A Shot in the Dark

Distressing News

2009-02-08T22:20:00.002-05:00

The definition of insanity is doing something over and over and expecting different results. There is a reason this quote gets used a lot.

I hate to say this, but for the time being (specifically the spring semester of 09) I am going to have to be honest and go on a semi-hiatus. I just don't have much time to commit to writing. This is not to say I won't be doing anything writing related, its just to say that its not going to come very fast, if at all. Stupid lack of free time.

The good news is that when this semester is over, I will be done with all my senior level classes, and, unlike the the semesters previous to this one, I'll have LOTS of free time.

Heres to the future.

The Alchemist

Lost Boys Teaser

2009-01-25T02:31:00.002-05:00

Welp, my blog has been sitting neglected for far to long. Time for a bit of a site overhall and a preview at some of my latest work. I am inches from getting this short story done, I only need to write the last chapter. After I get that done I am unsure of what I might do with it, I would actually like to send it off to a magazine or two for the fun of it, but we shall see.

It'll probably make it to full syndication here eventually.

For now, enjoy this preview

-1-

September 20th, 1955

Dr. Patrick Brown
Psychology Department
The Clark Institute for Cognitive Therapy and Research
118 North Street
Bridgeport, Connecticut

Dear Patrick,

God I hope you don’t tear this up. I’ve been sitting here for an awful long time thinking of what to say to you. I’m in trouble and I don’t know what to do. I remembered seeing you in the papers a few years back about your work with that Sorenson fellow. I know we haven’t spoken in years but I didn’t know who else I could turn to, you’re the only head doc I know.

After we parted ways in high school I went to the police academy like I always talked about. Worked as a cop in a lot of crummy little towns. Hated it. Could never catch a break and sooner or later I found myself needing to move on. I finally gave up on all that and went to work for myself. I’ve been a private investigator for ten years now. I’m pretty good at it. Good enough to keep the lights on and food on the table, anyway.

Four days ago I got a call in the office from a woman in West Virginia. She’d gotten my name from a friend of mine in the FBI. Her son had gone missing back on the 9th and after law enforcement had done all they could, she was still unsatisfied. She begged my friend, Nicholas, he was the agent in charge of the case, to keep looking. He told her they couldn’t spend any more time on a case that had no leads, but gave her my number, and the standard promise that something might come up.

I don’t normally do a lot of missing persons work, but I’ve been low on cash lately, so I took the job. I didn’t imagine I’d find anything if an FBI team had already gone over the details, but sometimes you get lucky, so after getting some details from Mrs. Moyer, the missing boy’s mother, and speaking to the local sheriff, I packed my bags and set out for a small town called Kingswood in the mid-eastern portion of the state.

Right now I’m sitting in police lockup. I found the boy, and while you must be wondering what any of this has to do with you, please just wait. I think its easiest if I lay out everything on the table so you can see it. My problem doesn’t make sense without the story of the last few days.

What I've Been Doing Instead of Writing Fiction....

2008-11-10T14:51:00.003-05:00

I've been writing Non-fiction! While it could be ammusing to try and post some of my Organic chemistry laboratry reports (they're basically 5-10 page research papers) I am worried you might suffer a loss of sanity...

So instead I thought I would put up a research paper I wrote for my archaeology class.

Enjoy.

Derek Wentz
Biblical Archaeology
Dr. Manor
11/9/08
Digging Deeper:
An Examination of the Historical Evidence for Biblical Ai during the Conquest of Canaan.
What is the truth? In a world of ever-changing facts and opinions its hard to separate the truth from fiction, and it doesn’t matter what field is examined; one thing remains constant. There is always something to disagree upon.
I am without a doubt that religion and the various subjects that are connected to it are among the most volatile and controversial of our day. Walk into any university, restaurant, workplace, or home across America, and a unique take on religion and its meaning to our lives can be found. Some people choose to ignore it, and others to study it, but few choose to agree upon it.
In today’s society religion can hardly be disentangled from the various sciences and disciplines that surround it. Proponents for and against a multitude of beliefs sling back and forth the mud of historical evidence, scientific proof, scholarly study, and philosophical enlightenment, each claiming the facts to be on their side, and with the prevalence of varying ‘truths’ out there, its easy to be swallowed up and lost in the darkness. Trying to find one’s way through all of the talk to the truth can be a daunting task even for the most scholarly minded of individuals.
One of the most elemental discussions on religion is the veracity of the bible and the meaning that might be ascribed to the stories held there within. What meaning does a book written thousands of years ago hold for my ‘modern’ life? Is this story I just read true/false? How did the bible come to be as it is? A question that I have been thinking about recently centers on the subject of the ancient city of Ai.
The city of Ai (which when translated means “the heap” or “the ruins” (Dahlberg, pg. 27 1964) is chiefly involved in chapters seven and eight of the book of Joshua. Joshua and the Israelites have come to Canaan with the intent to conquer the land and make it their own, as God promised their forefathers. After an initial victory at the siege of Jericho, (during which God simply knocks the walls down and the Israelites go into the city and conquer it) Joshua sends scouts further into the land of Canaan. One of the cities the scouted out by these men is Ai. When they return from their mission, the scouts report to Joshua on the city and offer him some advice. “Let not all the people go up; but let about two or three thousand men go up and smite Ai; and make not all the people to labour thither; for they are but few.”(Joshua 7:3 KJVA) So, instead of sending the entire force of Israel’s army, Joshua listens to them and sends only three thousand men. When the small force attacks Ai, however, they are defeated and forced to return to Joshua. The reason for this loss, as reported by the bible, is the disobedience of someone in the Israelite camp. According to the text Achan, a member of the tribe of Judah, took for himself some of the plunder of Jericho although expressly forbidden to by God. After he is found out he is executed along with his family for the crime and God’s favor returns to Israel. God gives Joshua orders for the next battle and instead of only sending three thousand he sends the entire war band. God then orders Joshua to lay an ambush for the men of Ai, and it works. This time the defeat of the king of Ai and his men is absolute.
While the account of the battles at Ai is straightforward, the archaeological and historical information surrounding it is not. The site (whose modern name is et-Tell, meaning “the ruin heap” in Arabic (Oxford Encyclopedia, 1997)) was originally identified by Edward Robinson. By linguistically comparing city names from the bible with modern names for various ancient ruins, Robinson came up with the locations of many biblical cities.(Currid, pg. 23 1999) His work has proven invaluable to the field of archaeology, and most of it has remained intact to this day.
The first excavation of the site was done by John Garstang in 1928. His work, however, was never published and his finding have been lost.(Callaway, pg. 19 1976)
The second Archaeological expedition to Ai occurred in 1933, led by Judith Marquet-Krause. Marquet-Krause excavated for over two years before she passed away in 1936. The report of her findings was published by her husband, Yves Marquet, after her death. B.T. Dahlberg summed it up by saying:
The excavations of Mme. Marquet-Krause in 1933-35 showed that there had been an extensive Early Bronze age city on et-Tell with nothing thereafter until a smaller Iron I (ca. 1200-1000B.C.) Israelite occupation, after which no Iron II(ca. 900-586B.C.) or subsequent occupation was in evidence. (Dahlberg, pg. 28 1964)
The impact of these findings were ground-shaking. Depending upon how one calculates the date during which the Israelites initiated the conquest of Canaan, there was no evidence that there had even been a city for the Israelites to conquer. If et-Tell was indeed the city of Ai, and no evidence was uncovered to contradict Mme. Marquet-Krause’s findings, then historical evidence would be in direct contradiction to the bible.
Mme. Marquet-Krause’s conclusion was that the account of Ai was an etiology, or a story that explains something, created in order to explain the ruins that would have been at et-Tell during the time of the Israelites living there. (Callaway, pg. 134 1968) Several years later, while the biblical and archaeological world was still reeling from these discoveries, L.H. Vincent and W.F. Albright came up with a different theory as described by Joseph Callaway in his article, New Evidence on the Conquest of Ai.
Vincent and Albright worked out a solution that preserved the Late Bronze Age conquest and also the identification of Ai with et-Tell. Vincent’s proposal was that a military outpost of Bethal was hastily constructed on the ruins of et-Tell and that the conquest of Ai was actually the overrunning of the outpost. (Callaway, pg. 134 1968)
However, as Callaway explains: “No evidence of the outpost remains, nor should be expected. The Iron Age I village constructed on the site was Israelite.” (Callaway, pg 134 1968)
Albright’s view eventually came to be that the conquest of Ai is actually the conquest of nearby Bethal, and the two sites were confused during the tide of years. This view was widely held until the archaeological work of Joseph Callaway at et-Tell from 1964 to 1970.
In his Archaeological expeditions to et-Tell, Callaway made many interesting discoveries. In his paper, New Evidence on the Conquest of Ai, Callaway describes what he calls a “sealed-locus” and its effects on et-Tell and the surrounding region. According to Callaway there is a large occupational gap that occurs, meaning that et-Tell and many surrounding cities were not occupied for very long periods of time, specifically during the time of the believed Israelite conquest. He says this to indicate his belief that et-Tell is the only site that could possibly be linked with biblical Ai, and that it was in fact not Bethal or sites proposed by other archaeologists since the work done by Mme. Marquet-Krause in 1933. Callaway goes on to describe pottery findings, both at et-Tell and surrounding locations and his belief that other groups of people were actively moving into Canaan while Israel was busy with its conquest. Callaway’s conclusion is that while it is unlikely that the Joshua account of the conquest of Ai is an etiology or that Albright’s view of a Late Bronze age conquest of Bethal is true, neither are the events depicted in Joshua a clear description of everything that was going on, and that things may be more complicated. As Bruce Dahlberg puts it in his article Archaeological news from Jordan: Ai (Et-Tell), “Thus the Biblical problem of the conquest of Ai by Joshua…. remains.” (Dahlberg, pg. 29 1964)
It wasn’t until the year 2000 that new light was shed on the scene by Bryant Wood. For biblical scholars who wished to take the biblical account of Ai seriously, there remained only two options: Forsake the belief that Ai was conquered as stated in the bible, or find a new site for Ai. Wood chose the latter. Working from the fact that the geographical surroundings for et-Tell are not a very close match to the biblical account, Wood chose a site that better fit the described surroundings. Wood eventually selected the site of Khirbet el-Maqutir. The site was topographically suitable because to the north there were both a hill suitable for a military camp and a shallow valley in clear view, features described by biblical accounts. To the west there was also a site suitable for the Israelites to lay an ambush for the king of Ai. Khirbet el-Maqutir also lies east of Bethal and is close enough to both Bethal and Beth Aven to match biblical accounts.
Wood led numerous expeditions to Khirbet el-Maqutir during the years of 1996, 1997, and 1998 and found some extraordinary evidence. The site had been occupied at a time appropriate to a conquest of Canaan by the Israelites(15th century B.C.) and extensive fortifications were discovered. On top of finding the fortifications there was evidence that parts of the city, including a central fortress, had burnt to the ground when Joshua would have been in Canaan. The data collected from the stratum (layer of earth) associated with the conquest indicated a city appropriate in size as well.
Wood summed up his findings by saying
Khirbet el-Maqutir was a strategically important site in the late bronze I age and the Hasmonaean period, most likely to provide early warning for Jerusalem in the event of incursions from the north. The LB I fortress meets the Biblical requirements to be tentatively identified as the fortress Ai refereed to in Josh. 7-8. (Wood, pg 129 2000)
After stumbling through all of this information I am still left with the question, what is the truth of all of this? I can come to the conclusion that Khirbet el-Maqutir is in fact the site of biblical Ai. I personally am inclined to believe the evidence offered by Wood because of how well it seems to mesh with the Joshua account’s details (depending again upon how one calculates the date of the conquest), but what if I have not read everything there is to read on the subject, or what if the evidence uncovered there should be seen in a new light?
Ultimately, it all comes down to how do I pursue the truth. I believe that trying to separate fact from fiction is much like digging for landmines. It must be done very carefully and you can never stop looking. You might miss something.
References:
Callaway, J.A. “New Evidence on the Conquest of Ai.” Journal of Biblical Literature 1968; p 312-320. ALTA Religion Database, Thursday, October 09, 2008
Callaway, J.A. “Excavating AI(Et-Tell): 1964-1972.” Biblical Archaeologist 1976; p 18-30. ALTA Religion Database, Thursday, October 09, 2008
Currid, J. D. “Doing Archaeology in the Land of the Bible.” 1999; p 23-35. Grand Rapids: Baker
Dahlber, B. T. (editor) “Archaeological news from Jordan: Ai (Et-Tell).” Biblical Archaeologist 1964; p 26-29. ALTA Religion Database, Thursday, October 09, 2008
Meyers, Eric (editor). “Ai.” The Oxford Encyclopedia of Archaeology in the Near East 1997; Vol. I. New York: Oxford University Press.
Wood B. G. “News and Notes: Khirbet el-Maqutir.” Israel Exploration Journal, 50 no 1-2 2000, p 123-130

