce said, half question and half statement. He had heard the name before, years ago, in knight's training, there had been some lecture...He couldn't recall it, he had never been interested in such legends, but perhaps there was some truth to them. "Very well," he said, "now what of this golden island?"
"Haharr, now we're talking cold, hard, facts," Ralph exclaimed, "I was lucky enough to be sailin' with the only crew what's had the privilege of setting eyes on the Golden Isle." His eyes seemed to glaze over as he stared into open space, "beautiful she was, jutting out of the sea, majestic, proud, and the best part, pure gold, all of it! There for the taking by any man-jack brave and blessed enough to walk her shores."
"A golden island!" Bruce exclaimed, drawing the attention of several nearby diners. Here was something worthy of his quest! "I say men, let's be after it! Chart me a course and we'll see sail first thing tomorrow morn!"
"Ah haha, ye didn't let me finish mate." Ralph said, "That island will never see the foot of man."
"'Never' is a strong word," Bruce replied, "surely some man is destined to mine her riches, and, dare I say it, I am that man!" The two grizzled sailors glanced at each other with hardened expressions. "Perhaps ye are, but I doubt it." Ralph leaned back and took a puff on his pipe, "Ye see, Sir Bruce, there be two reasons why I don't believe any man will ever touch the gold of that island. One, she cannot be found. See, the vessel I sailed aboard was sailing a course far out to sea, a farther and more dangerous, but faster route than most captains are willing to risk. Well, one night we were caught in a terrible storm, one of the most fearsome displays I've seen in all me born days. We were driven far off course, and our ship badly damaged. We sailed aimlessly for days, no sight nor sound of anything natural, when I spied the Golden Isle on the horizon."
"Ah, then it is possible to find!"
"I suppose 'tis, but that's a gamble of long odds, ain't it mate? One lone spit of land amid leagues of saltwater?"
"Indeed it is, but it is a chance I am willing to take. All the more spoils, riches, glory, and recognition when I return to take Princess Edith's hand in marriage." Ralph remained skeptical. "There is one other thing. The Leviathan."
Bruce paused, "Leviathan?"
"Aye, a creature out of your worst nightmare. A monster of the deep." He leaned forward. There was raw terror in his eyes, "Picture this mate: a giant serpent, twice, nay, thrice, the width of me arm span and longer than two of our largest vessels. Scales the size of your shield, and twice as think I'll wager. A mouth that can consume ten men in a single bite and use a spear for a toothpick! It attacked and destroyed our ship, I was thrown into the wreckage and me eye gouged out. I floated around for days before Dekel here picked me up, half crazy himself about those sea spirits. 'Course, I count meself lucky. Every other good man aboard was lost, drowned, devoured."
"A likely story," Dekel interrupted. "Last time it could only eat five men." Ralph glared fiercely at him, "Five, ten, what does it matter when the beast can sink a ship with ease?" He shuddered as if trying to forget a bad dream, "'Tis a fool's errand, Bruce, only terror and death await ye at that island."
"All the better, then! I shall have the head of the most powerful creature on earth and riches beyond compare!" Bruce's response took both of the men totally off guard; it seemed that the more dangerous and impossible the story became, the more enthusiastic the knight became. "I don't know what's in that head o' yours," Ralph said, "but I'll be havin' no part of it. Come on Dekel, old mate, 'tis about time we was getting some shuteye. These old bones need more rest than they used to." He turned to Bruce, "Mark my words knight, ye'll find naught but death in the far reaches of the sea."

