Zachary aka Kili: Peter pulled his Bayonet out of its sheath, and sharpened it, as I loaded up my Tommy Gun. “Alright, let’s get ready to move.” He said. Katrina sat in back, and I was shotgun next to Peter. It had been about 6 months since we left Spain. Let me tell you, fighting off Nazi after Nazi is tiring. Snow covered the ground, and even our Jeep was starting to slip a bit on the icy roads. “Slow down, you’re gonna crash!” “You’re mistaken, this is a blast!” Peter replied to me. “Peter, seriously, it’s icy, and Rocky is our only transportation! We’re not even past Berlin yet!” “Alright, fine.” He slowed to about 20 miles an hour. “It’s really cold out here.” Katrina said. “Don’t remind me, I’ve been trying to zone it out and ‘believe’ I’m fighting in the Philippines like the Marines.”
Maria #2 aka Fili: For the first time in what felt likes days Sebastian sheathed his sword. Soldiers milled about him, talking and pounding each other on the back as though they’d just been to a great pub, not out to slaughter innocents. He wiped his brow and looked to the muggy skyline, eyes squinted against the filtered light. Tiredness hung from his bones and dragged his hands slowly along on his way to the encampment. Bile rose in his throat as he walked, the normal sounds of his fellow soldiers closing in on him like so many spears, and he turned into a side street as soon as he could. Grit mixed with rain crunched under his boots, and he let his shoulders fall an inch; no one was here to watch him.
His sword clicked idly against his armor and Sebastian’s first thought was to toss it aside and tell his commandant he’d lost it. He swallowed the knot in his throat as a fine mist began to fall. The stone walls around him felt cold and hollow, their owners stripped from the insides. It might have worked, but that he’d never in his life misplaced a weapon before. They might not ask questions, but they wouldn’t believe him.
Luke aka Merry: “My liege” the Queztorian soldier said, kneeling before King.
“Rowaquen troops march from the north on our position, General Saul leads a brigade strong”
“Muster the army” the King replied.
The Queztorian Army of 4,000 rallied and marched north to meet the enemy.
“Halt!” the King ordered to his troops.
Numerous sounds of clanking came from the north.
“Infantry form a battle line”
The pikemen formed a line and lowered their pikes.
“Cavalry to me”
The Cavalry galloped to the side of the king. The clanking became louder, and a Rowaquen army of 3,000 marched on top of the hill across from the Queztorians.
Maria #2 aka Fili: For the first time in what felt likes days Sebastian sheathed his sword. Soldiers milled about him, talking and pounding each other on the back as though they’d just been to a great pub, not out to slaughter innocents. He wiped his brow and looked to the muggy skyline, eyes squinted against the filtered light. Tiredness hung from his bones and dragged his hands slowly along on his way to the encampment. Bile rose in his throat as he walked, the normal sounds of his fellow soldiers closing in on him like so many spears, and he turned into a side street as soon as he could. Grit mixed with rain crunched under his boots, and he let his shoulders fall an inch; no one was here to watch him.
His sword clicked idly against his armor and Sebastian’s first thought was to toss it aside and tell his commandant he’d lost it. He swallowed the knot in his throat as a fine mist began to fall. The stone walls around him felt cold and hollow, their owners stripped from the insides. It might have worked, but that he’d never in his life misplaced a weapon before. They might not ask questions, but they wouldn’t believe him.
Luke aka Merry: “My liege” the Queztorian soldier said, kneeling before King.
“Rowaquen troops march from the north on our position, General Saul leads a brigade strong”
“Muster the army” the King replied.
The Queztorian Army of 4,000 rallied and marched north to meet the enemy.
“Halt!” the King ordered to his troops.
Numerous sounds of clanking came from the north.
“Infantry form a battle line”
The pikemen formed a line and lowered their pikes.
“Cavalry to me”
The Cavalry galloped to the side of the king. The clanking became louder, and a Rowaquen army of 3,000 marched on top of the hill across from the Queztorians.
Tiana aka Bofur: Nero stood in the wet mist, his shoulder length hair was dripping with the rain that had turned the battle field to mud.
Zephyra pranced by him, unfazed by the battle they had just fought. She trotted up to Robin Hood, her father and he put an arm around her shoulders.
Nero sighed, he remembered when his father had put a loving arm around his shoulders, or given him a firm handshake. But everything was different now, and it was because of him, because he had been stubborn and had to do things his way.
Ewan walked up beside him and slid his sword into its sheath. “Another battle won,” He sighed.
“Yeah,” Nero rubbed the sleek wood of his bow with his thumb, and looked through the fog to the castle looming in the distance. “But not the war.”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: The Sword of Kings, they had called it, before Gerius was born. Why, then, had he inherited it? He had no royal blood.
He recalled the audience with The Elder.
“It is bequeathed to you by the desire of the Ancients,” he had said.
“To me, sir? I am no king.”
“The Ancients see farther than mere mortals, Gerius Tyronius Greene.”
It was an honor for the Elder to address a man with his full name.
Gerius had taken the sword, placed it in its sheath, bowed, and walked out.
And now he was about to use it in battle for the first time. It was said to be a good sword, trusty, razor-sharp and accurate. But none of that dispelled the fear welling up inside him. The fear that came from not knowing his destiny. If he were to fall in this battle, what would become of Selene? Sweet Selene, his bride-to-be…
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Are you Gerius Greene?”
It was a messenger arrayed in the uniform of the Elder’s guard.
“I am,” he said, replacing his sword.
“The Elder requests your presence immediately. It’s something to do with one of his visions. He claims it to be a matter of national security.”