Work continues

2008-09-02T12:55:00.003-04:00

Good news everyone. My plotting work is going well. In fact I have come up with the first feasible idea for a book.

What this means:

Well, first it means a bit more delay to regular posting. I need to do some research before I start writing this baby, and I need to finish off all the plot work.

Second, it means that once I start posting again, your going to be reading long posts which will hopefully be pretty awesome, even if the prose isn't the greatest.To give you a little preview I am working on a Dark fantasy/Mystery novel. Basically, squish a little Sherlock Holmes, Historical Fiction, and Warhammer Fantasy into one concept and you have the idea. I got the idea from a little piece I wrote late last year, that a friend recently commented on. Before I knew it, the thing had grown into a full blown novel idea.

Third, it might mean another fun little surprise, but I have to work that out still. I hope to have more information on this incredibly vague announcement soon.

Finally it means that I will be putting most of my other work on simmer. I'm going to pick one or two other works and start doing more plotting for them. Hopefully I'll be ready to continue with one or the other by next week. Don't hold your breath here however, Considering that I have a full college semester, writing work for a gaming group I run, and this other novel idea, I don't know how much time will be left over for a spare story.

Wish me luck. I think all this is going to be a lot of fun.

The Alchemist

Wendell Chapter 2

2008-08-12T01:28:00.005-04:00

Wendell could tell it was going to be one of those nights.

He had screamed for almost a full minute before Felicia opened the coffin lid.

"Oh Wendell, I'm so sorry. I was in the washroom and I couldn't get here right away. Are you alright?"

Wendell took a few moments to catch his breath. Ever since the transition to becoming undead, he hadn't actually needed to breathe. Nonetheless, Wendell wasn't the sort to let go of hyperventilation just because it was no longer a biological response. Wendell was a creature of habit.

After he had regained his composure, Wendell managed to give Felicia a watery smile and a weak thumbs up as he sat up in his coffin. "No problem," he said, insincerely. "I'll be fine."

Concern dominated Felicia's face. "Are you sure, Wendell?" She held out her wrist. "Here, have some breakfast to soothe yourself."

Wendell protested weakly and inaudibly while feebly pushing the girl's hand away. Felicia would have none of that.

"Now Wendell, you may be my undead lord and master whom I have sworn unswerving allegiance to, but I've been watching and you haven't had a bite to drink in two nights. You are going to drink my blood and you are going to like it, Mister!"

And with that, Felicia thrust her wrist forcefully into Wendell's face. Grumbling, Wendell sank his fangs into the girl and began to suck on the wounds.

Felicia cooed softly as the vampire administered his Kiss. Wendell just tried to keep the blood down and resist the urge to throw up. After only thirty seconds or so, he stopped his ministrations and licked the wounds closed.

"Oh Wendell." The disappointment in her voice was punctuated by the halfhearted sigh. "Why did you stop so soon?"

"I-I didn't want to hurt you. Drain you or anything." Wendell's stammering reply was made worse by the after-drink queasiness he always suffered.

Felicia looked at him, highly exasperated. "Wendell, how many times do we have to go over this? You can drink for several minutes-plural-before I'd be in any danger."

Wendell looked at her sheepishly. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Well. Try and remember next time. I'm off to bed. Wake me up when you're ready to go bed."

Yeah, it was going to be one of those nights.

The Writing Report, redux

2008-08-12T01:26:00.001-04:00

Well it looks like the Alchemist is going to take a short break. In the meantime I'll try and keep everyone entertained with at least one chapter of Wendell per week. That way you won't get out of the habit of checking the blog.

-The Drewcifer

The Writing Report

2008-08-11T12:21:00.002-04:00

Well, I've decided to take some "time off" as it were from regular posting so I can do some plotting. I've been trying out the Stephen King writing method for some time (come up with a few events and charcters, and just start writing) and I'll admit it has turned up some suprises in the story for me, but its just not passing muster. I know I can tell better stories then this, even if I can't write them that well. So I'm going to go off with my notebook and work on the plots of a few of my short stories and two of my main stories. With any luck I'll have a post soon.

Thanks for your patience.

The Alchemist

Wendell Chapter 1

2008-08-04T19:31:00.005-04:00

The Drewcifer will now attempt some comedy.
----------------------------------------------

Wendell hated his name. In fact, he told everyone he met that his name was Chris. To him, Chris seemed like a much simpler, stronger, more American name. But no matter how many people called him Chris, one thing never changed.

Deep down inside, he was still a Wendell. Wendells were meek, wimpy, and British. Wendells were prey animals. This might not have been a problem had this particular Wendell not, in fact, been a predator.

You see Wendell was a vampire. A vampire who, each night, upon waking, screamed at the top of his lungs.

Wendell was both claustrophobic and nyctophobic, meaning he feared both tight spaces and the dark. This made a coffin a very uncomfortable place for him. Each morning his housekeeper watched him fall asleep, then gently closed the lid of the coffin.

Wendell's condition had instilled an intense fear of the sun (heliophobia). As a result, Wendell went to bed very early each night. And Wendell often went to bed hungry.

Wendell did not like drinking blood. He had been assured time and time again by his bevy of beautiful mortal concubines that the act was, indeed, very pleasurable for them.

Wendell found it icky.

Technically Wendell shared the concubines with his roommates, Jeff and His Dark Eminence the Dread Prince of the Night Markomanius Necrosian (whom everyone just called 'Mark').

No one in the house called Wendell "Chris."

Chapter 2: Part eight

2008-08-04T17:11:00.000-04:00

Erick sat upon a horse at the top of a hill covered in trees, his face shadowed by the cowl drawn up over his head. He wore a thick wool cloak, once red but now faded to a rusty color. Beneath it the steel rings of his mail shirt glinted in the faint sunlight filtering down through the trees. His heavy leather gloves gripped the reigns tightly, and his scuffed leather boots rested upon his saddle’s stirrups.

After taking a look around Erick kicked his horse into a trot and started toward the next hill.

Aleksey’s message had come to him late at night as he had lain next to his camp fire, trying to sleep. He’d ridden hard the next day to close the distance, hoping Aleksey and Jacob were still alive.

The snow crunched beneath him as his horse mounted the next hill. At the top the walls of Shelborne Castle could be seen, the great wooden gate standing ajar, and Erick gently urged his horse towards it.

After passing through the gate Erick stopped his horse for a moment and surveyed the area. Other then the howling wind, the castle was eerily silent. Snow floated on the wind and the ragged Shelborne banners on either side of the door flapped lazily in the breeze. To Erick’s surprise the doors to the castle opened and Aleksey came out, his clothes were ragged, and dark with dried blood in places.

Erick jumped down off his horse and ran to him.

“Aleksey, are you alright? Where is Jacob?”

Aleksey was quiet for a moment, he looked tired.

“The wolves took him last night. There was nothing I could do.”

The older man’s stern mask wavered, and a tear ran down his cheek.

“Nothing I could do.”

Holy Crap, I have an Internet Connection!

2008-07-20T00:29:00.002-04:00

Well, I have internet, at least late at night when the misserable wireless network here doesn't have the load of the two or three other guests who might use it. *Sigh*

-What the future holds-

I'm working as a construction worker now. And I'm exhausted. Most nights I barely have enough energy to stumble back to my room and loose conciousness in my bed. It probably has to do with the giant quartz counter tops me and some other guys have to lug up a flight of stairs every day. Were flipping hotel rooms here, tearing out countertops and ovens and what not, hauling it all down, and taking big heavy rocks that seem to have been mistaken for counter tops back up. I think I am done rambling/complaining now. Suffice it to say I don't really have the time or energy to write much. However. I have Sundays off. Most likely I'll spend this Sunday and the next merely laying on my rooms couch and resting, but, if for some strange reason I find myself with some extra energy, I'll see if I can't get out a post. Don't hold your breath. You'll probably die.

The Alchemist

Bad News is Better Than No News

2008-07-16T00:14:00.002-04:00

Hello everyone, it's your ever-absent co-author, the Drewcifer. The Alchemist has asked me to inform you that he is out of town and due to this and his work schedule, he will likely be unable to post again until some time in August. Maybe I'll try to pick up some of the slack in his absence, but I think we all know how unlikely that is.

Anyway, please do keep reading the blog, just be aware that there will be the aforementioned short break, so you can stop compulsively checking your RSS feed for the site every 4 seconds.

That's all,
The Drewcifer

Chapter Seven

2008-07-08T13:41:00.001-04:00

Well, good news. I posted. Even if it is short I can't really post the next bit in this, sorry. I picked up Age of Empires 3 on Thursday and its awesome. I'll leave it to your imagination as to why I didn't update friday. This is mondays update a day late. I'm also excited that I've come up with a working title for this story. May not keep it, but its better then nothing.

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As they stood in the hall the moments passed slowly. The grey smoke from Aleksey’s display and Jacob’s gun hung lazily in the air, filling the hall. After it seemed the danger had passed Jacob turned to Aleksey.

“I’ve heard the stories, but they don’t hold a candle...” He said, his face incredulous. “How do we deal with that?”

“I have seen them do it before. I should have warned you.”

He chuckled.
“Do not worry, I think they cannot come through walls.” He said, gesturing.

“Oh, well great.” Jacob murmured.

Jacob glanced over at the wagon.

“You could have done without that.” He said.

“I was caught in the moment. It is hard to think like this, you know that.”

Aleksey closed his eyes, and his whole body seemed to relax. As the faint radiance surrounding him began to fade, a breeze filled the hallway, hot like a summer wind. It seemed to come from Aleksey, who grew dimmer until the only light in the hall was that of the lantern.