--Andrew C

8: Edward's Dream

2008-06-22T20:39:00.001-07:00

Edward saw a blur of dark dark images spinning through his head. He saw a castle with such size that it seemed no amount of human labor could construct it. Over it lie a dark cloud that stretched as far as the eye could see. Then he saw a man seated on a throne that hovered in the air as if it was weightless. The man had dark black eyes that penetrated Edwards flesh as he gazed into them. Long red hair flowed out of his iron crown and swayed as the cold breeze swept across his face. His face was totally pail, as if it had never witnessed sunshine. Then the image passed, and Edward saw nothing but dark colors swirling in mind-dazing pasterns. The color focused, and Edward saw a massive portal. It lie on a mountain that stretched miles into the sky. At the top blew a wind so ferocious that Edward sometimes lost sight of the portal that lied merely a few passes in from of him. Edward tired to walk forward and touch it, but he found himself unable to move, as if he were in some void. Once again the image passed and Edward was thrown into a endless spiral of dark colors.
Soon the colors and shapes arranged, and once again Edward saw the man seated in a thrown. Only this time the man spoke.
"Release me Edward, " said the man, "and together we can rule the world. No one could stand in our way."
Edward paused before he said, "You are the man Methuselah spoke of. Kelthisad. You are are evil! You doomed the fate of the dream spirits. For three hundred years you covered the land with darkness. And now you expect me to release you?!"
"You are deceived! Methuselah is the evil one. He betrayed us! He tried to take the throne himself!" Said Kelthisad.
"No, your wrong, Methuselah would never do such a thing!"
"Methuselah Lies! Did he fail to tell you that he, Farran at the time, was the one who killed me?" Said Kelthisad. Edward paused for awhile before Kelthisad continued. "And he destroyed me just so he could could have the throne for himself! But of course he was foolish, and ignorant of the fact that the entire nation would fall with me."
"I don't believe you," said Edward.
"Then perhaps I should show you." Edward passed into another whirl wind of unfocused shapes, utile his eyes focused and he saw Kelthisad quietly sleeping. Then he saw a familiar face silently open the door and walk towards Kelthisad. The face was young, but its identity was unmistakable; it was none other then Methuselah himself. Methuselah raised his dagger and stabbed Kelthisad straight through the heart. And upon the instant, Edward heard the entire race cry out in pain as the nation breathed its last. Edward was overwhelmed by the sound, and woke from the horrible nightmare.

--JBC

7: Edith's Decision

2008-06-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

Edith had made up her mind. And there was no changing it. True, the end of suitors' visits was a relief... but she had made up her mind. That was that. As six of her thirty-five maids helped her get into a dress her gaze slipped to the crevice between the floorboards and the wall, her secret place. It was actually the only place in the entire chamber that wasn't "thoroughly cleaned" each and every day. She knew hardly anything about the ancient, mysterious book that lay within (the schoolmaster her father employed had done his job well), but she knew that it was the only book left that was written by the great King of Old. It had taken all her cunning to sneak it out of the treasury, and she was greatly relieved to discover that the "theft" had been attributed to The Cock, the infamous master thief. Her attention was snapped back to the present as another maid burst in through the door.

"Your father, His Majesty, King Horatio the Not-Very-Nice, ruler of the City of Tears, Lord of the Desert of Dreams, Master of the Million Pranks, etc. etc. wishes to speak with you milady."

Edith sighed. But she knew she had to go.

"Ahh Edith, my lovely daughter!" exclaimed the King when she arrived. His manner was surprisingly cheerful. "Due to your constant indecisiveness in choosing a husband, in addition to a recent series of tragic events, I have deemed it necessary, beneficial, and desirable that I choose a man for you."

Edith grew pale.

"You seem worried, but I assure you that you will find the man I have chosen to be irresistible. He is truly a man after my own heart! You may enter, Felipe."

The door at the opposite end of the room burst open with a resounding crash and a tall gangly figure strutted in. The appearance would have bordered on impressive had his cape not closed in the door. He took a large step forward, jerked back in the middle of it, and tumbled to the floor in a clatter of armour. A loud ripping noise ensued, but was drowned out by the King's joyful laughter.

"Here is the man!" he proclaimed, "Edith, meet Sir Felipe Adajio, your soon to be husband!"

Edith could say nothing. Felipe managed to stand back up, then approached her. He knelt and extended a bouquet of flowers to her.

"Oh, lady, take this humble gift of flowers from your humblest of humble servants. I bought them for their beauty, but they grow hideous in your presence, your own beauty is so radiant!"

Edith was shocked. She had never experienced this before. Maybe her father did know what he was doing after all. She slowly stretched out her arm and took the flowers, wrapping her fingers around the cool bundle of stems, and bringing the bouquet back in toward herself. Could this be happening? Was this finally someone with some sense of goodness? Was...but before she could think any further she was splashed in the face as a stream of water squirted from the bouquet. The King was laughing uproariously. Felipe was hysterical. When she finally cleared her soaked hair from her eyes she beheld them both rolling on the floor, holding their sides. Furiously she stormed out of the room. If there was any chance her mind was not made up before, it was now.

An hour later King Horatio the NVN and Sir Felipe were finally recovering when a servant burst in the door.

"My Liege! Your dau--"

"You forgot my titles," interrupted the King.