“I will come,” Gerius said, and followed the messenger to where he had two swift chariots waiting.
So it was not his destiny to be killed in this battle. What of this vision of the Elder’s? There were not many men in the history of the nation who had been involved in more than one of the Elder’s visions. It could be a great blessing…or an unspeakable curse.
Within hours he was standing once again before the nation’s wisest sage and prophet.
“Gerius Tyronius Greene,” he said, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You were the subject of a second of my messages from the Ancients. The Ancients take interest in your fate.”
Gerius touched his forehead and his lips in a gesture of reverence for the Ancients.
“I have received a message,” the Elder continued, “regarding the Chosen One.”
Gerius felt his heart stutter. “The Chosen One?” he whispered.
“Yes. The Ancients have revealed to me that the Chosen One shall come from your household—be your own child.”
His own child? What had he done to cause the Ancients to smile down on him in this way?
He let out a nervous half-laugh, cleared his throat, and bowed. “The Ancients fill me with gratitude.”
“Go home and finish your preparations for your upcoming marriage,” the Elder said. “The future of your family is now a matter of national interest.”
With that, he dismissed him.
Gerius returned home, not daring to admit to himself his relief at being relieved of his duty in battle.
Con aka Samwise: Battlefield smells, if contained within a decanter, could be used for training. No amount of sword-swinging will prepare you for what comes when the blood begins to flow in the heat and sun of a scorched field full of hate-filled souls. One whiff of that, and nausea begins to rise. Vile is the taste in your mouth. It takes years to wash it out. For some, it never goes away.
If kings and dukes had to stand out here, among the slain, and breathe in deeply, well, they’d think twice before starting another war. Which would be wise.
It’s almost like you can smell the fear, the anger, and in some cases, the stupidity.
This war should never have been waged. A petty dispute had turned into a petty war. And then both of those petty kingdoms dragged all their friends into it.
Which made me question why we had been allied to them in the first place. They had done little to better us.
So here I stand, breathing it all in. The sweat. The tears. The dreams.
Here lie the unburied dead.
Crows are gathering overhead already. Who will stand to defend these men against these carrions of the sky?
None will.
I slowly sheathed my sword.
War is always won at a price. No matter how great het victory, no matter how the history books try to glorify the end results, they’re always the same.
Dead bodies lying unseeing in the sun.
All wars end like this.
I crossed myself once, said a quick prayer for all the souls that lie here, and plodded off the field.
Sabrina aka Legolas: The man begging and pleading before his father was quickly cut down by Hrothgar’s gleaming black blade.
Hayden shielded his eyes.
He peeked between his fingers as Hrothgar slid his sword into its scabbard with a sharp, metallic click. The victim lay before him, blood oozing from the wound, creating a larger and larger spread across his clothing.
Hrothgar turned to Hayden who immediately looked down and shuffled his feet.
His father released an aggravated sigh. “Son, you are nearly eleven. You must do as I ask. Without question.”
Hayden hung his head. “Yes, chief.”
Crouching down in front of him, Hrothgar leveled his gaze at his son. “Disobey me again, and it will cost you your life.”
Zephyra pranced by him, unfazed by the battle they had just fought. She trotted up to Robin Hood, her father and he put an arm around her shoulders.
Nero sighed, he remembered when his father had put a loving arm around his shoulders, or given him a firm handshake. But everything was different now, and it was because of him, because he had been stubborn and had to do things his way.
Ewan walked up beside him and slid his sword into its sheath. “Another battle won,” He sighed.
“Yeah,” Nero rubbed the sleek wood of his bow with his thumb, and looked through the fog to the castle looming in the distance. “But not the war.”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: The Sword of Kings, they had called it, before Gerius was born. Why, then, had he inherited it? He had no royal blood.
He recalled the audience with The Elder.
“It is bequeathed to you by the desire of the Ancients,” he had said.
“To me, sir? I am no king.”
“The Ancients see farther than mere mortals, Gerius Tyronius Greene.”
It was an honor for the Elder to address a man with his full name.
Gerius had taken the sword, placed it in its sheath, bowed, and walked out.
And now he was about to use it in battle for the first time. It was said to be a good sword, trusty, razor-sharp and accurate. But none of that dispelled the fear welling up inside him. The fear that came from not knowing his destiny. If he were to fall in this battle, what would become of Selene? Sweet Selene, his bride-to-be…
A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Are you Gerius Greene?”
It was a messenger arrayed in the uniform of the Elder’s guard.
“I am,” he said, replacing his sword.
“The Elder requests your presence immediately. It’s something to do with one of his visions. He claims it to be a matter of national security.”
“I will come,” Gerius said, and followed the messenger to where he had two swift chariots waiting.
So it was not his destiny to be killed in this battle. What of this vision of the Elder’s? There were not many men in the history of the nation who had been involved in more than one of the Elder’s visions. It could be a great blessing…or an unspeakable curse.
Within hours he was standing once again before the nation’s wisest sage and prophet.
“Gerius Tyronius Greene,” he said, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You were the subject of a second of my messages from the Ancients. The Ancients take interest in your fate.”
Gerius touched his forehead and his lips in a gesture of reverence for the Ancients.
“I have received a message,” the Elder continued, “regarding the Chosen One.”
Gerius felt his heart stutter. “The Chosen One?” he whispered.
“Yes. The Ancients have revealed to me that the Chosen One shall come from your household—be your own child.”
His own child? What had he done to cause the Ancients to smile down on him in this way?
He let out a nervous half-laugh, cleared his throat, and bowed. “The Ancients fill me with gratitude.”
“Go home and finish your preparations for your upcoming marriage,” the Elder said. “The future of your family is now a matter of national interest.”
