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KJDarKnight

The Terrible
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Mostly evenings
Writing Levels
  1. Elementary
  2. Intermediate
  3. Adept
  4. Adaptable
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  1. Primarily Prefer Female
  2. No Preferences
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I'm game for almost anything, just ask
Hello everyone!

Thanks for opening my thread to take a gander at my work. I've been writing for a number of years but have only more recently begun sharing any of my work in search of feedback. I am looking to improve my writing and could use some constructive feedback.

Disclaimer's:

* I'll tell you right now, my grammar is terrible! I'm getting better though. So just be aware of that.

* All of these are works in progress, whether they are completed story wise or not, they aren't done. Editing and revising is still in the works.

* Some of these are only the beginnings of stories I'm working on so don't be alarmed I there isn't a proper end.

Some guideline questions to give you an idea of what I'd like to know:

* Story flow - How well does it read? Are the transitions between scenes smooth? Do sentence structures and word use help or hinder?

* Character depth - Are the characters relatable? Do they feel like realistic people? What helps you connect to the characters? (or not as the case may be) What would help improve the character/s?

* Descriptions - Are you easily able to imagine what is going on? Can you form a picture in your mind what the people look like?

* Mood - How does the story make you feel as a whole or in specific parts?

* Cliche or unique or both - Does the story sound familiar? Does it have a refreshing twist? Is it cliche but still unique in the execution?

* Engaging - Does the story hold your interest? What about it keeps you reading? (or not?)

Thanks! I can't wait to read your thoughts! Everything helps!


Red Deaths song
I wrote this in response to an exercise in the 'Inspiring Muses' Section. I haven't done any editing yet.

[spoili]

The black skeletons of tree's looked like ghosts in the gathering mist, their forms blurring into each other than fading out completely as the white curtain folded over them.

The woman in a red satin gown only looked with mild concern over her shoulder. The white horse bringing her fog of death along the forest path is of little consequence to the red witch.


“Death, my pretty thing” The red woman called to the horse and reached back with one arm. Her red lace draped shawl slipped from her pale slender hand.

The animal, as white as her mist, slowed her pace as she approached the woman's hand. As she reached it, Death nuzzled the hand with all the affection of a loyal pet.


A smile came to the red witches ruby lips. “My darling pet, tonight we ride together,” She said, reaching her hand to stroke the soft white of Deaths head and neck.


The witches soft words and Deaths shifting feet on the moist earth were the only sounds to break the stillness. The forest creatures knew better than to venture out into Deaths mist, for if they did, she'd claim them for her own, none living were safe from her, except the red witch.

Death slowly bent her legs and laid herself at the witches feet, welcoming the witch to ride with her. Together they are Red Death.

As Death plodded along her path, the witch laid against her neck and stroked the fur, humming a tune that carried across the stillness to the dim lights of the village. Her melody drawing in the innocent listening ears to Deaths waiting mist.

Whence Red Death has claimed their sacrifice they turned again and stride back beneath the black bone tree's, until another calm night beacons them forth again.[/spoili]