“Erick will come faster if he knows there are wolf troubles. He has had many encounters with them.” He said ,pausing.

“Sometimes I suspect he goes looking for them.” He said, shaking his head.

News Flash

2008-07-01T14:25:00.003-04:00

Done with work today. Hopefully will have a post up for tonight. My job plays havoc with writing, since I work crazy irregular hours. (Like today I got on at Four AM, boy was that fun) I am planning on going to a posting schedual. For my shiney new story I want to go to a monday friday update schedual for now. I figure if I set myself a goal, and then inform you all of if, so you can constantly berate me if I fail to meet it, then I'll be a little more regular in my writing.

When things get going and I am more in the writing habit, I'll probably renew my work on one or more of my other stories and add an update schedual for those as well. And then try to crank out my few short stories that are sitting on the back burner. And play video games. But that has nothing to do with writing.

Chapter Six

2008-06-28T11:08:00.008-04:00

Bleh. I like most of the ideas I have had, but I'm still not real fond of the prose I'm writing. Alas, alack. Mayhap I'll learn something from Charles Dickens. I'm Reading Bleakhouse right now.

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Aleksey drew his sword and moved up to where Jacob was standing with the lantern, which he raised high to get a better look down the hall. At first there was nothing to be seen, but then in the distant torch light, far beyond the reach of the lantern, a shape moved from the shadows. Its outline was six feet tall, and almost as broad. It hunkered in the dark, walking strangely, mostly on its hind legs, but at times using its front legs, which ended in what looked like hands, to move at a frighteningly fast lope. Its head, which looked like that of one of the northern grey wolves, turned to look at the men, its eyes yellow in the reflected light of the torches, almost glowing. The shape of its shadowy limbs gave the impression of layered cords of sinewy muscle covered by thick shaggy hair. The beast reared back, raising its head toward the ceiling, and let out a deafening howl, at which Jacob and Aleksey covered their ears. To Jacob it seemed as if the howl penetrated his skin and sank into his bones.

The wolf lowered itself closer to the ground and bounded down the hall towards the two, moving with uncanny grace, and speed which seemed impossible, moving as fast as a horse, snarling .

Aleksey set down his sword and lantern and began to chant, his voice filling the hallway, echoing strangely, reverberating so clearly that his first word could be distinguished when he spoke his fifth. Around him there appeared a radiance, much brighter then before, nearly outshining his lantern, and his eyes became like molten pools of glowing quicksilver.

As Aleksey spoke Jacob lowered his pistol at the charging wolf and squeezed the trigger. His shot rang out over the din of Aleksey’s voice and the snarling of the wolf, smoke billowing from the end of his gun. The sound of his gunshot was accompanied by a loud thump, like the compressing of air, and the charging wolf was suddenly gone, only black mist lingered where it had stood. A split second later, after Jacobs bullet ricocheted off the wall where it had been, there was another thump, black mist exploding near the other wall, and the wolf reappeared, still running, as if it had been running next to that wall all along.

Jacob’s face contorted in horror as he fumbled to put back his first pistol and draw another from his brace. The wolf was close now, only seconds away.

The glow next to Jacob had become blinding, Aleksey’s face could no longer be distinguished, looking upon him was like staring into the sun. Suddenly he stretched out his right hand, and golden white fire exploded from his fingertips, it had the look of a jet of water, but with none of the sluggishness. It flew down the hall at the wolf but black mist was all the blast hit, the wolf appearing on the other side of the hall. Aleksey stretched out his other hand, shooting another jet of flame at it. With each blast of energy he sent down the hall, his aura dimmed. Aleksey was as relentless as the wolf, each time it appeared a gout of flame charred the stone where it had been. Jacob shouted as it appeared behind them and Aleksey spun and burnt a hole right through the top of the wagon.

All at once everything was still. The wolf had disappeared into a puff of black mist and did not return. Jacob stood now with sword in one hand and pistol in the other, cocked and ready. Aleksey still faintly glowing stood at his back, watching, the hall shrouded in grey smoke.

Edited. Somewhat.

Chapter Five

2008-06-27T13:05:00.009-04:00

I ment to do some more writing today but it seems things conspire against me. For some reason there is a mean crick in my left shoulder, and it hurts like crazy to type. Its rather odd. I really havn't done much to cause such a thing. Rubbed some icyhot on it. I hate Icy hot. Still working on a title for all this. While I'm not all that happy with my prose, I think I'll just keep writing to get back in the habbit, stop with all the irregular posting. Maybe even work on some of my other stories too. Enjoy.

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Worry played across Jacob’s face, but it was soon replaced by wariness. He reached up to his brace and removed one of the ivory pistols it held and stepped to the edge of the courtyard. His eyes scanned it, back and forth, as he led the way across, Aleksey following behind him. They walked towards a single story building nestled next to the corner of the castle walls, covered in whitewashed plaster, and its roof made of cedar shingles. In the center of the front wall there was a large square door hung on a sliding track, Jacob reached it first, moving it aside to reveal a hay filled stable. Seven horses, four almost as tall as the two men, stood placid in their stalls. One of them, a great brown stallion, turned and whickered at Jacob and Aleksey as they entered.

Once inside Aleksey shut the door behind them and hung the lantern on a peg next to one of the stalls and Jacob returned his pistol to its brace. The two men began to rifle through the stable picking up various pieces of tack and packing equipment, loading it on the horses. After loading one last sack of feed, Jacob lifted the lantern from its peg and brought two of the big horses out of their stalls leading them towards the stables doors. Aleksey followed with two more.

The horses were led across the windswept courtyard and through the dark halls of the castle until they reached a covered wagon, its roof made of red shingles.

“I’m glad we left this here.” Jacob said.

Aleksey did not reply as the two hitched the horses to the front of the wagon.

As Jacob finished hooking up the last horse to the wagon something caught his attention. From down the hall the sound of soft footfalls could be heard, each accompanied by a strange clicking sound. Jacob found his pistol in hand, unbidden.

“Aleksey.” He said harshly. “Trouble.”

Chapter Four

2008-06-25T17:41:00.005-04:00

Before Aleksey could reply, the dark shape loped off into the shroud of the forest, seeming to float across the snow. Jacob stepped to the edge of the tower and watched it go. Trailing half a foot behind it left an after image. Watching it go was like watching a shadow move. He heard Aleksey’s voice come from behind him.

“It is done. I am not sure if he will get the message. He may yet be far away. What was it you saw?”

“One of the wolves. It was watching us from down there.” He pointed. “Gone now.”

Aleksey stared into the woods for a moment and then, without a word, returned to the trap door. Heaving it open he stepped down, out of the wind, and scooped up his lantern. Jacob followed him, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Did you check on the horses?” Jacob said as they descended the stairs.

“Yes, they were fine. We will check the wards first, then load the wagon. I do not want to go to the stable until we have to.”

The two strode down the halls of the castle. Passing through its dark hallways until they arrived at a heavy wooden double door. Jacob and Aleksey went to either side and hefted a large wooden plank which barred the door. As Jacob pulled one of the doors open snow began to blow into the hall. The two slipped through the door into the night air.

They stood in a stone archway which led out into the courtyard of the castle. Aleksey lifted the lantern and scanned the walls.

“I was wrong. The wards are gone.” Aleksey turned to look at Jacob. “We might as well just go get the horses. They could already be inside."

Part 3

2008-06-14T00:06:00.008-04:00

-3-

As Jacob finished buckling on his equipment, Aleksey slipped a satchel over his shoulder.

"Lets go to the tower first, and see if we cannot get a message to Erick.”

Jacob pulled his last strap tight and nodded.

They exited the room and turned left into the hallway which ended in another door. Behind the door was a staircase which they ascended. At the top was a trap door which Aleksey put his shoulder against and threw open. Both men raised a hood over their heads before going up. Aleksey stepped up into the tower, his robe billowing in the wind, and handed his lantern down to Jacob. Snow flakes floated by him, glimmering in the pale moonlight. The tower had a roof, but its walls were open to the outside air. Jacob set the lantern on the steps of the tower, climbed up and closed the trap door behind him. Meanwhile Aleksey moved to the edge of the tower.

Aleksey stood facing the east, his arms spread before him. His lips moved rhythmically, muttering cryptic words. For a moment the winds died making his quiet speech audible and distinct. About him there arose an almost imperceptible radiance, silvery, like the moonlight.

As Aleksey spoke, Jacob stood at his shoulder, scanning the surrounding area. Beneath the tower was a pine forest which stretched beyond the horizon. He also cast his vision along the snow covered battlements which ran back away from the tower to the south.

As Jacob looked back towards the forest his eyes caught something at the tree line. Crouching behind some pine branches was a form five feet tall, covered in shaggy hair. It was hunched on its hind legs but leaned forward enough to where its two arms were planted in the snow providing the body support. Five fingered tracks were left in the snow from its front hands, nearly four feet apart and pointed as if clawed. Its sharp yellow eyes reflected the moon light as it stared at Aleksey and Jacob.

“Hurry up.” Jacob said.

Part Two

2008-06-13T21:00:00.014-04:00

-2-

“What happened to him?” Jacob asked. “Have they found us?”

“I think so. When I could not find him in the castle, I used the glass. I do not think they have disabled the wards yet. Samuel must have surprised one of them snooping around outside. Come.”

Jacob stood, closing the book which he had been examining.

“Do you think we’ve still got time to get a message to Erick?” He said.

“I do not know, it is worth a try.”

Jacob swore under his breath.

The two made their way down the stairs, Aleksey in front with the lantern. At the bottom they came through a door at the corner of two adjoined hallways. Torches lit each, and at intervals yellow tapestries hung down from the walls. The pair went down the right hallway and turned left into a small room, which was filled with tables and chairs, and strewn about were various pieces of equipment. Aleksey picked up a sheathed sword and girded it about his waist just beneath the belt of his robes. Jacob picked up a similar sword from a table across the room and did the same, and also slipped a dagger into his belt.

“Where was he?” Jacob asked.

“I think they killed him behind the kitchen, I could make out still where they drug him into the woods. His body is behind a thicket of bushes near the forest's edge.”

Jacob moved across the room to a hanging cabinet and opened it. Inside hung a leather brace holding three elegant flintlock pistols, the handle of each was solid ivory inlaid with silver, and the steel barrel and lock mechanism inlaid with gold. The guns gleamed in the lantern light. Next to the guns there was a horn of gunpowder, and a small pouch of shot. He removed the brace and buckled it over his shoulder. Aleksey glanced over and shook his head.

“Brutish things.”

“Do you think now is really the time?”

“No, I suppose not.”

The Drewcifer Challenge

2008-06-13T14:59:00.007-04:00

Was talking to th Drewcifer earlier today. Was at a loss as to what to write, and I'm a bit stumped on my current projects. He challenged me to write outside my comfort zone, so I am going to start this high fantasy story. I really like a lot of the ideas I've come up with for the initial story. It should be good. And with that I give you this story I have yet to title. (You know if any of you should be struck with an idea for a title for all these untitled stories of mine,you should suggest it.)