With that, he dismissed him.
Gerius returned home, not daring to admit to himself his relief at being relieved of his duty in battle.
Con aka Samwise: Battlefield smells, if contained within a decanter, could be used for training. No amount of sword-swinging will prepare you for what comes when the blood begins to flow in the heat and sun of a scorched field full of hate-filled souls. One whiff of that, and nausea begins to rise. Vile is the taste in your mouth. It takes years to wash it out. For some, it never goes away.
If kings and dukes had to stand out here, among the slain, and breathe in deeply, well, they’d think twice before starting another war. Which would be wise.
It’s almost like you can smell the fear, the anger, and in some cases, the stupidity.
This war should never have been waged. A petty dispute had turned into a petty war. And then both of those petty kingdoms dragged all their friends into it.
Which made me question why we had been allied to them in the first place. They had done little to better us.
So here I stand, breathing it all in. The sweat. The tears. The dreams.
Here lie the unburied dead.
Crows are gathering overhead already. Who will stand to defend these men against these carrions of the sky?
None will.
I slowly sheathed my sword.
War is always won at a price. No matter how great het victory, no matter how the history books try to glorify the end results, they’re always the same.
Dead bodies lying unseeing in the sun.
All wars end like this.
I crossed myself once, said a quick prayer for all the souls that lie here, and plodded off the field.
Sabrina aka Legolas: The man begging and pleading before his father was quickly cut down by Hrothgar’s gleaming black blade.
Hayden shielded his eyes.
He peeked between his fingers as Hrothgar slid his sword into its scabbard with a sharp, metallic click. The victim lay before him, blood oozing from the wound, creating a larger and larger spread across his clothing.
Hrothgar turned to Hayden who immediately looked down and shuffled his feet.
His father released an aggravated sigh. “Son, you are nearly eleven. You must do as I ask. Without question.”
Hayden hung his head. “Yes, chief.”
Crouching down in front of him, Hrothgar leveled his gaze at his son. “Disobey me again, and it will cost you your life.”
Zachary aka Kili: “Why must we be in Germany… I would rather be fighting Japs where it’s warm…” Peter said. “I literally JUST said that.” “Sorry, my ears kinda hurt, because it’s cold.” “STOP SAYING COLD!” I shouted. “You know two things that should always go together…” Katrina said. “Guns and ammo?” “Hogans and Hereos?” “Peter, you can’t make that joke, that show doesn’t exist yet.” “Oh, sorry.” “Boys, I was talking!” Katrina said, snapping her fingers, “I was going to say, snow and fire.” “Oh, we get plenty of that, every time we take down a Nazi tank.” “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! I mean, sitting by a fire in your night gown,” She was cut off by Peter Sarcastically saying “I don’t know about Zach here, but I don’t wear night gowns.” “Oh, come on, I’m serious! I miss sitting by the fire, sipping hot-coco.” “I do too, trust me, I do too…” I replied.
Con aka Samwise: Josh eyed the single shaker upon the table. “Uh, we have a problem.”
Carl just continued stuffing his face with pizza.
“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Josh glanced over at his friend.
“I’m literally over here thinking ‘if I don’t ask, maybe he won’t tell me’ to myself on repeat, bro.” Carl said, before diving after a loose meatball. “Five second rule! One….Two…”
“That’s rude.” Josh frowned, squinting.
“Three….four…well, you asked the question.” Carl shrugged, popping the renegade sausage into his mouth on four.
“My bad.” Josh rolled his eyes. “But seriously, have you noticed…we’re missing the pepper shaker.”
Carl gasped in mock horror.
“I mean, if there’s a salt shaker, it falls to reason there has to be a pepper shaker.” Josh continued on despite his friend’s mockery. “Which means either the other shaker is on the ground, or the people who run this place are deranged.”
Carl tapped his fork on the table. “I vote neither, and you’re deranged.”
“So polite.” Josh rolled his eyes, and started searching nearby tables for an extra shaker.
Carl just took another bite, and flicked a bug away from his friend’s pizza. A waitress came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Need anything else, sir?”
He brightened. “Are you deranged?”
She blinked.
“It’s an honest question.” Carl said. “Just answer me. Be honest.”
“I don’t…think so…”
“Ah, that’s good.” Carl turned back to his friend. “If your theory’s correct, you better keep searching.”
“Can’t, I’m out of tables.” Josh plopped back down, then noticed the waiter. “Hey there, know where the other shaker is…?”
She shook her head mutely.
“Pity.” Carl said. “Oh well, it’s not like you were going to use either condiment on your pizza, bro.”
Josh folded his arms. “I refuse to eat at an unbalanced table.”
Carl reached over. Unscrewed the lid of the salt shaker, and dumped its contents on the ground. He screwed the cap back on, and placed the little container back. “Solved.” He turned to the rather stunned waitress. “Thank you, that’ll be all.”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: It didn’t make sense, but there was something I hated about sunny days. The sunshine would reflect off things and sting my eyes, and then I would get a headache, and then Martha would force me to “take a lie-down” and guard my bedroom door so I’d stay in bed for at least a couple of hours, and then I would be too wide awake at bedtime and then I would sneak out and catch cold and then Mother would scold me.
But it was more than that. Sunny days were supposed to be happy. Picnics, walks in the park, ice cream, lemonade. Yes, sunny days required lemonade.
But instead, for me, they usually included cough syrup, chamomile tea, and doctor visits.
It bothered me that everyone else enjoyed sunny days. I could never find someone in as glum a mood as mine on sunny days. Rainy days, everyone was a little down. It suited me better, since I was always a lot down.