Forty Year Loop
[spoili]Prince

The overstuffed chair I felt had molded to my body with how often I sat there across the coffee table from Doctor Weber. Five years of therapy was at last paying off, today was the day. I could honestly say, I wouldn't miss the tiny, though well lit, third story office. It wasn't exactly comforting to find the drab yellowed floral curtains and faded orange shag carpet familiar. The room was like stepping into the 1970's.
With what it cost each visit to Doctor Weber, I would have thought she would have at the very least re-decorated. Then again, I often thought she needed a fashion makeover herself. I feared she had reverted to the 70's style in a failed hope to cling to her youth. Either that, or she was not afraid to admit she was from another century, though the wrinkles alone would have given that away.
She fixed me with a the solemn expression of a funeral coordinator. “Prince” she began by using the first name I detested. No matter how many times I corrected her, she used it anyway. She seemed to think that by becoming accustomed to my given name, was somehow beneficial. Some malarkey about coming to terms with my unfortunate childhood. She didn't seem to understand that my name came from an obscure fairy tail titled “the unwanted prince ” who conveniently shared my last name,Spight. The tale was one of those dark stories told during times of war to children who misbehaved.
I considered correcting the good doctor one last time, however, I wanted to pass my final psychiatric evaluation. I restrained myself and instead granted her a pleasant smile, and my UN-divided attention.
“Tell me again about the night your father died” Doctor Weber, ever unfailing, asked the routine question I'd come to answer automatically. I had long come to believe that her intention was to have me retell and retell the story that brought me to the facility, until I was numb to the words would spill out of my mouth every week.
I wouldn't go so far as to say she had succeeded in her attempts of desensitizing me towards the events that took place five years ago. Rather, I would say she had successfully gotten me to understand what she wanted to hear in order to get me out. It wasn't at all about curing me, it was about checking me off a list of patients, the quicker the pen made the mark, the sooner she got rid of me.
I'm not complaining, ever since I was a boy I've preferred to keep my feelings to myself. No woman stuck in her own world back before I was conceived, was going to get an ounce of real feeling out of me.
I smiled the calm obliging smile, accompanied with the consenting nod. I found that she liked this combination, it put her at ease. No acts of aggression followed that body language.
“I was fifteen, my father was out, I was in my room writing a book report for my English class” I began to retell the events of the night from the point she always had me skip to anyway. I didn't see the point in beginning at the day I discovered the origin of my name. We had discussed that for the first two years of my existence there.
“Please Prince, include details” Doctor Weber prompted. The fabricated details of the night had been the hardest to retell at first, they came as fluid to me now as if they were true. Doctor Weber wasn't a smart woman, she took my slip ups as anxiety and coaxed the words she wanted to hear out of me. That's when the lies started and my plan of deliverance began. At just fifteen years of age, I saw my opportunity of manipulation, and I utilized it for five long years.
“I had only written a few lines about the meaning of the book “Animal Farm” when my best friend Nicholas came knocking at my window” I went on with my tale, as was expected of me.
“I pulled on my coat and shoes and climbed out the window. My friend and I had made plans to sneak out and see the latest thriller in theater. My mother forbade me to see slashers, but like any teenage boy, I was fascinated by them. Unknown to my parents, I had seen many of them with Nick” I continued, most of what I said was true, only with twisted details to prove my innocence.
“The particular film that night was about a deranged child being possessed by demons and killing his family” I went on to explain, that detail was important, it explained my confession of the homicide when I was yet 'in shock'. That's what Doctor Weber had claimed at my hearing anyway.
“When I came home late that night, my father wasn't home yet, my mom I assumed was in bed” This was the part where I used to trip up, but not now, not after so many recitations.
“I went back in my window and got into bed, about that time, my dad returned home. I heard him open the front door and put the keys up on the hook by the door” I continued. My father had a distinct sound, he was a heavy man and thundering steps. I used to think of him as a giant the way he stomped around the house in his size 13 work boots.
“I heard him come done the hall, past my room and to the master bedroom” This part was sat least partly true, I had laid in wait for him, but not in my room, in the hall closet. I wanted him to see her first,
“He opened the bedroom door and saw my mom, she had been stabbed to death on the bed, blood was everywhere” I turned my eyes down and off to one side, to show sadness. I couldn't show that the thought of the verbally abusive woman dead on the bed, gave me a sense of liberation and triumph. No more would that horrible queen desire to dump her unwanted prince in the river in exchange for an orphaned commoner.
“I heard my dad run, shouting her name....He couldn't believe what he saw” I said. That was certainly true, he never expected his demon eyed son to slay his fair queen.
“I was worried, scared even, so I got up and went to see what was happening” I went on. I had gone into the room, but to finish what I had started.
“My dad was fumbling with the phone when the dark figure came out and hit him on the head and stunned him” I continued. That was partly true, lies are always most convincing with partial truths.
“I saw him start to stab my dad just like he had my mom....I was so scared” I still stared away, speaking more slowly, pausing to show the sorrow I was supposed to feel over their deaths.
“I didn't know what to do, so I hid in the closet and waited for it to be over” I said after the appropriate amount of time.
“I stayed there, listened to the man go through our stuff, and listened to him go out the kitchen door. I knew it was that door because it creaked” It also had a broken lock which would explain how the assailant got in to rob us in the first place.
“I didn't come out for two days. A concerned neighbor phoned the police when nobody came out” she was a nosy neighbor, always watching us. She couldn't see the kitchen door from her house though. That fact helped to prove the 'truth' of the story.
“And then what happened?” Doctor Wever prompted when I didn't go on with my story.
“The police came and found my parents and me in the closet” I went on. That was true, I hid in the closet just like the boy in the movie.
“and what did you tell them?” Doctor Weber knew the answer, but asked anyways.
“I told them my parents deserved it, that I killed them. Then they arrested me” I went on.
“and why did you tell them that Prince?” Doctor Weber asked.
“I said that because I was in shock, and I was associating myself with the movie I'd gone out to see with my friend. I was confused” It was at least true that I had taken some ideas from the thriller but I was by no means confused. I knew what I was doing, just like the boy in the movie, I planned it.
“Very good Prince” Doctor Weber nodded, making a couple of marks on her paper.
“Now tell me, do you believe that you never never actually hurt your parents? Do you believe they were good people who loved you?” The foolish doctor lead the discussion. She really wasn't a very good doctor, feeding me the very answers she wanted.
“Yes Doctor Weber, I had good parents, they raised me well” I confirmed, though that lie was perhaps the hardest to tell. There was no truth to that what so ever.
“and no, I didn't take the knife to them. I was remembering the movie in my shocked and mentally unstable state” I went on, again, there wasn't much truth there. I had said it so many times by now though, that it came out as naturally as my own name.
“When you first came to me, you told me you hated your parents because they were abusive and hated you. How would you say you feel about them now?” Doctor Weber went on to ask.
“I miss them” I answered, I wrung my hands. She thought that was because I felt something when I said it, in truth, it was to distract her from my eyes. I could lie my way out, but my eyes I feared would give me away. I loathed my parents enough to kill them, it was not easy to tell complete lies concerning my feelings about them.
“Tell me again, how many years has it been?” Doctor Weber asked for more details, as if she didn't know. I would play along though, answer her questions, I had nothing to hide.
“Five years, I was fifteen, twenty now” I answered the simple question. Doctor Weber was making this easy for me I was prepared for these questions. Maybe she was trying to make me at ease, take me off guard so I would slip up. It would be a pleasure to disappoint her.
Doctor Weber sighed, making a note on the paper. I wasn't sure what the sigh meant. I'd answered the question right, it wasn't even a partial lie this time. She must be trying to break my cool, that wouldn't happen though, I'd been preparing for this.
“Well Prince, I think I've got everything I need. I'll take your case to the board, I'll have the results by morning” she didn't frown, and she didn't smile, her wrinkled old face was hard to read sometimes. I was confident I had passed though, I'd answered everything correctly, without missing a beat.
“Thank you Doctor Weber” I said as I stood up, crossing the old shag carpet for the last time. I strode out with my head held high. I would be free at last, what I would do with that freedom, I wasn't sure yet.