The Alchemist

---------------------------------------------------------

“Where did that go.” Aleksey muttered, shuffling the papers on his desk, glancing at each as he did so.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Two men sat in a stone room, each at a desk surrounded by mounds of books and papers. Candles burned giving them light to read by. The wind howled through a nearby window.
The first man was older, grey speckled his short black hair and beard. He sat in a high backed chair wrapped in a grey fur blanket. His breath came out as a vapor, made visible by the cold air in the room. When he spoke his accent was thick, placing heavy emphasis on hard consonants. The other man sat across the room. His face was clean shaven, and his blond hair was short. He dressed in a heavy brown robe and also was covered in a blanket. The two stirred little, each peering at their prospective papers and books.

“Aleksey?”

“Hmmmm?”

“When is Erick going to be here? I still haven’t found anything for him.”

“I think he said Thursday.” Aleksey replied. “But I am not sure. I’ll look it up when I go downstairs for more food.”

“Thanks.”

The room was once again quiet for nearly an hour.

“Jacob?” Aleksey asked, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“Have you seen Samuel? There isn’t much wood downstairs for the fire. It was already low this morning. He’s normally good about that sort of thing, but I haven’t seen him all day.”

Jacob sat back in his chair and stared blankly at the wall for a moment.

“No, I don’t think I’ve seen him. That’s odd.”

“Well, I think I’ll go down and look for him. I’m hungry and my legs could use a stretch anyways.”

Aleksey pushed his chair back from the table and walked to a heavy wooden door across the room, removed a lantern from the wall, lit it, pulled the door open, and disappeared down the stares. He returned twenty minutes later, his face ashen.

“Jacob.” He said. “Samuel is dead.”

Cthulhu Podcast

2008-05-28T12:26:00.005-04:00

I found a fun podcast the other day while I was surfing around. Since it contains the sort of material I'd like to write, I've set things up so you can access it on the right side bar. The podcast typically contains a read story (by H.P. Lovecraft or otherwise), an piece of historical information, and a piece of music from the 1920s. All of which are kinda fun.

Hope you like it.

The Alchemist

Untitled Short Story

2008-05-27T19:54:00.008-04:00

I've finished this short story. I really rushed the end of it today, mostly because I just wanted it finished, but I think it turned out okay. I joke about hating fantasy writers and yet here I am writing a fantasy story. This story's purpose was to play with descriptive elements and showing character thought with descriptive elements instead of saying it. I'll probably come back at some point and rework the ending. But for now onwards to better things.

__________________________________________

Two dwarfs made their way towards a desolate mansion. They were running, and with each step water and mingled mud splashed up. It was raining hard and the ascending forest path which they scaled was like a river. Old pine trees watched out of the darkness as they went. Occasional flares of lightning gave the only light, and peals of thunder were all that could be heard above the din of the falling rain.

The dwarfs themselves looked similar. Each carried a long handled axe in one hand and wore a pair of breeches. Their bodies were well muscled, scarred, and covered in various tattoos. Their beards and hair were dyed orange and the hair on the tops of their heads was greased up into a long narrow crest. To either side of the crest it was shaved to the scalp. The only distinguishing feature between the two was an eye patch.

Up ahead the path opened up into a clearing and in that clearing stood an old mansion, rickety and forlorn. A flash of lightning showed broken glass windows, rotten wooden siding, and holes in the roof. The clearing about it looked no better; the worn cobblestone before the place was overrun with grass and the bushes had grown wild and crooked. A bed of red roses grew around a broken fountain depicting some long forgotten knight. The body was snapped at the waist with the crumpled rider laying in the fountains pool at his horse’s feet. Here the dwarfs stopped.

The first, the one with an eye patch, looked at the other.

“This the place?"

His companion raised a hand to his eyes and wiped away the gathering rain water.

“I think so, he told me it was a great big old house…”

Before he could finish the thought a woman’s scream came from inside the mansion.

The second dwarf spit over his shoulder.

“Oh, this is the place alright.” He muttered.

The two exchanged a short glance before moving for the front door.

As the door opened, lightning streaked across the sky casting two long shadows into the house. Past the door on the right was a set of stairs leading up, ahead a darkened hallway with crumbled plaster covering the floor, and to the left a room with old dilapidated furniture. The walls might once have been an odd shade of purple and were trimmed with almond stained wood.

“Where’d it come from?” the dwarf with the patch whispered.

The other shook his head.

“I don’t know, couldn’t tell for sure. Lets check this floor first.”

They separated then, one moving off down the hall and the other into the room to the left, leaving trails of water drops and wet footprints.

The dwarf moving down the hall, eye patch, walked slowly each foot quietly placed in front of the other. His glance scanned the hallway, knuckles white on handle of his axe, and his breathing quick and shallow.

As he neared the end of the hallway a glowing figured walked through the next room. It was translucent, dressed in an evening gown, and cast a white-green glow as it went. As it passed the hallway its head turned and looked briefly at eye-patch. The shade was a she, her hair pale silver, and her figure slender. She would have been beautiful except for her face. It was puffed up and deformed. Sloughs of her pale skin hung from her jaw. On one side of her face she wore a sad frown, but on the other her skin was missing on her cheek and around her lips, and the exposed teeth produced a sinister grin.

Eye-patch stopped, and stared through the door way for a moment after she had left, his expression slack-jawed. After a few moments he crept down the hall, leaned against the wall and peaked around the corner. The shade was still there, just past the door, staring absently at some shelves which held assorted jars and dried goods. She lingered only for a few seconds more before she looked up and floated through the ceiling.

Eye-patch watched the room for a few moments longer before stepping in. The room was once a kitchen, filled with vacant tables, cooking utensils, and shelves of unused goods. After quickly searching the room eye-patch wandered over to one of the rooms windows, this one broken and letting rainwater into the house, pushed himself up on his tip-toes and took a look outside. While he was doing this something touched shoulder.

“Bargrem.”

Bargrem spun around bringing up his axe, but upon seeing his companion standing before him, lowered it.

“Gods Turic, I ought to have cut your head from your shoulders. What in the blazes do you want?”

Turic grinned.

“I didn’t find her. I was just wondering if you wanted to go upstairs.”

He looked at Bargrem for a moment.

“You’re a bit jumpy.”

“That boy was right, this place is haunted. I saw some sort of ghost woman.”

Bargrem told him about the brief encounter.

“Well, now what?” Turic said. “Upstairs?”

The two dripping dwarfs made their way back out to the hall and began to creep up the stairs. Once at the top they found themselves standing in a long hallway. To the right of the stairs there were four doors two on either side of the hallway, and along the hallway hung a series of large pictures. Starting near the stairs and leading down the hall were on either side pictures of six women, each young and beautiful, and dressed in fine cloths and jewels. The last picture, hanging at the end of the hall depicted a middle-aged gentleman, finely dressed with several medals hanging over his right breast. The left hall was much shorter, ending in a window. There was a single doorway on the near wall.

Turic turned to the left and started down towards the single room, but Bargrem paused at the top of the stairs, staring down the right hallway. Above the sound of the pounding rain ever so faintly could be heard he sobs of a woman.

“Turic.” Bargrem said, turning back to look for his companion.

Turic ,meanwhile, had ventured down the left hall, and as he neared the single door two women floated out from the walls towards him. Both shimmered white in the darkness, the first clothed in an everyday dress. Her hair was shoulder length and her face pretty. Her throat, however, was slit open nearly from ear to ear, the insides of her windpipe showed and her various muscles and blood vessels hung lax. The other woman was dressed in a dark party dress. About her neck hung a string of pearls.

Just as Bargrem turned to look for him, Turic saw the two women. Upon seeing them Turic began to utter a string of profanity, and backpedal away from them. As he did this he waved his axe in the air at them, only to have it pass thought their bodies, which parted like mist and coalesced in the axe’s wake.

“Come on!” Bargrem yelled, “I think she’s this way.”

The two dwarfs turned away from the shades and took of running down the hall. As he ran Bargrem slowed only enough to throw a glance through each doorway he passed. When he reached the doorway on the left, farthest down the hall, he stopped and entered. Huddled in the far corner of the empty room was a young woman her hair long and damp, and her cloths of poor thread. Her face was cut in several places and trickles of blood ran down her face. On her arms there were also several deep scratches.

Bargrem knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Its alright” Bargrem said “ Your young man came and found us in town. Were here to take you home.”

After he’d said this he put his arms beneath hers and helped her to her feet.

“Come on, up you go.” He said.

As the three turned to go, a shade floated through the interior wall. She was dressed in a beautiful gown, hair silver and flowing about her.

“Were do you think your going?” She asked, her voice shrill.

Bargrem stepped in front of the girl, his stance wide.

“I’m thirsty, so I and my friends are going to leave and go to the tavern for a drink.”

“Who is she, Henry?” The shade asked, her voice soft. “Did you find her there, at the tavern? Is she going to be the next Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

“Henry? Who the…”

“I know now. I know why they told me to stay away from you.” She said, cutting Bargrem off, he voice rising in volume.

“What are you going to do with her after she becomes boring? Drown her? Poison her?”

“Get ready.” Bargrem said, under his breath. “When I draw her attention, you and the girl get out of here.”

“What are you saying to him?!” She screamed. Her face tightening and the corners of her lips turning down to frame a snarl. “Don’t you mock me!"

“I’ll say whatever I like, you overbearing wench!” Bargrem yelled back.

At this she let loose a wail and came sailing, head first, across the room at Bargrem, who turned and ran towards one of the rooms windows. He brought his shoulder down and leapt into the air crashing through the window and into the darkness beyond.

Turic grabbed the young girls hand and ran into the hall pulling her behind. Together they raced down the hall to the stairs. Standing on the stairs was the woman with the string of pearls and the black party dress.

“How could you bring that whore into our house Henry?” She screamed. “Our house!”
Turic turned to the girl.

“Get through the door.” He said quickly and after saying this he moved down the stairs a few steps and leapt over the banister into the hall below. The ghost in the black dress floated through the steps and banister after him, and the girl was left in the hall alone.

At first she only stood there, sobbing and looking about, but soon she clutched the banister and began to shakily make her way down the stairs. As she left the bottom step and began to make her way towards the door a scream came from behind her. She didn’t pause to look back but bolted for the door, throwing it open and running out into the rain. Screams followed her into the night.

The girl ran across the courtyard and through the grassy clearing. Soon she vanished into the woods. Shortly behind her came a shadowy figure, tracing along the edge of the woods.
After the girl had gone into the woods, the dwarf with the eye patch stood before the forest path and looked at the distant mansion as the screams of the other dwarf faded. Soon all he could hear was the sound of falling rain. He muttered something unintelligible, turned, and disappeared into the woods after the girl.

Update

2008-05-05T20:57:00.002-04:00

Eureaka!! I am almost done with school for this semester and I will be able to return to my writing hobby! Hoorah!! Hoorah!!

Once these dark days pass I will rise every day to the happy bliss of my computer's keyboard and be able to peck away to my hearts content. Fear not boredom ridden travelers, who toil ceaselessly at work and school each day! Soon you will once more have mediocre stories to entertain, enlighten, and empower your mind!

The Alchemist

Time flys when your having fun.

2008-04-03T01:36:00.005-04:00

Its been about two months since I've been able to play with my writing hobbie. It seems like the exams just kept coming, one after another. Never fun. But now I have some free time and I think I'll get back to writing.

Current projects:

I really enjoy the mid world writings and definently want to keep those going.