What was wrong with me?
I looked up from my book when I heard a knock at the door. “What?”
“Brought you some lemonade,” Blaise’s voice said.
I glanced around the study, at all the disheveled papers I was supposed to be organizing. Nobody disturbed my reading here.
I got up and opened the door. “Thanks,” I said, taking the glass from his hand. “How did you know I liked lemonade?”
He shrugged. “Who doesn’t?” His gaze traveled to the study. “Aren’t you supposed to be tidying this place?”
“Y-yes,” I said, and took a gulp of lemonade.
“It looks the same as it did this morning.”
I avoided his gaze.
He bit back a smile. “You’ve been reading, haven’t you? On this beautiful day? You’re an odd one, Charlotte.”
Easy for you to say, Mr. perfect-adopted-son.
“Thanks for the lemonade,” I said, and shut the door in his face.
Tiana aka Bofur: “What should we have for lunch?” Jason wined.
“A sandwich?” Keenan asked.
“What kind of sandwich?” Jason glanced at the fridge.
“How about peanut butter and banana?” Keenan suggested.
“Yuck!” Jason grimaced. “Those should never go together!”
“Tuna and tomato?”
“Ew!”
“Jelly and pickles?”
“What is wrong with you?!” Jason exclaimed. “You could at least suggest stuff that always should go together.”
Luke aka Merry: The sound of drums was the air. The one thing countries could not stop doing is war. But a war of revolution was different. The Colonial Army halted at the hill. Rowaquen General Smith march his army up the opposing on his horse. The both sides prepped and raised their muskets and fired. Smith’s personal cavalry division and the division of Highlander cavalry charged at the flanks of the Colonial Army. Within seconds the army routed and the retreat was called. The following day, the Colonial Capital of Stampass was taken.
Maria #2 aka Fili: Sunshine and raindrops, something that makes a rainbow so pretty to see. Clouds and a bit of sun, just peeking through. Those days when you can’t quite see where it all adds up and the feeling of success. Some opposites and some similarities in between. That’s what it felt like to be in the same room as Jeddediah and Teagan. Something so right it felt like a crime to interrupt when they were talking. Hot cocoa poured over ice and a sweltering hot day, drops of condensation circling where the cup once was. Things that should be and things that seem so impossible they shouldn’t be. Things that should always go together; some bit of balance and some bit of crazy.
Sabrina aka Legolas: When you think about it, lovers should always be together. They shouldn’t be torn apart by wars, shattered by distance, or separated by death. It just isn’t right.
And yet, here we were.
Separated.
Forever.
He’d told me once that we would always be together. That he loved me so much, that I was a part of him, and him a part of me. That nothing could ever separate us... Not war... famine... distance... division... Nothing. Not even death.
As I gazed down at the freshly tilled earth covering his grave, I felt more than separated.
I felt empty.
I felt dead.
Maybe he was right on one account...
Death could not separate us, because, inside, I had died too.
Con aka Samwise: Josh eyed the single shaker upon the table. “Uh, we have a problem.”
Carl just continued stuffing his face with pizza.
“Don’t you want to know what it is?” Josh glanced over at his friend.
“I’m literally over here thinking ‘if I don’t ask, maybe he won’t tell me’ to myself on repeat, bro.” Carl said, before diving after a loose meatball. “Five second rule! One….Two…”
“That’s rude.” Josh frowned, squinting.
“Three….four…well, you asked the question.” Carl shrugged, popping the renegade sausage into his mouth on four.
“My bad.” Josh rolled his eyes. “But seriously, have you noticed…we’re missing the pepper shaker.”
Carl gasped in mock horror.
“I mean, if there’s a salt shaker, it falls to reason there has to be a pepper shaker.” Josh continued on despite his friend’s mockery. “Which means either the other shaker is on the ground, or the people who run this place are deranged.”
Carl tapped his fork on the table. “I vote neither, and you’re deranged.”
“So polite.” Josh rolled his eyes, and started searching nearby tables for an extra shaker.
Carl just took another bite, and flicked a bug away from his friend’s pizza. A waitress came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Need anything else, sir?”
He brightened. “Are you deranged?”
She blinked.
“It’s an honest question.” Carl said. “Just answer me. Be honest.”
“I don’t…think so…”
“Ah, that’s good.” Carl turned back to his friend. “If your theory’s correct, you better keep searching.”
“Can’t, I’m out of tables.” Josh plopped back down, then noticed the waiter. “Hey there, know where the other shaker is…?”
She shook her head mutely.
“Pity.” Carl said. “Oh well, it’s not like you were going to use either condiment on your pizza, bro.”
Josh folded his arms. “I refuse to eat at an unbalanced table.”
Carl reached over. Unscrewed the lid of the salt shaker, and dumped its contents on the ground. He screwed the cap back on, and placed the little container back. “Solved.” He turned to the rather stunned waitress. “Thank you, that’ll be all.”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: It didn’t make sense, but there was something I hated about sunny days. The sunshine would reflect off things and sting my eyes, and then I would get a headache, and then Martha would force me to “take a lie-down” and guard my bedroom door so I’d stay in bed for at least a couple of hours, and then I would be too wide awake at bedtime and then I would sneak out and catch cold and then Mother would scold me.
But it was more than that. Sunny days were supposed to be happy. Picnics, walks in the park, ice cream, lemonade. Yes, sunny days required lemonade.
But instead, for me, they usually included cough syrup, chamomile tea, and doctor visits.
It bothered me that everyone else enjoyed sunny days. I could never find someone in as glum a mood as mine on sunny days. Rainy days, everyone was a little down. It suited me better, since I was always a lot down.