Weber

I watched the tall elderly man get up and leave. He held himself much the same way he had Forty years ago. He hobbled now , an old injury he had caused himself in an escape attempt on his fifth year in the institution. It was after that his brain recycled the same day over and over.

Standing from where I sat behind the desk, I crossed the room and replaced the file in a cabinet dedicated to twenty five years of sessions with the old man. The 'evaluation' I promised him, would not be going to the board, but he would forget the whole thing and return the next day for his session at the same time as every other day. A sad case of a wasted life.[/spoili]

Unnamed story start

Just a begginning of a story that I'm worried might come across as cliche
[spoili]
Ever's heart danced in her chest as she panted, hands on her knees and head lowered. She'd been running for miles, or at least so it felt to her. It was late but not dark. The full moon cast a blue shadow across the forested landscape.



The dark haired woman was not wearing shoes for running, untied hiking boots shoved over the ends of flannel pajama bottoms. The long sleeved matching top was left open and loose with a tank top beneath. The back left shoulder was torn and blood had dried and clotted over the injury.



After allowing herself to catch her breath Ever stood up right and looked around her in hopes of getting her bearings. She didn't know precisely where she was, she'd just started running, leaving everything behind. There hadn't been time.



Ever didn't have clear view of the sky, the tall pines obscuring the stars. Following them would prove more difficult, and besides, she didn't trust her ability to follow those. She knew the concept but had never needed to rely on that.



Instead Ever focused in the mountains, she could easily orient herself with those, she could just see a white peak through the tree's to her left. If she turned her back to the mountains she'd come to the forest road and camp grounds.



The howl piercing the night like an alarm bell in her skull spurred Ever back into action. Turning her back to the mountains she ran on, her chest pounding already. Sure she was fit but she could only run so far before her body wouldn't go anymore. The adrenaline helped, keeping her going like her own personal caffeine drip.