I am also working on several short stories in the spirit of H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King. I think I have a nack for coming up with ideas for short fiction, though the execution is still somewhat lacking; I still need more practice. It should be fun.

I've got two short stories on the back burner, Dark Tidings and The Lost Boys. I've been thinking about slash tinkering with Dark Tidings for almost a year now and still don't entirely like it. As for the Lost boys I can't seem to figure out how to get the thing of the ground. Once it gets going I think it will practically write itself. Oh well. Expect more updates soon.

The Alchemist

Mid World: Part Eight (Ten)

2008-02-15T18:17:00.000-05:00

-8-

So much luck from one omen seemed, well, impossible. Not that she minded being wrong in this case. First they had found the traveler, probably a son of Eld, walking along the old mountain trail, and he had given her family his strength. Then they had been blessed with the birth of a third child of true stock, far more then needed to continue the family. It was always a hard choice when a pure one was born as to what should be done with them, for there is much power in the freshly birthed, oh yes, but sometimes having a spare child was good since one of the older ones might be killed or take sick. If there were no children, who would continue the family? We must continue the family, that much they remembered, had been told so by the great waters in the sky. It was one of the few things they had held on to from before the world had moved on. “Go forth ye and make more of your like, being fruitful and increasing in numbers until ye be unto us a great multitude spanning the length and breadth of the earth.” So said the great waters in the sky. But there was also power in the blood, was there not, blood given for the family? With three there was no question as to what was to be done.

And finally as she had been stalking the gap this morning, looking for some earth root to spice tomorrow’s festivities, what had she seen? Another traveler! And she’d seen him of all places near the temple of the old ones!

She had been told the stories by the Old Mother before her about the people who would appear at the temple of the old people like a gift from the great waters themselves, but she had never seen it happen. As if the water from beneath the ground was not gift from the gods enough! Truly, she and her family must done something to please them with so much good fortune. Her lips were wet even now with the thought of him, for he had looked very well built, and strong. No more of the green ones from under the mountain for a week! Maybe longer if they were careful.

She walked along, dirt crunching beneath her feet, and the son of Eld’s pack swayed gently at her hip, full of earth root. All of this from one crow. The old people had not known the potency of the crow, but she would not forget, and neither would the Young Mother under her care if she had anything to do with it. She began to hum an old tune that Old Mother had taught her as she made her way home. Tonight her family would go and fetch the man and he would add his strength to theirs.

Mid World: Part seven (Nine)

2008-02-15T14:36:00.000-05:00

The most notable thing about the desert is its profound sense emptiness. It builds slowly on a man, indefinable at first. Then one day it creeps up on you, sudden and powerful, and whether you have the words to describe it or not, you know one thing for sure.

You feel absolutely alone.

That morning as the man stood on the crest of a hill, not a quarter of a mile from the highway hotel at which he had been staying, it struck him; he’d give anything to see another human being. Somebody. Anybody. He might have even settled for some quality time with that crazy eye.

He stood there in the middle of the road, and looked at the sunrise. The sky was a magnificent blue in contrast with the rocky brown earth beneath it, beautiful and terrible. In every direction the emptiness of the desert stood like a insurmountable wall. The mountains to the west seemed to be only one way out. He didn’t realize it but he already subconsciously decided that they were his goal. What he would find there was irrelevant, they were a touchstone, and trekking towards those mountains seemed like a lot better option then going out over the open desert.

He knew this wasn’t his day to leave; he knew he would have to go back to the way station, but it felt good to be out in the morning air before it became unbearably hot, and after looking at the sunrise for a while his eyes began to wander over the surrounding landscape, rising and falling with the hills, taking in the scrubs and withered trees until...

Until he saw something…

Someone. (Someone!)

He was looking south. Seventy yards past the edge of the old road the terrain dropped off into a sort of shallow gorge that crookedly wound towards the mountains. The gorge itself was no more then a mile long. Standing on the opposite ridge, silhouetted against the horizon was a figure, a person.

The man razed his hand to the sky and began to frantically wave it.

A person! he thought. A PERSON!

When the figure did not respond to his waving, he began to shout.

“Hey! HEY! Over here! I’m over here! Buddy! Look over HERE!”

The figure didn’t respond even in the slightest, only stood there like a statue.

Watching.

Probably watching. The man could make out both shoulders so either the person was looking right at him or directly away from him, but surely the figure would have turned at the sound of the shouting. Wouldn’t it have? His arm’s waving pace began to slow and then altogether stopped; he didn’t like the way it was watching him.

The figure lingered for a few moments longer, turned (Oh he'd been watching alright), and started walking away from the man, slowly disappearing behind the ridge.

Well that was freaking creepy, the man thought. Ain’t gonna follow you buddy, and you better not follow me. Maybe being alone isn’t so bad after all.

The man was almost as fast going back to the way station as he had been leaving it.

Tyler of Mid-World, Part 2

2008-02-15T12:40:00.000-05:00

     Tyler rode cautiously. His spear was out of its case, laying across his lap. There would be no time to draw it if trouble came.

     And it would come, he was sure of that. Nothing yet, but Tyler's eyes were constantly moving, taking in his surroundings and never letting himself focus for too long on one object. So far, all he has seen were plants that got scrawnier and sparser as he went on. After a week of travel, he was entering the Wastes for real now. As he got further from home, the land grew less and less hospitable.

     Tyler glanced at the ground again hoping to see some sign that someone had been through recently, but as usual the only signs of passing he saw were his own. He sighed, expressing equal parts frustration and melancholy.

     Tyler had never known his father. Finally, after sixteen years of uncertainty and doubt, he had been unable to contain his desire--no, his need--to seek out the man who had been missing from his life. And yet, even now he felt no closer to finding him.

     Tyler had been raised by his grandmother, his father's mother. She would tell him stories about his father and the fall from grace Craig suffered. Tyler often made her repeat them, always looking for some clue. Some insight into his father's mind.

     Some way to approximate the face he was to remember.

     According to his grandmother, Craig had gone to the inner baronies to train as a gunslinger when he, Craig, was very young. It had taken a long time, and during his period of apprenticeship, Craig had met and married Tyler's mother, whom his grandmother called "a damned distraction," among other things. When Celia, Tyler's mother, had become pregnant, Craig decided he had put off his final test long enough. At the age of twenty-one, with a wife and a baby on the way, Craig took the final test to become a gunslinger.

     And failed.

     And so, with his wife in her seventh month of pregnancy, Craig had been publicly disgraced and sent West.

     Celia had died in childbirth, and so Tyler had been sent to Green River to live with his grandmother.

     And now he too had gone West. But this was his choice.

     Tyler caught the glint of gunmetal to his right and twisted in his saddle to face it, spear raised and ready.

     He heard the loud click of a revolver being cocked as a man stood from behind one of the larger scrub-bushes, barrel trained steadily on Tyler.

     The man was lean and weathered. His clothes were cut from antelope hide and rough cloth, it was obvious that he had crafted them from whatever materials had been readily available in the desert.

     "Lower that spear boy. You're far past where you ought to be."

     Tyler's fear was beyond words'--Hell, beyond thoughts' ability to express. But he did his best to hide it. He did not move the spear and inch and he kept his eyes locked on those of his aggressor. There was something oddly familiar about those eyes. It was like they had once been the same deep brown of his own, but had since been weathered and lightened by the sun. The strength of the voice that escaped the boy's terror-dried throat surprised both of them.

     "Cry your pardon, sai." Tyler spoke slowly, but with conviction. "But I've come too far to turn back around. I came lookin for someone and I aim to find him. If you ain't gonna let that happen, well, you oughta pull that trigger now and save us both some time."

     Tyler was startled at his own words, not only because of their clarity, but also their audacity. he resolved to enjoy them, as they would likely be his last.

     The man stared at Tyler for what seemed like forever. Without lowering the revolver, he spoke.

     "Who are you? And who are you looking for?"

     "I am Tyler Parrino, son of Craig. And the aforementioned Craig Parrino is the man I'm after."

     The man slowly lowered his gun as he blinked away the beginnings of tears. He spread his arms in a gesture of truce and welcoming.

     "I am Craig, son of Evan," there was a moment of silence as a grim grin broke on his face. "It's good to finally meet you, son."

Tyler of Mid-world, Part 1

2008-02-08T01:29:00.000-05:00

"His kind only got two things left to feel: honor and shame. What don't bring one, bring the other. You go near him and you're like to end up dead."

"I'm not a fool. I've been warned more than once and I'll go into this prepared."

"Nothing can prepare you for life, death, or a disgraced gunslinger."

Those had been the last words spoken to him by his grandmother when he rode out, heading West. Heading towards his father.

Everyone had told him not to go, that his father had long since been reduced to something less than human, but he didn't believe it. He was Tyler, son of Craig. That he knew. But it was hard to remember a face you'd never seen. And so he had gathered up his things and ridden. Into the West. Into the Wastes.

And here he was at the edge of everything he'd known. Tyler fought the urge to look back over his shoulder and instead pressed forward, his horse leaving fresh footprints in the packed sand.

----------

I'm not totally sure where this is going to go, but I guess we'll find out.

-The Drewcifer

Mid World: Part 6

2008-02-07T02:50:00.002-05:00

-6-

The man couldn’t sleep that night or during the next day. Little of the food he brought up from the cellar was eaten. He spent most of the day sitting in the stables, drinking water and thinking about what had happened the night before.

He briefly entertained the idea that it had all been a hallucination brought on by the heat, or that maybe it was madness, but he knew better. He just wanted it to have been madness. Every time he came near to sleeping he could see that yellow eye, looking out at him from inside the wall. It hadn’t done anything threatening, but it scared him all the same. That crazy voice too.

For that matter it seemed like it was trying to help him. That didn’t make any sense.

How does it know who I am?

After thinking about that for a moment he supposed it wasn’t beyond the realm of a crazy yellow eye in the wall to know who he was.

All he knew was that he didn’t like what that eye had said one bit. There had been to many bewares and he distinctly remembered something about help from the dead. That didn’t sound pleasant. Conjured up pictures of shambling corpses.

The sun rose and set long before he ran out of such thoughts. He fell asleep from exhaustion while looking at the stars.

The next day was much the same, but he ate some and fell asleep that night without effort.

When he got up in the morning he felt restless and wanted more then anything to be away from the old inn. Before the place had seemed merely worn down, but now it seemed ominous, its windows preternaturally dark.

The sun had hardly made it over the horizon before he was off, walking briskly down the west bound trail.

News Flash

2008-02-01T21:24:00.000-05:00

If you hadn't noticed I'm back at it again. I also figured out how to get it to tab over! Woot! Anyway. I have a few tests comming up so writing activity might be suspended for a few days. (Cry your pardon) I have a feeling that another writer may be joining me in this new story; it might become a collaberative work, who knows.

This tale is written in a place dreamed up by steven king, and the begining of my tale is based heavily on parts of his books, The Gunslinger, and a scene from Wolves of the Callah. I hope you enjoy it. I think its going to become my primary story, a story I feel that I know better how to tell then the last one.