"Apologies, your highness. Oh Your Majesty, King Horatio the Not-Very-Nice, ruler of the City of Tears, Lord of the Desert of Dreams, Master of the Million Pranks, etc. etc., your daughter, Edith, is gone!"

"How can this be!?" roared King Horatio.

" A chain of petticoats, tied together, was found hanging from her window. So far our searching has revealed no other sign of her."

"Woe is me!" wailed Felipe," My love is alone somewhere in this cruel world! Her perfect feet were never meant to traverse the rough terrain of a common road! Her beautiful blond hair--or no, I mean brown hair--was never meant to be scorched by the blinding rays of the outdoor sun! Something must be done!"

"Raise the taxes fifteen percent!" Bellowed the King, "That always solves the problem!"

"My Liege, if I may be so bold," the servant interjected meekly, "our economy is already in a terrible state."

"Make it twenty percent then! Now get out of my sight before I have you beheaded!"

The servant scuttled from the room.

"Oh King," began Felipe, "I shall be the one to rescue your gorgeousest of gourgeous daughters from the deadly peril she is in!"

He whipped out his sword in a wide arc, nearly slicing off the King's head and shredding a wall tapestry completely in half.

"I have been training in sword fighting since I was a boy. No knight in the kingdom is as worthy or well equipped as I to conduct this rescue! Yet is that doubt I perceive in your eyes, oh King?" he asked in surprise. "Perhaps a demonstration of a few of my moves will convince you."

"No, that's quite alright," put in the King, but he was too late.

Edith listened below, and, despite her anger, found herself suppressing laughter. A shout from above was followed by a crash, and Felipe's sword thudded into the ground nearby amid a tinkle of glass shards.

"Oopsies!" came Felipe's voice from above.

Edith ducked out of sight, and set off down an alleyway. Beneath her arm she carried the book. She was leaving the castle, at least for a considerable amount of time. Where she was going, she knew not. Just away. First though, she had to talk to Methuselah.

--Thomas H

6: Sir Bruce, the Dagger, and Practical Jokes

2008-06-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

Sir Bruce breathed deeply the fresh sea air. Ah yes, the sea, this would be the real way to travel. While that fool Edward was off consulting an old, superstitious man, and that other knight--what was his name? Oh that's right, Bruce chuckled to himself, Jard, but the poor lad wasn't even a knight yet. No matter where he went, he definitely wouldn't be any factor in Bruce's quest to win Princess Edith's hand and thus the kingdom.

Bruce laughed again, "Pffff" he said to himself, "dream spirits." Quite frankly, he doubted their very existence, "legend, stories to frighten children at night, nothing more," he murmured. Old Ed will be running all over the Desert of Dreams and accomplished absolutely nothing, while he took to the high seas in search of of golden islands for the claiming and dangerous sea monsters for the slaying. "Yep, that'll be me!" said Bruce, who was suddenly feeling rather giddy. A small coastal town had appeared on the horizon, and he could see several sets of masts and white sails near the mouth of the bay upon which the town was built. Fluffing the feather in his helmet, and whistling a merry tune, the knight of the red wolf rode on towards the village.

Meanwhile, Methuselah sighed as Sir Edward galloped quickly off into the distance. "That's the problem with this generation," he muttered, "no faith, no respect or care for things unseen. No knowledge of the old ways." Slowly, he turned around, walked back into his cluttered hovel, and descended into the cellar. Grabbing a cracked mug and filling it with ale (which he always had on tap), the old man opened an old chest. Reverently, he removed the chest's lone occupant: it was called Duvrijad, the dagger Farran had used to murder Kelthisad many years ago. "I doubt that even this would have convinced him." Methuselah thought, "no, it definitely would not have. Besides, the young fool would likely have mocked it along with the rest of the truth." His face darkened, "and it would be a dangerous thing to take such a relic so lightly." The old man had conveniently left out the part of the tale that told that Duvrijad, since it had spilled the blood of a sorcerer, had certain properties far beyond that of a mere physical blade. "One of these days," Methuselah took a long drink of his ale, "one of these days the right man will come, but until then it had best be kept secret."