Behind her Ever was certain she heard the crunch of twigs and dried pine needles, or was it her own? Ever chanced a glance back and instantly wished she hadn't. A dark mass was in pursuit. There was no mistaking it.



An instant later Ever wished she'd tied her boots when she'd stopped for air. She screamed as she fell, hitting the ground hard, again, and again as she rolled. Ever grunted, the air smacked out of her as her back struck the ground followed by her head cracking into a hard surface. The spinning world blurred out of focus as she rolled down the steep incline. Her ear's were filled with rushing of blood to hear head, something like the sound she heard in a conch shell.



Ever finally stopped rolling, gasping clutching her shoulder as she rolled over to her sore knee's, forcing back cries of pain. She was sure every part of her had struck a rock or tree.



Standing up Ever stumbled on several steps before dropping to her knee's again. She couldn't breath, her chest felt tight and sharp pains shot through her ribs and shoulder. All of that wasn't nearly as concerning as the panting breaths, the snarl and then, bang. The sound of the gun split past her ear causing Ever to duck her head down and cover with her arms. Her injured shoulder screamed in protest and her lips echoed the cry unbidden.





“Ever!” the familiar voice gave the woman enough confidence to let down her defenses, dropping her hands to the ground, struggling to breath.



“Quinn?” Ever rasped out the name and lifted her head enough to look through the tangled strands of her own hair. Lifting her head wasn't a good idea, the world illuminated by the flashlight blurred and went dark.







“Ever what happened out there?” Quinn demanded for the last time as he watched Ever throwing clothes into an open suitcase. Ever looked like she'd been through a rock tumbler, and certainly felt it too. Bruises scattered over her limbs and face, the worst of it were her ribs she hadn't even realized were broken, the pain of her dislodged shoulder was more searing at the time of impact.



“I told you Quinn!” Ever shouted back at him. She was properly dressed and her hair braided back out of her face, cleaned up, but looked no less crazy. One arm in a sling and bandages over the injury to her shoulder, visible only because the sleeve of the too big plaid shirt hung off loosely over the top of the white tank top underneath.



“You told me a monster attacked you Ev, we aren't five anymore, you can tell me what's really up” Quinn insisted.



Ever paused and gave him an even look “What's up is, I quit. Whatever is in this forest is not worth the job” She said firmly before slapping the top of the case down and began to zip it up, looking away from Quinn to do so.



“Ev come on, you worked so hard to get here, they don't give this job to anyone and no offense, but this isn't a job for a typical woman” Quinn meant it as a compliment. Ever had trained and proved her way through life, showing she could do anything a man could do. All so she could get a job as a forest ranger someplace deep in the woods away from society.



“You don't think I know that Quinn?” Ever spoke in frustration. “But look at me, I've been here a month and I'd already be dead if you hadn't been coming up to bring me groceries”



“Don't talk like that Ever” Quinn said and frowned





“Oh and what should I talk like? It's the truth isn't it? That thing would have killed me, and if not that then something else. Probably starved or dehydrated or something” Ever said miserably.



“That thing was a bear Ever, I saw it, shot it and scared it off remember?” Quinn offered up, sitting on the edge of the mattress.



“That was no bear Quinn, bears don't go ripping down doors and tearing through cabins and chasing people for miles. Even a mother bear would have stopped before this thing did” Ever insisted. “And you saw the claw marks, the footprints. They were canine. Aside from that the howling and the long snout...I know what I saw and it was nothing that should be alive”



Quinn frowned at her explanation “So, what? It was big foot?”




“No, but it sure as hell wasn't a bear” Ever answered and pulled the case off the bed.



“Ev come on, you can't walk out like this, being out here is what you've always wanted. Give in now and you will never get an opportunity like this again” Quinn pushed.



“And look, if you're scared I'll stay here with you for awhile huh? I can sleep on the couch. I don't mind” he went on when Ever didn't answer, looking down at her suitcase with a contemplative frown.



“I don't know Quinn.... I know what I saw wasn't natural....I know it” Ever replied after a prolonged pause.



“Ok, maybe it wasn't, maybe some deranged wolf, rabid or something. You said yourself that these woods have been spitting out new species and deformed animals like the wilds of Africa” Quinn went on “So who knows alright, maybe it was big foot”



“That was years ago Quinn, these woods have been combed over...but....ugh” Ever slumped to sit on the bed beside him.