- The Alchemist

Mid-World Writings: Part Five

2008-02-01T21:11:00.000-05:00

-5-

He felt rather then saw the dirt beneath his feet, it gave way a bit when he stepped off the ladder. He hadn’t noticed the dirt before. In fact his heightened senses noted a lot of new things. For starters he wasn’t completely blind, some faint moonlight from above shone down through a window and into the trap door giving just enough ambient light to make out the shelf on the far wall. There was also an incredible smell, damp and musty, and it made him want to puke. It smelled like rotten vegetables.

Over it all he could hear the whisper, the sound almost seemed to materialize around him, like thin tendrils, reaching out towards him, surrounding him.

Just get it over with, he told himself.

Right.

He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. It would hold more cans then his arms would, no reason to come down here any more then he had to. As he was quickly putting cans into his shirt he felt a change and he paused.

The whispering had stopped.

He could feel something watching him.

“NEITHER THE FIRST, NOR THE LAST.” A voice told him.

It was deep and guttural and it seemed that with every word it spoke the very foundations of the little inn shuddered, spilling dust down into the room. Stunned by the words he forgot his shirt and the cans fell with heavy thumps into the dirt at his feet.

Somewhere deep down inside him a little voice screamed thinly I told you, I TOLD you something was wrong!

“YOU WILL FIND YOUR WAY ACROSS THE DESERT WITH THE HELP OF THE DEAD, THIS PLACE WILL NOT BE YOUR END.”

As the voice spoke he slowly turned around and saw in the middle of the far wall between two sandstone blocks a great yellow eye, set into the wall, was peering at him in the dark. Each word spoken shook his body until he thought his bones might vibrate right out of their sockets.

“What are you? He asked, his voice trembling.

“BEWARE THE TRUTH SHOWN ONLY IN ONE COLOR, MEANING CAN BE HIDDEN BY SUBTLE SHADE.”

“What are you talking about?!” the man cried. “Speak words I can understand!”

“COME CLOSER.”

“No freaking way am I going to do that!” He shouted.

“COME CLOSER!” It commanded.

“I will not.” He said apprehensively. “Whatever you're going to do, do it from over there.”

Its voice became quieter then, like a whisper. Its words seemed rigid and cold.

“Beware the man with many faces, for his words are sweet and his appearance is lovely, but his heart is hard and black. He has no milk of human kindness for he is not human. Do not have compassion on him for he will have none on you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The man asked.

“Because it is required of me, much as things will be required of you.”

"Required by who?" He demanded.

No one answered his question, the cellar was once more silent.

Part four: Mid-world writings

2008-02-01T14:25:00.000-05:00

-4-

Hunger had brought him back. The fact that it was dark and cold outside only made it worse. He had been kneeling at the edge of the trap door that led down into the cellar for the last fifteen minutes and still hadn’t worked up the nerve to venture in there without a light. (bright white light?) Something about that place frightened him, put him on edge. He had never been a superstitious man, but if he sat there any longer he might become one.

I can’t believe your afraid of the dark, his brain said.

Can’t you feel it?! His heart snapped. There is something down there.

Children are afraid of the dark, what are you, a little boy?

Haven’t you ever seen any movies?! His heart shot back. THIS is the part where the creepy music starts playing, the part where you start screaming at the TV, telling the moron on it to get the heck away from that dark room, and you plead with him to please see the giant man with the chain saw hiding behind the door! I see the chainsaw, in fact I can hear it running from here; I am NOT going down there!

You went down there before, nothing bad happened.

So the guy with the chainsaw dozed off for five minutes and missed us, what’s your point?!

I though my point was rather obvious. NOTHING. BAD. HAPPENED. Does that help? You’ve just got a bad case of the creeps.

Can’t you just wait till morning? His heart pleaded.

Once again, you're just afraid of the dark. There is nothing bad down there, and no boogie man is going to jump out and get you. Just ease your way down the ladder, grope around on the shelf, grab a few cans of Girt (Spam) and you can get out of here.

...

Come on, this is foolish, you’re a grown man.

There was something else though. He could hear that voice, still whispering. It was almost like someone mumbling in their sleep. The words echoed in the cellar, unnaturally.

There was nothing for it; either go down there, or starve, he told himself. He grimaced, gripped the rungs of the old ladder, and made his way down.

Part three: Mid-world writings

2008-02-01T13:06:00.000-05:00

-3-

The shade of the building kept the worst of the heat off his head as he sat and ate from the cans of Girt. After finishing them he found a rock and bashed on one end of a corn can until he made a hole big enough to get some out. The ground drank up the juice that was spilt.

(white light)

After finishing his meal he went back to the stables to drink some more water. Eating had given him time to think. Running past the front of the old outpost was a semi paved road going roughly east and west judging by the sun. There was enough food and water here to last a good while but not enough to last forever. It was time to go exploring.

He walked around the outpost for miles, coming back every so often for more water. There wasn’t much to see other than sun baked earth. To the west at least he could see hints of mountain on the horizon. That was something at least.

There was something nagging him (white), had been nagging since he had woke up. He could remember something about before ( bright white); he remembered a color.

It was white.

He kept remembering the feeling of white almost like he had been encased in it; it had been light and it had been material all at the same time. Whatever it was it was close, like the name of an old acquaintance on the tip of your tongue.

By the time he had called it quits for the day he felt baked, like his brain had been cooked inside his head. He went back into the stable and dozed for a time. His dreams were white.

Part two Mid-world writings

2008-01-31T02:44:00.001-05:00

-2-

He raised his hand to his brow. The sun was bright and it hurt his eyes to look outside. He keep wanting to close them. He cast his eyes around surveying this strange new place. Surrounding the little stable was a great desert, cracked arid soil stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. The ground outside the stable was fenced in by some tired old railing made of wood. To the left of the stables stood an old house, probably some sort of inn where travelers could take some rest from the long desert road. It all looked like it had abandoned long ago.

(white)

He made his way across the yard to the house and tried the door.

It was unlocked.

His boots clicked on the old wood floors of the place as he walked in. The floor was covered in dirt grown over the ages, his feet were the first here in a long time, though they would not be the last.

A search of the above ground level revealed nothing of use, though he sat a while and chatted with a long gone man, whose bones glinted white (white) on the floor, in the shafts of light coming through one of the worn down walls. He talked of nothing in particular, only of the weather, and how he didn’t like the heat. The dead man seemed to agree.

He did find, however, a ladder leading down to an old root cellar. Looking down into the dark made him shiver, and his hair stood on edge. At the edges of his hearing he could hear faint whispers, spoken too low to comprehend. All this made him nervous, but there was nowhere else to go. He slowly made his way down the ladder.

“Jackpot”, he murmured.

Down here there were shelves, shelves covered in enough canned good to feed a small army. He couldn’t believe the luck, stranded in the middle of the desert in an old inn that probably had the only food for miles.

(bright white)

He grabbed a few cans of something called Girt; (He was surprised he could read the letters though they were a bit off, a little crooked somehow.) they reminded him of spam cans, and more importantly they had little pull rings to remove the can top without a can opener, and a few cans of what looked liked canned corn by the cans label and went back upstairs. Being down here gave him the creeps.

Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery

2008-01-11T02:29:00.002-05:00

How the devil do you get this thing to tab over, anyone know? Anyway. I've been reading through the next the Dark Tower tales, Wolves of the Calla, and it inspired me to write this. I hope Stephen King would approve.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

-1-

He awoke to stillness. No wind blew. No creature stirred. He felt damp, damp from sweat. The air about him was hot but the ground beneath him was cool. And he was dead.

“Why am I dead?”

No one answered his unspoken question.

He knew he was dead, but he didn’t feel dead. He opened his eyes.

He was in a building because there was a mixture of light and dark. Above his head it was dark, but light shone through an open doorway warming his legs. His chest was swathed in shadow, and was cooler. The ceiling was slanted, wooden rafters ran to his right and left holding it all up. He could feel the cool pull of concrete beneath his open palms, could recognize its smooth polished texture.

He sat up. The creaking of his blue jeans and old flannel shirt were the first sounds he heard besides his own breathing. To his right and left he could see old stalls filled with hay. The place was some sort of old stables.

A smile began to tug at his lips. This was certainly not hell, at least not yet. He’d never been a church going man. It looked like The Old Man in the Sky wasn’t going to have his way with him after all. His face darkened then. Maybe this was the Old Man’s idea of a joke. If it was he hadn’t heard the punch line yet.

Boots. He was wearing boots, old and scuffed. He’d never owned a pair of boots like these. They looked like something John Wayne might have worn in one of those old westerns. For that matter he had never owned a shirt or a pair of pants like these either, yet they all fit him well enough. They seemed right somehow.

“Why am I dead?”

The question came back, still unanswered. He couldn’t remember, just knew it to be true. He was as dead as he was alive. Standing, he gave his body a once over. Not a scratch nor a bruise, but he knew there should have been.

Near the back of the room was a machine mounted on a raised concrete pad. The rest of the place had a worn, forlorn look to it, but this thing looked brand new. Sticking out from one side was a pipe which hung over an open drain. Water colored the floor a darker shade of grey where it hadn't quite dried up yet. It seemed to have been used recently. On the top of the machine was a small red button labeled “On”.

When he pressed the button he heard a click and then a cycling sound, thud-THUD, thud-THUD, thud-THUD. Water came out cold and refreshing, and he drank his fill. His long sleep had made him thirsty.

“What is this place?” he wondered. "Why am I here?"

He walked back over to the entrance of the stables. Only time would tell.

Part eight

2008-01-10T01:21:00.000-05:00

It was late by the time Anias trudged into Hillsboro. Weary from the journey Anias walked slowly down the main street of the small hamlet and made his way towards the Traveler’s Rest, a tavern were he would bed down for the night. In an alley on the right hand of the street a man watched him from the shadows.

After Anias passed the mouth of the alley the man emerged and began to follow Anias down the street, and moved quickly to catch up.

“Anias, son of Hal?” the man asked, his speech terse.

Anias turned around slowly, and looked the man up and down. He was most likely a farmer. He was covered from head to foot in dirt, and his cloths were torn and worn, hardly enough to keep him warm in the middle of winter. The man looked pale and his lips were blue, he must have been standing outside for some time. He didn’t seem to mind being so cold, as he stood there without shivering or chattering his teeth.

“Excuse me, have we met?” Anias asked cautiously. Something about the way the man was looking at him made him nervous.

Anias extended his hand.

“You seem to have me somewhat at a disadvantage, you are?”

The man made no reply, he only stood there staring savagely at Anias, his breathing heavy as if he had been hard at work.

Anias waited a moment for the man to say something. Trying to stay calm he continued on, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Well, whatever your business is with me friend, let us speak about it indoors, it is cold out here. Come, I will buy you a drink.”

Anias turned and headed towards the tavern. Hopefully there would be other people in the tavern. Anias kept his head turned slightly to the left so he could keep an eye on the man out of the corner of his eye. After he had walked fifteen feet the other man began to follow. Anias turned his head back towards the tavern satisfied with the distance between himself and the stranger.

The stranger followed behind slowly at first. From under the folds of his shirt he drew a dagger. With each step he moved faster until he was running at Anias, his face contorted with a bizarre mixture of glee and rage.

The man was close by the time Anias heard him and turned just in time to see him leap in the air dagger raised above his head. As the man fell through the air Anias raised his hand and muttered a few words, and shut his eyes tight. Brilliant white light exploded from his hand making the dark street bright as day. Stunned the stranger tumbled onto Anias knocking both men to the ground; the stranger rolled off Anias, moaning and rubbing his eyes.