What was wrong with me?
I looked up from my book when I heard a knock at the door. “What?”
“Brought you some lemonade,” Blaise’s voice said.
I glanced around the study, at all the disheveled papers I was supposed to be organizing. Nobody disturbed my reading here.
I got up and opened the door. “Thanks,” I said, taking the glass from his hand. “How did you know I liked lemonade?”
He shrugged. “Who doesn’t?” His gaze traveled to the study. “Aren’t you supposed to be tidying this place?”
“Y-yes,” I said, and took a gulp of lemonade.
“It looks the same as it did this morning.”
I avoided his gaze.
He bit back a smile. “You’ve been reading, haven’t you? On this beautiful day? You’re an odd one, Charlotte.”
Easy for you to say, Mr. perfect-adopted-son.
“Thanks for the lemonade,” I said, and shut the door in his face.
Tiana aka Bofur: “What should we have for lunch?” Jason wined.
“A sandwich?” Keenan asked.
“What kind of sandwich?” Jason glanced at the fridge.
“How about peanut butter and banana?” Keenan suggested.
“Yuck!” Jason grimaced. “Those should never go together!”
“Tuna and tomato?”
“Ew!”
“Jelly and pickles?”
“What is wrong with you?!” Jason exclaimed. “You could at least suggest stuff that always should go together.”
Luke aka Merry: The sound of drums was the air. The one thing countries could not stop doing is war. But a war of revolution was different. The Colonial Army halted at the hill. Rowaquen General Smith march his army up the opposing on his horse. The both sides prepped and raised their muskets and fired. Smith’s personal cavalry division and the division of Highlander cavalry charged at the flanks of the Colonial Army. Within seconds the army routed and the retreat was called. The following day, the Colonial Capital of Stampass was taken.
Maria #2 aka Fili: Sunshine and raindrops, something that makes a rainbow so pretty to see. Clouds and a bit of sun, just peeking through. Those days when you can’t quite see where it all adds up and the feeling of success. Some opposites and some similarities in between. That’s what it felt like to be in the same room as Jeddediah and Teagan. Something so right it felt like a crime to interrupt when they were talking. Hot cocoa poured over ice and a sweltering hot day, drops of condensation circling where the cup once was. Things that should be and things that seem so impossible they shouldn’t be. Things that should always go together; some bit of balance and some bit of crazy.
Sabrina aka Legolas: When you think about it, lovers should always be together. They shouldn’t be torn apart by wars, shattered by distance, or separated by death. It just isn’t right.
And yet, here we were.
Separated.
Forever.
He’d told me once that we would always be together. That he loved me so much, that I was a part of him, and him a part of me. That nothing could ever separate us... Not war... famine... distance... division... Nothing. Not even death.
As I gazed down at the freshly tilled earth covering his grave, I felt more than separated.
I felt empty.
I felt dead.
Maybe he was right on one account...
Death could not separate us, because, inside, I had died too.
Con aka Samwise: The absurdity of the situation stung my eyes. Or was that the smoke from the torch? Here I was, the person who always said I liked it best when I was all alone, wishing there was somebody within a mile of myself in this desolate, forsaken land.
And I was also wishing I didn’t have two boots full of swamp water. And a light drizzle constantly making the torch splutter and go out. And while I’m wishing, I might as well try and eradicate the too-heavy cloak, the cold air, and my situation in general.
Squelch. Squelch. Not happy sounds.
“Mornin’, Miss.”
I blinked. A voice!
“How are ya t’day?” The voice continued.
I flipped around. There behind me was a peasant. Or so he appeared to be. He had the pitchfork and the straw hat, so I didn’t figure he could be much else. “I’m cold. And wet. And miserable. And somewhat suicidal.”
“And why would that be, luv?”
When you think about it, that phrase is disturbingly creepy coming from a stranger’s mouth. “I’ve got this weird thing called depression.”
“Oh, I know how that is.” The straw hat now next to me bobbed understandingly. “Get it every time the milk cow dies.”
“No, you don’t understand, mine’s much worse.” I shook my head.
He paused. “It tis? How so? Did you have two milk cows die?”
It had been less than two minutes since I had been wishing for company, and this guy was already becoming tiresome. Yep, he had to be a peasant. No other occupation could suit somebody this stupid.
“There’s worse things that can die than milk cows.”
He gasped. “I know what you mean, luv! That’s depressing, alright! Who died?”
“Nobody.” I shrugged.
He mulled this over, chewing on a random weed he had picked up. “Okay…so…you’re more depressed than me with my dead Bessie because that’s how you get when people die…yet nobody died. So…did I miss somethin, luv?”
“Mine’s just a condition. I’m always like this.” I shrugged.
“That’s stupid.” He paused. “Why would you always want to be like this?”
Three minutes in, and I’m wishing this guy away! “I don’t want to! It just is.”
“Sounds philly-sofa-ikkal there, luv. I dun’t got na philly-softy.” He frowned.
“Don’t got no grammar either?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Nahp, she dead on meh. And she was only ninety-two.” He frowned, as if this was the poor old ladies fault. “And she left her milk cow to Marco.”
“Aw, that’s sad.” I said, not feeling much sympathy at all for him.
“Yeah. Mehbe I’m getting some of this har deep-rushin that you’re talking about…” He sighed. “Yep, sure am. It must me cont-aggeious.
“Sometimes it seems that way.” I plodded forward. “Where you heading?”
“Home. It was back two miles.” He turned and glanced over his shoulder.
“So…?”