“Two weeks, you stay here two weeks” Ever placed her terms down.



“Two weeks” Quinn agreed.
[/spoili]

Prolouge, The Hog-Faced Prince
[spoili]Preface

Once upon a time, is how a fairytale is supposed to begin, but the ending is perhaps less than happily ever after. There is no sugar coating to satisfy the innocence of children. Some tales are best kept on the top shelf and all stem from some amount of truth, which is perhaps the scariest part of all.



Prolouge, The Hog-Faced Prince

Once upon a time in a land forgotten to time, there lived the wealthy King Endor and Queen Ashteen who had long ruled the land in peace. The queen had not been able to produce an heir, not even a daughter they could find a suitable prince for. Without a child the throne would pass to to the king's nephew, Balandook, the third son of the western king, King Faldone. It was rumored that Balandook desired to unite the two kingdoms and bring back the banished Kraid. Endor, his brother and the two other kings, to the East and South, had fought against the demonic Kraid to free the lands from tyranny.

King Faldone had sought the help of a powerful warlock when his wife was unable to bare children. It was unknown what he traded for the magic but three sons had been born. Because of this, the people feared that Balandook had been gifted with dark magic to free the Kraid. His cruelty and greed was testament to the possibility of magical corruption.



Dressed in fine violet silks Queen Ashteen stood on the balcony of the royal chambers. Night was fading into day as the sun rose over the sea. Shades of pink, purple and yellow stained the dark waters as the sun rose. Wisps of cloud caught up the colors and painted the blue canvas sky.

“There's nothing more beautiful than a sunrise after a storm” Ashteen spoke softly, hearing the king pull back the heavy red drapes and step out onto the balcony behind her. “Except for you, my love”. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder.

Ashteen smiled and turned to look at him instead of the sea, “You are an impossible romantic, Endor.”
With a crooked smile he kissed her neck, “Somebody needs to be, you've been so gloomy.” He placed a kiss gently on her jaw.

“Can you blame me? I cannot bear you a child.” She turned more fully to face him. The simple fact of her barren womb was troubling her. “How could you, such a noble and good king, land the misfortune of wedding a woman who can give you nothing? You deserve more than I am able to give, Endor.” Her eyes pricked with tears.

“No, no my queen.” he brushed her tears away, his fingers were rough, no stranger to work. Ashteen caught his hand and pressed her cheek into it. “It's true, we both know this and we must discuss it before we grow any older. An heir must be named.”

Endor kissed her lips before he took her hands in both of his “We have time yet.” He insisted.
“No, we are only growing older; I don't wish to raise a child in my old age and he must learn to be a king from you.” Ashteen went on.

“But..Ash, we can't have a child and none of my nephews are so young to raise anymore.” Endor spoke with confusion in his eyes.

“'There is a way, one more option we haven't explored,” Ashteen said fervently. “The warlock Fortulee across the sea, I've heard he can...” She did not finish as Endor placed a finger on her lips.
“No Ashteen, he is a wicked man who would take advantage of our situation, you know he would as well as anyone.” He released her hands and pushed past the drapes, returning to the dimly lit chamber.
He would hear no more of Fortulee.
Ashteen would not be dismissed, following him inside. “Listen to me Endor, we're running out of time and out of options,” she didn't stop there, afraid he would silence her again.

“I'm asking you to sail across the sea and deal with a man who may be able to give us a child, an heir. Forget what rumors we've heard, we don't really know anything about him except that he gave your brother three sons did he not?” Ashteen continued, watching her husband.

“You mean my cruel nephew who would see our kingdom in bondage after we fought to free our people from cruelty. My nephew who's waiting for me to die to take the throne? He'd probably have me killed the moment I named him heir!” Endor's voice rose in frustration.

“Yes him, but it is not his fault, it was how he was raised.” Ashteen insisted. “Your brother hates you, that's no secret. He is envious and young, Balandook has picked up on that. You can't blame the child alone nor Furtulee.”

Endor chewed on what his wife was telling him but remained silent. Ashteen could see the wheels turning. She was winning; she could always tell when he actually listened and considered what she was saying.
“I'm asking you to go there and see what deal he will make with you to give us a son, so we can have an opportunity to raise a proper heir who will continue to rule in peace. For our sake and the sake of the kingdom, explore this option.” The Queen urged.

Endor let out a defeated breath and consented to her request with a nod. “You're right my queen, as you always are. I'll make arrangements today and leave when everything is ready.”