Anias got to his feet and clumsily drew his sword. As he did this he backed as quickly as he could towards the tavern, keeping his eyes on the stranger, who was struggling to his feet and wiping tears from his eyes. The stranger looked back and forth several times before his eyes focused on Anias. He snarled and bent over feeling on the ground for his dagger. Once it was in hand again he charged. Anias stopped backing up and raised his sword above his head. When the man came close Anias stepped towards the right away from the mans knife hand and swung the flat of his blade at the side of the man’s head. The stranger was not quick enough to duck and Anias’ sword connected with a resounding THWACK. The stranger crumpled to the ground and did not stir. Blood trickled from the wounded skin and mingled with the snow.

Anias turned and ran toward the tavern for help.

Part Seven

2008-01-05T15:53:00.000-05:00

A man sat alone upon a green hill, leaning on his blood spattered shield. He sat overlooking a field filled with the day’s grizzly work, a battle, and now it was just another graveyard. As he sat he wondered who had won this day, perhaps only the crows for whom his comrades had become a feast. Men had fought and died here today for their lords, and for what? All they had risked had been for a man that hardly knew them. At least he risked his skin for gold crowns, something he could hold onto after the fighting was over.

There was something about sitting amongst the dead that made him thoughtful. Perhaps it gave him time to reflect on his own mortality. Most things made a lot more sense in that light.

Land was what they had fought for today, and by the gods they had it. “Look at them littered all over it”, he muttered to himself. More land so some noblemen could have more prestige, and more servants, and more crops. Several of those men had been his friends. There was no rule that a sellsword couldn’t have friends. He pictured Lord Edderfield Clark at that moment, and how satisfying it would be to run the pudgy coward through with his blade. Now there was a cause worth fighting for. At least his friends would be able to rest easy then.

He’d nearly died himself in the fighting. After the initial cavalry charge Clark had send in a quarter of his foot in to keep Count Olsen’s men distracted, and as his precious knights had ridden away Clark ordered his archers to volley the field until Olsen’s men were all dead.

His horse had been cut from under him earlier and so he had had to survive as best he could, along with the rest of the poor foot soldiers. He’d been under his shield half the battle trying to keep the arrows off his back. As the battle disintegrated into more of a frightened mob of men trying each to save himself, Conall had hidden himself beneath his fallen horse. Between his horse’s body and his shield he had stayed safe till the battle was over.

Conall had fought in many battles over the years and looking down at dead and dying vowed this was his last. He’d earned enough money that he would never have to go looking for work like this again. His reputation as a swordsman was great enough that perhaps he could retire and become an instructor or a body guard, anything but this. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. Long ago when he had been young he had left home looking for his fortune, for purpose, and for glory. All he had found were petty kings and tyrants each looking to himself. All the old heroes had faded away an age ago and left in their stead quarreling boys. He would give them his sword no longer. None of them deserved it.

Part six

2008-01-02T23:18:00.000-05:00

The surface of the lake which Anias sat next to was frozen solid, and a light dusting of snow blew across its surface. For the last few minutes he had been watching the weather. He knew little about weather patterns but to him it looked like a big storm was blowing in from out of the north. From here he could see the surface compound that led down into the old college of sorcery. Its white marble walls lay in ruin, and past them in the middle of a courtyard an old fountain could be seen. It had taken him several hours of searching through rubble when he had first arrived there to find a way down into the college itself, the main entrance had partially collapsed.

If the storm was going to be a blizzard it would probably be the first heavy snow, making travel much harder. If he didn’t go now, the snow would be a lot higher the next time he tried. It would only take him half a days hike to make it to the great pine forest not far to the south west, and once there he would be secluded from the icy winds of the storm. On the other hand getting caught out in a blizzard didn’t really seem like all that good of an idea either.

Having made up his mind Anias stood, shouldered his pack and began to make his way towards Hillsboro. The storm seemed far away for the time being.

The going was slow. The snow was already a foot deep and it was no task for an old man. It was nightfall before he reached the safety of the woods. Once there he set himself up a camp and shelter. Searching through the trees he gathered deadwood and pine branches with his hatchet. Pine branches made for a great shelter, and insulation, and dry needles would make for a good fire starter. Finding the dry needles took some digging through the snow but they were there. Even with those things it was a long cold night.

The blizzard hit in the night, blanketing the land in several feet of snow before morning, and just as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone. The hiking once Anias returned to the open plain was miserable.

The next few days passed slowly, though there were a lot of things to occupy his thoughts and his time. Getting supplies to the academy was going to be a problem. He really didn’t want to reveal its position to the world, and if he brought a wagon driver and some muscle to move boxes along with him, word was sure to get out about such a marvelous place. He supposed near his death he would tell someone about what he had found but until then he wanted the place to himself. He didn’t think he could get several months worth of supplies back to the academy by himself.

The second problem was the well itself. Something seemed to be wrong with it. Why would someone engineer a place to make such a peculiar vibrating sound? It permeated the whole compound, and it would have driven him nuts. Perhaps if the well had been drawing in energy from its surroundings for so long without having energy drawn from it, it had become too full, it contained too much energy. Even if all that was true, great, so what was he supposed to do about it? Its not like he could make it all magically disappear. Well, okay, maybe he could magically make it disappear, so to speak, but he had no idea as to how.

Regardless of what he was going to do about the other things Anias firmly resolved to get a pair of those snow shoes, it had been bad foresight on his part to venture up here without them.

Breaks Over I Suppose

2007-12-29T23:00:00.000-05:00

Welp, for anyone who happens to notice I will be back up and running, though not at a pace of a post a day. Sitting around and doing nothing for the first two weeks of break have been marvelous, but I suppose I ought to do something other then sit around. In theory I will have another section of the temporarily titled Vulgaris writings up by tomorrow night. They have become my official "learn how not to be a crappy writer" writings.

The Alchemist

Update

2007-12-10T15:37:00.000-05:00

Well if anyone was wondering, its finals week here at Harding, I have other things to do then dabble in writing. Regular posting will probably resume this weekend when I am home.

The Alchemist

Untitled Short Story

2007-12-05T12:36:00.000-05:00

The bell rang in the hall outside the elevator.

“Ten minutes”, James thought. It was morning, time for his eight o’clock class. As was his custom, James pressed the button for the third floor followed by the second. The third floor was actually closed off. While constructing this addition to the science building the school had run out of money, and so the third floor was left incomplete. As to prevent mischievous college students from messing around up there the stairs were locked and the button for the third floor was somehow disabled. The first time James had been told about it he had become curios about the button. The next time he had been in the elevator, just as every time since, he always pressed the third floor button, just to see what would happen. After letting out a slow yawn James noticed something was different this morning. The dormant button had sprung to life, and luminously, it informed him that they would go to floor three.

Moments later the door split open and granted him entrance to the third floor. It was dark and for some reason the air was musty with a strange scent.

“Smells like something crawled up in here and died” he complained to the darkness, covering his nose with his t-shirt. He glanced at his watch

“Eight minutes” he muttered aloud.

He turned and glanced suspiciously at the elevator. If he let it go downstairs again it might not come back up. He didn’t’ much care for the thought of explaining to the dean how he had come to be trapped on the third floor so he set his backpack in the door. When the door tried to close the backpack would stop it, keeping the elevator here.

He reached into his pocket to produce his LED pen light. It seemed the Boy Scout motto of always being prepared had paid off for him today. With flashlight in hand he set off into the darkness to explore the third floor.

Supposedly, the new floor was going to contain a research lab for the chemistry department. It would be neat to see all of it before they finished it next fall.

There was a draft. That didn’t really make much sense because all of the windows had been installed and even though it had been windy outside, there shouldn’t be places for the air to circulate through here.

James wandered the halls whistling as he went. At most of the doorways he would stop and point his flashlight in. There wasn’t really much to see. The rooms were unfurnished and some hadn’t even had drywall put up. You could see the wiring in a lot of places. There was something about being up here, however, that was invigorating; perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be in the first place.

He glanced at his watch.

“Five minutes” he told the darkness.

He was about to turn to head back, hoping that the elevator might let him up here again after class, when he got another strong whiff of that smell. Something was definitely decomposing up here.

“Dr. Poe would probably love to show the dead animal to his parasitology class.” He thought, smirking.

He was certain that he must be fairly close now. Having lived on a farm he had been around his fair share of dead animals. The dogs had always loved to kill squirrels and leave them lying about. Just one more smelly thing he’d had to clean up with a shovel.

He wandered down the hall to an area he guessed would become a set of faculty offices.

“It would be neat if I used one of these some day”

As he wound the corner into one of the office spaces that he suspected the smell was coming from, he paused to look at his watch.

He still had a few minutes left.

He was taken aback by the scene that greeted him in the next room. There were men. He was shocked terribly at first. Thousands of thoughts ran through his head.

“Who are these guys?”

“What are they doing here?”

“Do I need to get out of here?”

He realized however that the smell must be coming from them. Dead people really don’t pose much of a threat. They were homeless, all except one. Each was leaned against one of the unfinished walls, propped up in all their final glory, almost as if on display for him to see. He couldn’t imagine what these guys could be doing here. They were all most likely dead, at least from the smell. His first instinct was to run.

He stopped to think for a moment.

“There is no reason somebody would hide bodies up here, these guys were probably in need of shelter and died one night.

“All five of them.”

He decided that perhaps they weren’t all dead and maybe one of them might need help. He went from body to body, checking for a pulse where it seemed needed, and sure enough one after another turned up dead. The strange thing was that each was in a different stage of decomposition. One looked like he had been dead for a while, and number four looked like he had only died just yesterday. He stopped at number five.

Number five was different than the rest. He was bald. His eyes were slightly sunk into his head and he wore a weird frock, or robe looking thing. It was brown and tied with a rope at the waist. He felt like he had only died a few hours ago when James touched him to feel his pulse. He had, it seemed, just recently assumed room temperature. His skin felt completely normal other than being cold and he wasn’t really rigid or anything like that.

James moved the LED to his face to get a better look at him. It was like a flashback into the past. The guy looked like some sort of monk or something.

That’s when his eyes opened.

James had been wrong, earlier about that smell. Something dead had crawled up here and had been living.

With a shriek James stumbled backwards into the hall in a desperate attempt to escape his dark discovery. He only made it a few feet before it was upon him. No sound but a gurgle was able to escape his lips as it sank its teeth into the soft flesh of his throat. The smack of hungry lips echoed down the empty hall. Heart racing James tried to worm his way out of the iron grip of his attacker but it was to no avail, and with each passing moment his struggles grew less and less. Before long he laid still upon the icy stone floor.

Downstairs there could faintly be heard the sound of a ringing bell. It was time for class.

Okay I lied, Heres Part 5

2007-12-03T01:02:00.000-05:00

Joint pain, that was the one penalty of old age that Anias resented the most. It seemed like he might never stand again when he woke in the mornings. Under his warm fur blankets he began to absently rub at his aching joints. Next to him in the fire place, the last dying embers of his fire gave off the only illumination in the room, and beyond their feeble light it was pitch black.