“So, I think I mehght turn around now, luv. You go on and get rid of your deep-rushin, ya hear?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, and don’t by milk cows with rotten teeth.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t let the bandits gitchya.”
And off he went.
Zachary aka Kili: We continued our long drive. I looked in the distance, and saw mountains coming into view. “Woah…” I said. “Yeah, reminds me of home, I used to live in Denver, the Rockies are beautiful there…” Peter said. “If you always had a view like this, I would want to move there.” Katrina said. As we approached the great mountains, I saw something else in the distance, not a good thing. “Umm… Peter… turn around.” “What, why?” ”LOOK!” there were 4 Tiger tanks in the distance, in front of them marched hundreds of Germans. “GO, GO, GO!” I said. The Tigers all rumbled to a halt. They each started firing at us, landing a way away, thankfully. We sped around, as the tigers continued trying to hit us, we thanked the Lord we were out of range of the infantry. A shell blasted right behind us, and shrapnel flew from the ground where it hit, Rocky’s Jerrycan ignited into flames! The fire made us an easier target. I jumped to the back, and carefully unhooked the spare can of fuel from the rear of the Jeep. It hit the ground, as the fire grew and grew, eventually it blew up, distracting the Tigers, and they stopped firing, thinking they had destroyed us. “That was close!!”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: Here we finally were. Approaching the lair of the villain of my story. Not my story—hers. It was hers now.
I watched her pull on the hood of the thick, dark cloak which had been made for me. She held the flaming torch as though it were sacred. I was standing some yards behind her as she faced the final trial. The true test of the Chosen One.
What had brought us to this? I thought of all we had gained—and all we had lost. Surely she must be thinking of Arvo now. And of the nuns. The assassin at the inn. All those who had made this quest the hardest experience of our lives. My life, anyway.
She never spoke about those two years between her running away and my finding her accidentally. She never spoke of what she had done, where she had gone, whom she had met. It was like those two years didn’t exist to her. They were gone. I knew she would never mention them as long as she lived.
I pushed down the anger rising up inside of me. I wanted to be the protective brother, the one who saved her and took upon myself the fate of the nation.
But that was no longer my place. I was not the Chosen One. I had believed myself to be the Chosen One ever since I could talk, but I was not.
She was.
It was somehow fitting, a metaphor for the irony and ineffectuality of my life.
Ineffectual. That was what she had always called me when we were children. When she wanted to hurt me. Ineffectual Fletcher.
Turned out, she was right. I was watching her go into the trial I had been training for all my life.
Ancients, let her succeed. For her own sake.—No, for mine.
She was ready. For a second, she turned back to glance at me.
“Wish me luck, kid,” she said gently, and began walking.
“Wait—Sal,” I said, jogging up to her. She stopped. “I just want you to know—in case you don’t make it—I’m sorry.”
She looked at me from those piercing eyes. “What for?”
“For everything. You deserved better.”
She scoffed. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but it wasn’t yours either.”
She stared at me for several seconds, then turned and ran into the gathering dusk. Her torch made a streak of light, then she entered the woods and we saw nothing.
Maria #2 aka Fili: “Can you not hold me so far out?” Kieran asked in a spittle of flame. Arence pushed his arm further out. “Come on, are you afraid of me? Coward!” Tiny sparks flew from the large torch.
Arence stomped onwards, back towards the sandwashed castle in the distance. Much to his surprise, it hadn’t taken Kieran half as long to burn out as he’d thought he would. Sure enough, fire creatures were known for their short bursts of extreme ferocity, not their lasting inferno. He wasn’t sure what kind Kieran was, but he was important to Koa in some way and that meant he would bring him back to her.
“Even Gui would hold me closer,” Kieran grumbled, his flame squat and compact. “This is torture.”
Arence threw a quizzical look in the torch’s direction. “Who’s he?”
“Oh Gui?” The flame spat and grew an inch or so. “Only the most stuck up werewolf in existence. He’s always preaching about this ‘greater good’ and he can’t even control himself. Talk about a hypocrite, am I right?”
Arence frowned. “A werewolf?” He’d only ever heard of them; they were supposed to have been wiped out several hundred years ago.
A crackling cackle came from Kieran’s flame. “Just wait until you meet him. He’s even better in person.”
Tiana aka Bofur: Shelly watched the strange man stand in the middle of the ring of mountains.
He had stopped by the house she lived in with her family early that day and asked directions to some distant land that she had never heard of. But now he was just standing here, holding a torch, even though it was still light enough to see.
She cocked her head and continued to watch him.
But he did nothing.
Just stood there.
On the soft evening breeze, she thought she heard voices, or maybe just one voice, maybe it was his voice, she wasn’t sure.
Unable to bear it any longer she marched right up to him and tugged on the cloak he was wearing.
Like a spooked cat he let out a yelp and jumped away from her, dropping the torch he had been holding into a deep puddle.
She looked down at the torch, a wisp of smoke rising from it, then she blinked up at him.
“Touchy aren’t we?”
“How did you get here?” He asked glancing around, as if looking for something.
“I would think that would be obvious, I followed you,”
“Why?”
“I was curious,”
His face darkened. “Curiosity can be dangerous,”
Luke aka Merry: “Pause it” I said.
“No way!”
“You never said, anything about a Grim Reaper with a torch killing everyone!”
“I told you that there is death, violence, dark themes, and possible undead skeletons” Tabby answered.
“But you said nothing about a Grim Reaper!” I exclaimed.
“What I just said, describes the possibly of the Grim Reaper” Tabby said.
“Now are we going to watch the movie or not?”
“I’ll be back” I said, standing up.
“Where you going?” Tabby asked.
“Just to the bathroom” I answered.