Later that same week King Endor departed on a long voyage across the sea to visit the warlock Fortulee. He went, as it was said, to make an offering of peace as was ritually done every two years. On the alternate years, kings of other lands would visit Endor. There were festivals for each to welcome the arrival of their guests. It was an important tradition to keep peace throughout all the lands and it had worked well since King Endor had won the war against the Kraid who were a species unlike humans or elves. There was no goodness in them, and they were considered demons with their red eyes and twisted faces.

Endor had been only fourteen when he rallied men and women alike to fight against the Kraid and had successfully won the war. He and his three most trusted friends were named kings over the four lands because of their bravery and noble selfless acts. Endor was now aging into his thirties, the kingdoms having known sixteen years of peace.

While the king was away the beloved queen Ashteen ruled with her husband's trusted council at her side. Endor's brother, the king of the west, desired to rule the north as well as the west. Ashteen and Endor agreed that she should stay behind. Should anything happen to Endor, or the ship be lost at sea, Ashteen could continue to rule. If they both went and the ship was lost, the west could all too easily take over the north and free the Kraid. The risk was simply too great.

Endor made port six weeks after leaving his own kingdom. He was met with the customary entourage. A grand parade for King Endor. The festival was to begin that night and last for a whole week. Parties and feasts held in honor of the bringer of peace, the slayer of Kraid, the great King Endor.
Endor paid little attention to the scantily dressed dancing women who were among the greeting party. They swirled thin skirts of fine silk in wide circles and fluttered long shawls. Their black hair flowed free, strung with beads; fine gold necklaces and bangles decorating their dark skin.

This country was hot, the people elegant, taller, more slender and darker skinned compared to northerners who were shorter and broad through the shoulders and chest. There was no mistaking who were the foreigners.

Endor was directed to sit in a cushioned and covered litter draped with silks and gold. Four long posts stretched out at each corner and four strong men on each lifted Endor and paraded him through the streets and up to the castle.

The northern king was inclined to smile, wave and graciously accept flowers tossed into the king carrier and gifts were pressed into his hands by the locals. Endor was glad for the shade the silks above him provided and more so for the servant woman fanning him from behind his cushion. His home overlooked the sea and was warm most of the year, though it was nothing like the heat of the eastern country.

Ashteen had visited once with him, in the early days of his rule, and she had adored this land, the people, their customs, all of it. It was as if she belonged there sometimes yet chose to stay with her king. She did at times visit when the north looked to have a harsh winter. The cold and dark of winter depressed the queen and made her bones ache. The king understood and wished her well in the east, though always he missed her presence.

With the constant halts for gifts and flowers to be given and crowds to press through, it took nearly two and a half hours for Endor to make the journey up to the castle, where he was greeted by King Shahzande and his wife Lameara.

As the litter was placed on the marble of the front courtyard, Endor climbed out and greeted them with a smile. “Shahz my old friend, it has been too long!” Endor said as he stepped in to embrace the taller dark-skinned man who grinned back. “If only the sea did not separate us!” was the eastern king's answer.
The two of them had met when they were young; Shahzande had joined his cause to free the lands from the Kraids' rule and they had become enduring friends.

“Lameara,” Endor spoke her name fondly as he released his fellow king. “Ashteen wishes she could have come, she misses you.” Endor wished the same.

Lameara was a head shorter than her husband but even then Endor did not have to stoop to embrace the pregnant queen. “Send my love back to her Endor, I miss her too. Perhaps she can make a visit before our child is born?” She suggested, releasing the king and stepping back beside her husband.

“Speaking of children, where are your sons and daughter?” Endor asked, the three of them walking casually inside. “They are out, but shall return for the feast tonight.” Shahzande reported. “I'm sure you wish for rest, but, I have arranged that meeting you mentioned. Fortulee is a busy man and tonight was the only time he said he would see you. He is bold to insist anything upon you Endor,” Shahz went on with a small frown.
“I fear he may know what you seek already and I must advise against this. Fortulee is not a kind man, he will demand a heavy price for what you seek.”

“Shahz, you always did get right down to it,” Endor said shaking his head. “I'll speak with him and see what he might say. Ashteen knows there will be a cost and knows that I shall not pay if it is too steep.”