Sitting up Anias seized his staff and muttered a few unintelligible words. To the untrained what Anias’ words caused seemed simple and elegant, however much more was involved then a few words. By stilling his mind and concentrating he had channeled the very energies of creation and reshaped the universe to his will. Even the simplest spell could be dangerous, for if he lost control of it there was no telling how the universe would be reformed.

This time brilliant white light illuminated the room, casting long shadows amongst the stacks of books. Anias set his staff against the wall so that he could rekindle the fire and make himself breakfast. Taking out some grain meal he mixed it with water in a pot and placed it on the fire to heat. He wanted to be off as soon as possible to Hillsboro to gather the supplies he would need to make this place into more of a home. Then the real work could begin.

News Flash

2007-12-02T21:11:00.000-05:00

Welp, Part Five of the temporarily titled Well of Vulgaris writings will be delayed somewhat. The next part is probably going to be very long and very hard to write, though it is looking like part five might become part five, six, and seven. The last post is from another continuity that my mind has thought up, the main character is going to be some sort of inquisitor or witch hunter, not sure what exactly yet. Currently I am working on editing parts two and three.

Next update sooner or later. Oh, I really don't much care for writing fantasy as it were. I would like to start up a short story or something with a different genre. Suggestions will be taken.

Later, The Alchemist

And Now for Something Completely Different

2007-12-02T21:08:00.000-05:00

His fingers were cold, from prying dirt from the frozen ground. His face was cold, from the icy kiss of the wind. Winter was a cruel lover, and as it wrapped Heinrick in its chilly embrace, he shuddered. He had been through worse. Besides, the weather nearly insured that no one would pass by and catch him about his macabre work. A man has to provide for his family somehow, doesn’t he?

And so Heinrick dug his hands into the earth of an old grave in the churchyard cemetery, hoping to find something worth selling to Gavin, the shopkeep in Bramsford. Gavin was what those in the business called a fence. He bought stolen goods cheap, and sold them to passers through the town. Not that there were many of those this time of year. Winter is not the best season for pilgrims, or other sorts of travelers. No indeed, not the best sort of weather for anyone. If he found anything valuable Heinrick’s first act with the money would be to buy himself a nice warm coat, and some new working gloves. The ones he had on had holes in nearly all the fingers and let the snow in.

In his pocket was a silver crucifix and a finger bone. The crucifix was going to Gavin, and as for the finger, an old woman outside town always wanted odd things like that, from the graveyard. Heinrick new better than to ask questions of the likes of her. Like as not to bring some sort of curse down on him she was. It was whispered around town that she was a worshipper of some forgotten pagan god, or maybe even the Old Dark. He doubted it. She was nice enough when brought what she wanted.

Nothing worth taking, as usual. As Heinrick began to pile the dirt back into the grave he heard someone speaking from behind him.

“O Heinrick” the voice began “I never thought I would find you here, thought you were on the straight and narrow.”

Heinrick found himself frozen by more than the wind, but with the easy grace of the lower class went right back to business as if nothing was wrong.

“Oh no sir, yoe see sir, I was just…”

“Spare you excuses,” the voice interrupted “they are better saved for some other fool who might believe them.”

He knew his goose was cooked, it was hard to come up with an excuse for why you were digging up old graves.

“Empty out your pockets Heinrick.”

He did as he was told. The man leaning against the corner of the church came over to inspect what he had.

“Who did you get this bone for?” The man asked.

“Poor old woman.” Heinrick thought, “She’ll be roped to a pier before the sun sets.”

Part Four

2007-11-30T12:09:00.000-05:00

In the darkness not far from where Anias slept, two lives were about to end.

“Hannah, Hannah wake up. Get your things, we have to go.”

In her bed the child moaned softly.

“Mother what is it? I’m tired.”

That was the same question Leda had been asking herself. Five minutes ago her husband had come at her from behind with a rolling pin, shouting and snarling. Now he sat in a catatonic state in the middle of the dirt floor in the next room, drool running down from his lip. Leda thanked the gods above for the darkness, she didn’t want Hannah to see the blood running down from her wounded head. Uric had always been kind to her, but lately he had been acting strangely. Two nights previous he had become furious at dinner and thrown his bowl across the room at her. Immediately after he apologized saying that he knew not what had come over him. He also seemed to be tired and irritated. Over the last week and a half he had taken to sleeping till noon, and frequently napped. He spent more time asleep then awake. Leda thought he was just coping with some illness, but there had to be something else wrong with him. Some times he would stare at her, so hatefully that it made her weep when he was gone. Now it had all culminated in this. The man in the next room could not be her Uric.

“Just get your things dear, we’re going to stay at Rebecca’s house for a while.”

Rebecca was the daughter of her best friend and Hannah’s play mate. Leda did not know where else she could turn.

After Hannah had gathered up her doll, blanket, and extra pair of cloths Leda took her by the hand and led her past her husband in the next room.

“Momma” Hannah whimpered, “What’s wrong with daddy?”

“Come on Hannah” Leda said, nearly having to drag her child away from her father. “We have to go!”

Leda had just made it through the door when she heard a snarl come from behind.

“Where” Uric growled, “do you think that you're going?”

The only thing that could escape her mouth before Uric fell upon her was “Hannah, run!”

If the child had ran right away as her mother had instructed she might have escaped, but she was unable to move as she watched horrified while her father battered her mother with the rolling pin.

Hannah turned, weeping, and fled for the forest not fifty feet away. She had made it to the tree line when her father caught her, and drug her kicking and screaming back to the house. The sobs and screams of the two women did not last much longer that night.

In the morning the villagers found Uric in his house, rocking back and forth, with his daughter and wife cradled in each arm, tears streaming down his face. For a small community such a loss was bitter indeed, but the grief of Uric was the bitterest of all for he could not remember what had happened to his family last night.

Comments

2007-11-29T14:57:00.000-05:00

While I was looking through my settings I noted that it had disabled posts for those who are not google blog members. I have rectified this, and now everyone should be able to post. Email me if this is not so and I will take another look at it.

Whats on the agenda: I actually have tommorows post already done, and some semblance of a story is growing in my mind. This is kinda fun. I really appreaciate the editing comments made so far, they have been very helpful; This is the sort of thing I need. After I get done studying for tommorows tests I will begin the editing of the second and third story parts, hopefully all that and the fourth post will be up by friday night.

The Alchemist

Part Three: Just don't drop your glasses.

2007-11-29T11:59:00.000-05:00

Waving his hand, Anias produced a small light upon the tip of his walking stick. Staff in one hand and his other resting on the pommel of his old sword, he began to make his way towards the inner recesses of the complex. “I am in way over my head here,” he mused to himself as he walked the dusty halls of Vulgaris’ great underground labyrinth. The tremors coming from the Well simply struck him as odd. “Should it be shaking and vibrating like that?” He had no idea. Putting such thoughts aside he continued on. More then anything else Anias felt alive, vibrant with energy he had not possessed since his youth. To finally see his life’s work complete, to have discovered this place, it was all too much. His only regret was that he had not found the Well until the twilight of his life. Next spring he would be eighty-six. Few guessed he was that old, since part of his hair was still a dull black, and there was yet some strength in his arm. They had called him crazy when at the age of seventy-one he had sold all of his worldly possessions and begun his search for this place. Not bad for a crazy old man. If it took him the rest of his life to explore it the time would not have been misspent. So far every sight had surpassed even his greatest hopes and expectations. The room he walked into next took his breath away.
As far as the eye could see there were books. Stacks of books, shelves filled with books, and desks covered in closed and open books. From where he stood he could see upwards to the chamber’s vaulted ceiling, and rising on every side were pillars supporting other floors. The place was at least four stories of knowledge, more then he could ever hope to sift through. No where in the entire world was there such a collection of books. Dumbfounded he stopped to take it all in.
Since he had begun his search for this place his research had taken him from one country to another, pluming the depths of ancient repositories of knowledge and history. Every book he had ever gone through was probably here. The books on the shelves look as if they were in excellent condition, something that seemed impossible in the light of the fact that they were all so old. The walls thrummed with eldritch power, and he could feel enchantment in the air. Perhaps those who had once lived here had used their power to preserve the knowledge in this room.
The only thing more powerful then his curiosity was his weariness. It was time to rest. After returning to the surface for some wood, Anias settled down next to the warmth and light of a fire he built in a fireplace near the back of the library, and dreamt of the endless possibilities amongst the knowledge of the ages. For him, it seemed, life had only just begun.

Writer's note: This section will probably get a serious overhall seeing as how I wrote most of it at one it the morning, and as for other editing tasks, I'll get around to that sometime tommorow, today its time for studying. Also, anyone know how to get this thing to tab? It let me get away with it yesterday but not today.

Part two: The Doors in My Imagination are Opening

2007-11-28T13:26:00.001-05:00

Unwrapping the leather packaging around his dried foodstuffs, he popped a piece of salty jerky in his mouth. The floor was cold as he sat upon it, but not as cold as it was on the surface. Wandering down here through the stone tunnels he hadn’t seen a single room with something he could sleep on. It wasn’t surprising seeing as how old the place was. Most of the furniture had probably rotted away. Rubbing his eyes with his palms he ran one hand down over the salt and pepper stubble on his face and rubbed that section vigorously as well. From where he sat the blue aura of Vulgaris’ Well lit the hall through an arched doorway. Anias debated getting out his bed roll, ground cover, and just sleeping right there. The only problem would be the nagging vibration coming from the Well in the next room. It would either be one of those things that helped put him to sleep or would keep him from getting any at all. Finishing his small meal, he gathered his legs beneath him and walked off down the hall. Exploring more of the underground complex surrounding the well would help him get further away from the pulsating eddy in the next room.

Note: You know, I have no idea where all of this is going. I started writing this last night and continued by writing the second part today. At the very least I like Anias.

Come what May

2007-11-28T13:17:00.000-05:00

He could not look away. For fifteen years he had trekked across deserts and mountains, dark forests and frozen tundra to find this place. Standing on a stone lip made of granite and mortar, Anias was bathed in light coming from the swirling blue vortex that was the Well of Vulgaris. Power emanated from the well and sent vibrations through his body. The vibrations were powerful enough that they could be felt on the surface of the earth hundreds of feet above. His cloak billowed in the air rushing around the room. So like water was the flowing magic, that he had to resist the urge to reach down and dip his hand in it. It was nothing as benign as water, but raw power, the very fabric of existence. With such had the universe been forged and refined. The well was a focus, and functioned much like a bowl left to collect water after a morning dew. In the same the well could collect the excess of power radiating from the surrounding world. It was pure magic, as the plebeians would call it, though it was nothing so simple nor cliché. For nearly a thousand years had the well been distilling hesh’iash, the stuff of existence, from its surroundings. The well was nearly overflowing. So dangerous it was, and so tempting to tap its unlimited power. Such a thing hadn’t been attempted since before the Last War, and he was not about to walk flippantly into such a dangerous endeavor. The histories hinted at the fate awaiting those who dabbled in the craft of sorcery. Despite his skill, Anias could control magic about as well as a fly could control the wind with its wings. Turning, he left the glow of the room and its temptations behind. More study would be needed. For now, having found the well was enough.

Edited.

Beginnings

2007-11-28T12:27:00.000-05:00

And so it begins. The only way to get good at writing is practice and so I set myself on the path to perfection; may this blog bring criticism to distill my good qualities from the bad.