I walked into the bathroom and took out my phone and called my dad.
“Daddy, she has scary grim reapers!” I said.
“No, we don’t” Tabby said, grabbing the phone out of my hand.
“You followed me?” I asked.
“No, I don’t just you” Tabby answered. “And you used that line every time I’ve shown you a scary movie”
“Name one” I said.
“ ‘Daddy, she’s got scary skeletons’.” Tabby noted. “Also, ‘Daddy, she has ghosts’.”
“Should I go any further?”
Sabrina aka Legolas: It was kind of a dreary place to pick for a meeting. But, what the heck? It was rather beautiful: the mist shrouding the mountain peaks in a velvety blanket, the sky one big sheet of gray, the trees all glittery from the dew...
I felt kind of ominous in the drab location in an even drabber drab black cloak. At least my torch was cool. I mean, it was just a stick that I had found, but it was dark when I left and I needed something for light and a flashlight was just too plain boring. My cloak put me in an ominous mood and I needed an ominous torch to go along with it. My funny little stick suited its purpose well.
However, I should have chosen better shoes... Tennis shoes were about the worst choice I could have made seeing as I was standing on extremely wet, marsh ground. The beds of moss soaked up the moisture like a sponge that squished the water right into my shoes when I stepped on it. So, while I might have looked cool if someone was, say, taking a picture of me, I was positively, perfectly, progressively miserable. My socks could not have possibly been wetter if I had thrown them in a lagoon. By the time I got home, my toes would look like raisins. The only difference between my toes and the dried grapes would be the fact that my toes were wet, and the raisins were dried.
And I was also wishing I didn’t have two boots full of swamp water. And a light drizzle constantly making the torch splutter and go out. And while I’m wishing, I might as well try and eradicate the too-heavy cloak, the cold air, and my situation in general.
Squelch. Squelch. Not happy sounds.
“Mornin’, Miss.”
I blinked. A voice!
“How are ya t’day?” The voice continued.
I flipped around. There behind me was a peasant. Or so he appeared to be. He had the pitchfork and the straw hat, so I didn’t figure he could be much else. “I’m cold. And wet. And miserable. And somewhat suicidal.”
“And why would that be, luv?”
When you think about it, that phrase is disturbingly creepy coming from a stranger’s mouth. “I’ve got this weird thing called depression.”
“Oh, I know how that is.” The straw hat now next to me bobbed understandingly. “Get it every time the milk cow dies.”
“No, you don’t understand, mine’s much worse.” I shook my head.
He paused. “It tis? How so? Did you have two milk cows die?”
It had been less than two minutes since I had been wishing for company, and this guy was already becoming tiresome. Yep, he had to be a peasant. No other occupation could suit somebody this stupid.
“There’s worse things that can die than milk cows.”
He gasped. “I know what you mean, luv! That’s depressing, alright! Who died?”
“Nobody.” I shrugged.
He mulled this over, chewing on a random weed he had picked up. “Okay…so…you’re more depressed than me with my dead Bessie because that’s how you get when people die…yet nobody died. So…did I miss somethin, luv?”
“Mine’s just a condition. I’m always like this.” I shrugged.
“That’s stupid.” He paused. “Why would you always want to be like this?”
Three minutes in, and I’m wishing this guy away! “I don’t want to! It just is.”
“Sounds philly-sofa-ikkal there, luv. I dun’t got na philly-softy.” He frowned.
“Don’t got no grammar either?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Nahp, she dead on meh. And she was only ninety-two.” He frowned, as if this was the poor old ladies fault. “And she left her milk cow to Marco.”
“Aw, that’s sad.” I said, not feeling much sympathy at all for him.
“Yeah. Mehbe I’m getting some of this har deep-rushin that you’re talking about…” He sighed. “Yep, sure am. It must me cont-aggeious.
“Sometimes it seems that way.” I plodded forward. “Where you heading?”
“Home. It was back two miles.” He turned and glanced over his shoulder.
“So…?”
“So, I think I mehght turn around now, luv. You go on and get rid of your deep-rushin, ya hear?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, and don’t by milk cows with rotten teeth.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t let the bandits gitchya.”
And off he went.
Zachary aka Kili: We continued our long drive. I looked in the distance, and saw mountains coming into view. “Woah…” I said. “Yeah, reminds me of home, I used to live in Denver, the Rockies are beautiful there…” Peter said. “If you always had a view like this, I would want to move there.” Katrina said. As we approached the great mountains, I saw something else in the distance, not a good thing. “Umm… Peter… turn around.” “What, why?” ”LOOK!” there were 4 Tiger tanks in the distance, in front of them marched hundreds of Germans. “GO, GO, GO!” I said. The Tigers all rumbled to a halt. They each started firing at us, landing a way away, thankfully. We sped around, as the tigers continued trying to hit us, we thanked the Lord we were out of range of the infantry. A shell blasted right behind us, and shrapnel flew from the ground where it hit, Rocky’s Jerrycan ignited into flames! The fire made us an easier target. I jumped to the back, and carefully unhooked the spare can of fuel from the rear of the Jeep. It hit the ground, as the fire grew and grew, eventually it blew up, distracting the Tigers, and they stopped firing, thinking they had destroyed us. “That was close!!”
Maria #1 aka Pippin: Here we finally were. Approaching the lair of the villain of my story. Not my story—hers. It was hers now.
I watched her pull on the hood of the thick, dark cloak which had been made for me. She held the flaming torch as though it were sacred. I was standing some yards behind her as she faced the final trial. The true test of the Chosen One.
