Ramblings of a Tired Old Wolf

Guess I will share some things in this section seeing as the blogs have been ended. I'll eventually add some of the little shorts I had stashed away in my blog and some poorly written poetry. Maybe even write a some more short little stories when I need to distract myself, like on this night.

Anyways, enough said for now. Here's a thing I wrote this evening. Not even sure what type of poem it would be considered so maybe free form? I don't know. I suppose it's passable at the least, though far from actually being good. Of course I know I am my own worst critic, as are most people hahaha.

Wild and Free (Changed the title to something I feel is more fitting).

In a time of darkness
I beheld a beautiful creature
She was filled with magic and mystery
And danced amongst the stars
So wild and free

Briefly did I meet her eyes
As she glanced down upon me
In an instant I was enthralled
The darkness fell away
My heart soared wild and free

Oh how I longed to join her
Dancing up there amongst the stars
To let the weight of the world
Fall away so that I might fly
That I might be wild and free

I could feel her eyes upon me
As if waiting to see what might happen
But I was stuck in place
Held down by the demons within
Not meant to be wild and free

I could feel her disappointment
As I slumped to the ground
The darkness washing back over me
I lacked the strength to rise
Could never be wild and free

She turned away to resume her dancing
I reached one last futile time
Then let my hand fall
She would forever be out of my reach
Always and forever wild and free

She was a creature of the Sun and Moon
And I was naught but a tired old wolf
I knew I would never see her again
My chance to join her forever gone
I can only long to be wild and free

I will hold the memory of her in my heart
And summon it forth in my darkest hours
To try and stem the tied of despair
As my inner demons rend and tear
But never will I be wild and free...

A Dance With Death

(One of the little stories I had in my blog).


The man stood alone, surrounded by those he considered enemies. For years he had simply avoided them as much as possible, but on this day he had grown tired of running. Today he would fight and he knew he would probably die. That was fine by him, he was ready to meet his fate. There was no one he would leave behind. No one that would mourn his death, just those that would profit. That was fine by him as well, he didn't really care. Still, that didn't mean he would go down easily. He would not be going to his end alone and that thought brought a grim smile to his lips.

They taunted him as they circled him like a pack of hungry wolves. They didn't seem to notice just how calm he was. They didn't notice the smile upon his face and the dangerous glint in the depths of his eyes as he raised his longsword and kissed the flat of its blade, seeking the calm within. Preparing himself for this last dance with death. Quietly he spoke words in his native tongue, "Fierce is my blade. Fierce is my hate. Born to die in battle, I laugh at my fate..."

Finally one of them broke from the circle and rushed the man from behind, as the others continued their taunts, sword held high in both hands for a vicious overhead strike. Time moved slowly for the man as he easily side stepped the reckless attack. In the same motion he spun about, swinging his own blade through the air. A moment later the blade of his sword bit into flesh, cleaving through one of his attacker's arms like a hot knife through butter. Unhindered, his sword continued its arc through the air, biting into his enemy's temple with a sickening crunch.

The man pulled his sword free of the other's head, knowing his opponent was as good as dead, then did the unexpected. He blitzed towards his enemies and before they could properly react he was among them. The next to fall was a wild eyed warrior woman, blood spraying from her mouth as his plunged his sword through her throat. He had his blade free in an instant and as the woman began falling to the ground he was moving with deadly grace on to his next target. Before her body hit the ground, his sword was sinking into a big man's side, sliding between ribs and making a mess of his innards. Gore flew in crimson strands through the air as he tugged his sword free.

Without losing a step, he danced away from the dying, his expression was devoid of any form of emotion. His eyes were as cold as the darkest depths of winter, he was a bringer of death. He twisted away from blades that sought to claim his life, their wielders moving oh so slowly. Cries of pain mingled with enraged battlecries as he ducked in low to sever a man's leg at the knee and as he rose once more he brought his sword up to cut another from groin to neck. Without missing a step he continued cutting down one after another as he continued to dance amongst his enemies, outright killing some while simply maiming others so they would no longer pose a threat.

Then the inevitable happened, despite several of his attackers breaking and fleeing , and he missed a step in his dance when a crossbow bolt slammed into his left shoulder with enough force to spin him about. He made no sound, though, and the pain was a distant thing in his mind. He let his left hand fall away from the grip of his sword, though, as he felt the strength in his arm beginning to fail. While he could easily tune out the pain from such an injury he couldn't make his body ignore the damage wrought.

Two men tried to take adavantage of what they considered an opening and found themselves sorely mistaken. He spun away from the first man's blade while knocking aside the other's. His follow up to the defensive maneuver let his enemies know that even one handed he was still just as deadly as he sent the poor fellow's head tumbling through the air. In the same instant he bent his body to avoid another attack from the first man and carved a bloody red line across the man's abdomen. His enemy staggered back wide eyed, dropping his own sword to quickly try and keep his innards from spilling out.

Once more the swordman's dance faltered as another bolt struck home, this time catching him in the right side of the chest. The force of the impact drove the air from his lungs and sent him staggering backwards. The crossbowman had struck true, this time. He found it hard to breath and knew full well the bolt had punctured his lung. Still, he managed to keep a frim grip on his sword and cut down another foe that had rushed in, thinking their target was easy prey now. He nearly collapsed a moment later as he broke into a fit of coughing, flecks of blood staining his lips.

For several moments no one made a move as he straightened up, managing to stay on his feet. For that fleeting moment silence held sway over the small, blood stained battlefield, save for the moans of the injured and dying. Now he smiled at his enemies, revealing blood stained teeth, a deadly gleam in his eyes as he took a single step towards a cluster of them, then another, holding his sword out wide to his right side, as if daring them to come at him.

They hesitated, as if afraid to accept his challenge after what had happened, even though he was clearly severly wounded. He sneered at them, pausing in his steps before letting his bloody smile form into a wolfish grin as he turned to cast his gaze over the rest of his enemies, their ranks thinned greatly by his deadly dance. He might have issued a verbal challenge, but he was unsure he could speak without breaking into a fit of bloody coughing. It was hard enough to breath as it was.

A moment later another bolt was loosed, slamming into the back of his right knee, but instead of crying out in agony he laughed wildly as he staggered the dropped to his knees. His laughter was short lived, though, as he broke into a fit of violent coughing. Now his enemies descended upon him like a pack of starved wolves. He managed to cut down two more of their number even in his weakened state. Then he felt a sword slam into his back, its hungry blade finding his heart. He shuddered and exahled a final, blood frothed breath then slumped forward, his right hand still frimly gripping his sword. A peaceful smile held sway over his features as his final dance with death came to its end.

((A slightly older poem, can't remember when exactly I hammered it out. It's not that good, but eh. In the end I gave in and have pretty much retreated haha))

The Internal Struggle

War rages in the depths of the night
Thoughts lay siege to my unquiet mind
Ceasless struggle saps my will to fight
Can't find a way to leave it all behind

Seek the burning candle in the night
Wanting help but I can not beseech
Don't want to lose this relentless fight
Aid is there but feels so out of reach

This nightmare rules over the night
It sings of complete and utter defeat
Grit my teeth and conintue the fight
I must not give in and retreat