Meanwhile, meanwhile, King Horatio the NVN was angry...really angry. It had all started last week when one of this pranks on the city sheriff (the most brilliant, creative, and dastardly in Horatio's memory) had gone horribly wrong. The idea was that Sheriff Bob, a fat, pompous, outspoken, and rude man who talked with a lisp, would end up in front of the entire city in his pajamas. Unfortunately (for Horatio the NVN at least) the guards instructed with carrying out the deed became drunk on the job and ended up mistaking Horatio (no beanpole himself) for the Sheriff. Thus, it was the naughty king that ended up in front of his subjects with nothing to say but "excuse me, I'm afraid there's been a mistake." The citizens, of course, found it absolutely hilarious that one of the king's pranks had finally backfired on him, and it was days before he dared made any public appearances. The next annoyance occurred when a presently at-large thief managed to break into the royal treasury. When the treasurer examined it in the morning, though, only a single ancient book, and very rare volume at that, was found missing. Granted, it was not the loss that enraged Horatio (he cared little for such things) but the fact that someone had managed to breach the castle's security. Finally, the pheasant meat, a favorite of the king, at yesterday's dinner had been spoiled. This was the last straw for Horatio; in a terrible rage, he promptly placed the entire guard on half-rations, had the cook tarred and feathered, and suspended any and all visits from suitors to princess Edith. As you probably suspect though, this last "punishment" really wasn't much of a punishment at all. Rather, Edith welcomed the change. The suitors, quite frankly, bored and depressed her, and she relished the chance to spend more time horseback riding and simply walking alone in the castle garden.

--Andrew C

5: Edward Meets Methuselah

2008-06-22T20:34:00.000-07:00

Sir Edward the IV rose early the next day to meet an old friend named Methuselah who he hoped would give him information on his quests to defeat dream spirits and gain honor. He didn't really like Methuselah and his superstitious beliefs in wild fairy tales, but he was very knowledgeable of distant quests. The man seemed to have a mysterious edge to him that pierced the flesh of whom he talked to. He was very old and every wrinkle and scare on him seemed to tell a story. Edward hoped to get the information he needed as quickly as possible and escape before the old man got on one of his stories.
Sir Edward the IV tied his horse and walked towards Methuselah's door, noticing the many strange items that filled the yard as he walked.
"Who's bothering me now," said Methuselah as Edward walked in.
"just need some quick information and I'm out of here," said Edward.
"We'll, come, sit down and we discuss whatever you want," said Methuselah.
They made their way around the mysterious house , passing by ancient artifacts that hung on the walls. Edward always wondered where The old man got everything he had. They sat down next to the fire and began to discuss the quest Edward was planning on talking.
"Look, all I need to know is where I can find the dream spirits and how to destroy them," Said Eward plainly.
"Find dream spirits? What are you talking about," said Methuselah confused.
"Yea, the creatures that people talk about that haunt them in their sleep," said Edward.
"You really do have no clue what dream spirits are do you?" Said the Methuselah in disbelief.
"Apparently not."
"dream spirits are...well, spirits." The old man sighed before he began the long story.
"The dream spirits are a sad tale really. They were once men who lived with pride and dignity. They were the strongest race the world ever new. Throughout their existence they were blessed with wise kings who ruled the nation well, until Kelthisad came into power and the nations magnificences was diminished. Kelthisad was a master sorcerer who used magic to poison the minds of his people. For three hundred years the nation was ruled by the evil King. It was then that a man named Farran at the time, escaped the curse of Kelthisad and stabbed him though the heart while he was sleeping. Little did he know though, that Kelthisad's flesh was tied to his peoples through dark magic. The people were not severed from curse, and with Kelthisad, so fell the entire race.
The souls of the race remain bound to the world even to this day, and will be forever. Although they have no flesh and can fiscally harm no one, they are still quit potent. They can enter the minds of men and distort their thoughts and feelings. They tend to come while your sleeping because thats when your mind is loosest, though they can can penetrate the mind during the day if its weak enough. The dream spirits have been plaguing the town with nightmares ever sense Kelthisad and his race was destroyed.
The dream spirits have been alone in the dessert of dreams for over a thousand years, and unable to accomplish their dreams. They have to watch as weddings are performed and babies are born. They timelessly watch time pass as men are born and die. They watch as people aimlessly throw they lives away, and they can do nothing about it. The dream spirits truly are a sad story.