What had brought us to this? I thought of all we had gained—and all we had lost. Surely she must be thinking of Arvo now. And of the nuns. The assassin at the inn. All those who had made this quest the hardest experience of our lives. My life, anyway.
She never spoke about those two years between her running away and my finding her accidentally. She never spoke of what she had done, where she had gone, whom she had met. It was like those two years didn’t exist to her. They were gone. I knew she would never mention them as long as she lived.
I pushed down the anger rising up inside of me. I wanted to be the protective brother, the one who saved her and took upon myself the fate of the nation.
But that was no longer my place. I was not the Chosen One. I had believed myself to be the Chosen One ever since I could talk, but I was not.
She was.
It was somehow fitting, a metaphor for the irony and ineffectuality of my life.
Ineffectual. That was what she had always called me when we were children. When she wanted to hurt me. Ineffectual Fletcher.
Turned out, she was right. I was watching her go into the trial I had been training for all my life.
Ancients, let her succeed. For her own sake.—No, for mine.
She was ready. For a second, she turned back to glance at me.
“Wish me luck, kid,” she said gently, and began walking.
“Wait—Sal,” I said, jogging up to her. She stopped. “I just want you to know—in case you don’t make it—I’m sorry.”
She looked at me from those piercing eyes. “What for?”
“For everything. You deserved better.”
She scoffed. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but it wasn’t yours either.”
She stared at me for several seconds, then turned and ran into the gathering dusk. Her torch made a streak of light, then she entered the woods and we saw nothing.
Maria #2 aka Fili: “Can you not hold me so far out?” Kieran asked in a spittle of flame. Arence pushed his arm further out. “Come on, are you afraid of me? Coward!” Tiny sparks flew from the large torch.
Arence stomped onwards, back towards the sandwashed castle in the distance. Much to his surprise, it hadn’t taken Kieran half as long to burn out as he’d thought he would. Sure enough, fire creatures were known for their short bursts of extreme ferocity, not their lasting inferno. He wasn’t sure what kind Kieran was, but he was important to Koa in some way and that meant he would bring him back to her.
“Even Gui would hold me closer,” Kieran grumbled, his flame squat and compact. “This is torture.”
Arence threw a quizzical look in the torch’s direction. “Who’s he?”
“Oh Gui?” The flame spat and grew an inch or so. “Only the most stuck up werewolf in existence. He’s always preaching about this ‘greater good’ and he can’t even control himself. Talk about a hypocrite, am I right?”
Arence frowned. “A werewolf?” He’d only ever heard of them; they were supposed to have been wiped out several hundred years ago.
A crackling cackle came from Kieran’s flame. “Just wait until you meet him. He’s even better in person.”
Tiana aka Bofur: Shelly watched the strange man stand in the middle of the ring of mountains.
He had stopped by the house she lived in with her family early that day and asked directions to some distant land that she had never heard of. But now he was just standing here, holding a torch, even though it was still light enough to see.
She cocked her head and continued to watch him.
But he did nothing.
Just stood there.
On the soft evening breeze, she thought she heard voices, or maybe just one voice, maybe it was his voice, she wasn’t sure.
Unable to bear it any longer she marched right up to him and tugged on the cloak he was wearing.
Like a spooked cat he let out a yelp and jumped away from her, dropping the torch he had been holding into a deep puddle.
She looked down at the torch, a wisp of smoke rising from it, then she blinked up at him.
“Touchy aren’t we?”
“How did you get here?” He asked glancing around, as if looking for something.
“I would think that would be obvious, I followed you,”
“Why?”
“I was curious,”
His face darkened. “Curiosity can be dangerous,”
Luke aka Merry: “Pause it” I said.
“No way!”
“You never said, anything about a Grim Reaper with a torch killing everyone!”
“I told you that there is death, violence, dark themes, and possible undead skeletons” Tabby answered.
“But you said nothing about a Grim Reaper!” I exclaimed.
“What I just said, describes the possibly of the Grim Reaper” Tabby said.
“Now are we going to watch the movie or not?”
“I’ll be back” I said, standing up.
“Where you going?” Tabby asked.
“Just to the bathroom” I answered.
I walked into the bathroom and took out my phone and called my dad.
“Daddy, she has scary grim reapers!” I said.
“No, we don’t” Tabby said, grabbing the phone out of my hand.
“You followed me?” I asked.
“No, I don’t just you” Tabby answered. “And you used that line every time I’ve shown you a scary movie”
“Name one” I said.
“ ‘Daddy, she’s got scary skeletons’.” Tabby noted. “Also, ‘Daddy, she has ghosts’.”
“Should I go any further?”
Sabrina aka Legolas: It was kind of a dreary place to pick for a meeting. But, what the heck? It was rather beautiful: the mist shrouding the mountain peaks in a velvety blanket, the sky one big sheet of gray, the trees all glittery from the dew...
I felt kind of ominous in the drab location in an even drabber drab black cloak. At least my torch was cool. I mean, it was just a stick that I had found, but it was dark when I left and I needed something for light and a flashlight was just too plain boring. My cloak put me in an ominous mood and I needed an ominous torch to go along with it. My funny little stick suited its purpose well.
However, I should have chosen better shoes... Tennis shoes were about the worst choice I could have made seeing as I was standing on extremely wet, marsh ground. The beds of moss soaked up the moisture like a sponge that squished the water right into my shoes when I stepped on it. So, while I might have looked cool if someone was, say, taking a picture of me, I was positively, perfectly, progressively miserable. My socks could not have possibly been wetter if I had thrown them in a lagoon. By the time I got home, my toes would look like raisins. The only difference between my toes and the dried grapes would be the fact that my toes were wet, and the raisins were dried.