There is one way that the dream spirits can be freed from there fate, however, the ice of the frozen portal must must be shattered. Its a long and treacherous path to reach the frozen portal. Many dark and powerful enemies lurk along the path, waiting to pounce on anyone near. But, I'm affrayed it must be done if the King is to be overthrown. For there was a prophecy that the dream spirits would be the ones to end the reign of a not-very-nice king. But one must be careful when freeing them, for Kelthisad will gain flesh just like the others. Although he wouldn't have magical power, his words alone will poison mans thoughts if they are not careful. That man is evil—body and soul."
"*Clap*clap*clap* wonderful story! Hahahaha, that really is a good one." Said Edward practically choking from laughter. The old man simply sighed.
"You don't really expect me to believe that do you?" Said Edward.
"It's up to you," said Methuselah.
"Yea, well I don't believe you, and the only thing thats going to overthrow the king is the cold steal of our blades ferociously pounding the life out of the mental kings men! I'm affrayed magic is long dead old man." Said Edward as he stormed away.
"Only forgotten," uttered Methuselah to himself. "And soon reborn."
Sir Edward slowly trotted home, unable to take his mind away from Farran's tale. There was something about that man that just wasn't right. Somehow Farran's story seemed so familiar, almost as if he had seen everything the old man described. Eventually, he convinced himself that he was just tiered because of the Kings ridiculous pranks robbing him of his sleep.

--JBC

4: The Knights Begin

2008-06-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

"I can't stand that ridiculously immature 'King'" announced Sir Edward IV for the fifth time that morning. "All of his lame childish pranks drove me off the edge!" he had lasted only a few days, as mentioned before, 3 days to be exact. Which was plenty of time for the mentally challenged king to play 14 different pranks. The king had secretly changed Edwards mattress out for one covered in ticks. He had the hinges on servants door across the hall changed for old rusty ones that squeaked. So for those three nights Edward got no sleep. But the final straw was when the King had put wax in front of the knights chair, where he slipped in front of the whole court. With having no sleep in three days the knight was a little bit agitated. To make matters worse the whole court was laughing at him uproariously. So he stormed out of the banquet hall, raving mad. Where he missed the standard glue in the chair trick, which was played on the duke of Kentenfod.

"Oh quit whinning, you weren't a good match for Edith anyway," replied Sir Bruce, "You see, I was. I knew from the beginning, so that is why I started with a proposal."

"That was a TERRIBAL approach!" Exclaimed Edward nearly shouting, "She dumped you at first sight! It wasn't love at first sight but DUMPED at first sight!"

"No she just has to know me better that is the whole purpose of this quest, to win the ladys heart!"

"Y'all are jist over raten 'ur cham, but I is jist a low-ly squire, wid naw name." Interjected Jared with a heavy peasant drawl.

You're just jellous because you aren't as good looking as us! Countered Edward.

"Fur cryin out loud! She's on-ly 15!" Replied Jarad "Edward 'ur like 30 and Bruce 'ur close to 40!"

"When I have medals and honor after defeating multipul dream spirits, then she will have to marry me whether I am 40 or not." Answered Sir Bruce.

"Not if I do the same!" Shouted Edward "I will return with similar glory and when the dowry…er girl!"

"Har-har I kneeeeeeew yeew two wernt in it fur the princess, but fur the money." Droned Jared in his thick accent.

"Ok just shut it I've had enough of this!" Exclaimed Bruce "Lets focus on our goal then we can argue over the girl!"

The rode all morning…

--Mark

3: Edith

2008-06-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

Edith stared out the window of her chamber, surveying the vast, motionless expanse of the Desert of Dreams; so close to her residence, yet a place she had never experienced, a far away land of mystery. It was a sight she beheld often, as she spent much time just sitting, thinking, by herself. Edith reflected over the past week, but there was nothing new or significant to her. The castle had been visited by the usual crowd of suitors. Vain, conceited men they were. She might have considered courting one of them, had he but spent at least an equal amount of time conversing with her as he did gazing greedily at the riches that surrounded her dwelling. But as usual, they only faked interest in her. To make matters worse, her father had amused himself that week by putting glue in the chair of a visiting landlord. He had previously stretched a string from this chair to the chandelier, upon which several bottles of ink had been precariously balanced. Edith shuddered when she recalled the results. Sighing, she took a bite of a crumpet, grimacing at it's overly sweet taste. Life at the castle was becoming such a misery. She gazed once again out the window, and this time a commotion at the gate aroused her interest. At first she wondered if she had spotted one of the mysterious dream-spirits that supposedly inhabited the Desert of Dreams, but she quickly realized that this was not so. Why did she continue to think on these beings? The king had been denying their existance to her since she was a child. Her thoughts returned to the scene below. Three knights were departing from the castle. A fluttering green banner with an emblem of the peacock announced the identity of the first knight: Sir Edward IV of Stranfordam; she remembered him. Stiff, dignified, and ceremonious, he had only remained her suitor for a few days, before becoming so disgusted with the king's behavior that he left. She smiled. For once, her father had done something beneficial for her, although the fact that it was unintended still remained. She immediately knew the second knight, who carried a batterd red banner with an emblem of the wolf: Sir Bruce of Wellington; another former suitor. Sir Bruce had remained at the castle, for less than one day. Upon being introduced to her, he immediately proposed marriage, she in surprise, naturally refused. With that, he angrily stormed away and she hadn't seen him since. Edith stared hard at the third knight, for he had no banner. The emblem of a fish on his pale blue sheild was unfamiliar to her. Strange, she thought, that she had never noticed him. Every knight in the land seemed to be struggling to put himself in her sight. A rap on the door and the entrance of one of her maids, brought her attention away from the scene below, and she turned away from the window.

--Thomas H

2: Of Kings, Kingdoms, Princesses, Knights, and the like...

2008-06-22T20:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, the start is a bit unclear but I'll see what I can do with it. FYI, the Desert of Dreams is going to be a land, like Narnia, Mossflower, or Kirthanin. There are, however, many foreign lands beyond the Desert of Dreams. King Horatio the Not-Very-Nice (hereafter referred to as "Horatio the NVN") resides in the City of Tears. At least, that's what most Desert of Dreams inhabitants call it. The official name for the city is Nuverandim, which means, in some long lost language: "In (the arms of) peace." People think this is a stupid name, because Horatio the NVN is (needless to say) not a very nice or peaceful guy. Legend tells, though, of a certain prophecy about the city....

There are two main reasons that Horatio has been dubbed "Not Very Nice". One, he taxes his people ridiculously high and gives little of it back to the people. Two, he is the consummate master of dirty practical jokes. In several decades (or all the time Horatio the NVN has been king), not a banquet, birthday, or any celebration has gone by without some innocent baron, baroness, captain, guard, lord, lady, peasant, etc. getting pied in the face, sitting on a whoopee cushion, entering with a mustache drawn on his/her face, finding a rubber snake in his armor, or being the victim of an even more dastardly deed. The occupants of the Desert of Dreams obviously think this is terribly immature, but no one dares tell that to the King's face.

Unlike most fairy tale princesses, Edith is not the most beautiful person in the land. Ugly? No. Good looking? Perhaps. Drop dead gorgeous? Nope. She, does, of course, still have many suitors considering that she is the lone heir to the Desert of Dreams, but all of them are only interested in her for the power and riches. This makes Edith really depressed. What she really wants is someone who can see her and love her for who she truly is as a person. Oftentimes, she is tired of being a princess, and wishes that for once she could be a normal girl like everyone else instead of an immature King's spoiled daughter.

Jard is a young (about 17 yrs old) knight-in-training with the King's high army in Nuverandim. Years ago, he initially showed great promise as a skilled swordsman and rider, and every knight in the army vowed that he possessed skills and natural abilities far beyond their own. As the years and training have gone by, though, Jard has proven to be almost a complete flop. Next month, the top tier of squires will be selected to continue their training for Knighthood, and Jard knows he will not be one of them. Therefore, he has decided that he must somehow prove himself worthy of knighthood. Jard has heard many fantastic (and terrifying) tales about great danger, riches, and fair maidens in the mysterious lands beyond the Desert of Dreams, and so he has decided to embark on a noble quest into these lands in order to make a name for himself and regain what little honor he has lost.

--Andrew C

1: Once Upon a Time

2008-06-22T20:24:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a world known as the Desert of Dreams (the exact awesomeness of that name I will leave to someone els to think come up with). It was ruled by a humorous evil King, whose name was Horatio the Not-Very-Nice. Horatio the Not-Very-Nice didn't care about the people and spent tons of money on himself. There were few who had the guts to speak against the King for fear of being punished, but a few, a rare few, were willing to oppose his rule. The King had daughter whose name was Edith. Beyond the Desert of Dreams city, there were many dangerous quests with large spoils and beautiful fair maidens. Only the bravest knights were willing to face these treacherous lands and most all of them fail. But three men, just three men, were ready to face the challenge.

--JBC

*edit* here's a map to look at, this might help as you read the story:
*2x edit* this map is a work in progress, it will be updated according as the story develops, to check back here if you come across an unfamiliar place.