Endor rapped on the dark wooden door of a small hut deep in the jungle. Shahzande's trusted friend and bodyguard had shown him the way and now stood a way off to wait, as per Endor's request. To avoid notice, he'd had to take several little used paths and wear the more traditional clothing of the eastern priests who kept their faces covered, all but a slit for the eye. As long as Endor kept his eyes down, nobody would take notice.

The door was opened by a man who might once have been tall. He was bent in the back, his hair gray and as thin as smoke. His eyes were dark and piercing, his skin wrinkled and pale like Endor's. That surprised him. He had expected Fortulee to be like the others in the east, dark-skinned. The eyes were right, so dark brown they looked black at first glance. “Ah, King Endor.” The old man opened the door a little wider.
Endor ducked inside but did not rise to full height again. He understood now why the man was so bent. His hut was so small that Endor couldn't stand up right and he was shorter than most in the east. Short and stocky, while they were tall, strong and quick. To have a hut so short, seemed odd, but he didn't question it.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me, I understand you're a busy man.” Endor spoke as he removed the priestly headgear.

“Well, when you're the only warlock around, it's easy to become so.” the older man's voice was more friendly than he expected. Fortulee was not well spoken of, called wicked, cruel and sly. Because of this, Endor was on his guard.

“Please have a seat, nothing like your royal throne but I hope it will do.” Fortulee went on, waving to a three legged stool beside a small table scattered with potion ingredients and papers.
Fortulee seated himself on the other side of the table, his old bones creaked as much as the worn out stool.
Endor sat on the offered stool “I'm really not so picky as that Fortulee, besides, thrones are not so comfortable.”

“Ah, yes,” The old man chuckled, though it sounded more like a rasping wheeze. “Uncomfortable in more ways than one I should think.” Fortulee smiled.
“Indeed so.” Endor agreed.

“Now then, you wish for a son.” Fortulee stated rather than questioned. Warlocks tended to know things they shouldn't; with or without the seer's gift they were intuitive by nature.
Endor was, in a way, glad that he didn't have to explain the situation. “I must have a son, else my nephew will be my heir and that simply cannot be.”

“No, it cannot, you are right. He is a cruel boy.” Fortulee agreed with the king.
“You know then what I seek. What is your price, Fortulee?” Endor got right to the point at hand. He didn't mind small talk but with this man, he was unsettled. He didn't match the rumors and was almost too pleasant.
“Half your kingdom, that is my price.” Fortulee came right out with it, matching the king's blunt straightforward speech.

“Half my kingdom? And what would an old warlock do with a kingdom?” Endor questioned. He had prepared himself for a steep price and thus was able to keep calm, although the price was more than he anticipated.
“My reasons are my own and your reasons are yours, but that is the deal.” Fortulee answered simply. “I will give you to the end of the week to answer.”



Only when Fortulee was sure the northern king had gone did the warlocks wispy white hair regain its blackness and the youth return to his wrinkled face. The silver beard was replaced with a twisted black one and his eyes were as small and dark as his hair. He had all the look of the westerners, pale skinned with dark hair and eyes.

A thin smile spread across his sunken cheeks. It is said that the soul reflects on appearance; if that was true, the sunken faced slender and beady-eyed man with the twisted beard had a dark and twisted soul.
Turning back into his hut, which was now just the right height for him, he pushed the table and stools aside and waved his hand over the dirt floor. The earth shifted and stirred until a dark opening gaped its mouth. Fortulee descended into the deeper parts of the world where secrets lay.

Down the steep stairs with only a dim orb of light held in the warlock's hand, Fortulee emerged into a dark cave where no light from above had ever or would ever touch.

The warlock tossed the orb up; it moved steadily to hover in the middle of the dark cave, then grew brighter until the room was illuminated in dim yellow light.

The walls were carved into black stone, shelves gouged out of the walls and filled with books, potions and other relics collected over the years. In the center was a large wooden table strewn with books and papers.
The now young Fortulee seated himself in the comfortable armchair resting at one end of the table.
With ink and quill Fortulee began to write the contract, confident the king would return and sign the deal in blood, binding him to it.

The contract was simple enough, a child for half a kingdom to be handed over at the time of birth. Should the contract be broken penalties would be applied to the offending party, in the form of a curse.
Fortulee took a second inkwell from a drawer and placed it next to the black, this one was also black but gave a faint shine. The ink he used to write the curse was the only kind that would make it a binding one.
With the freshly dipped quill the warlock wrote with closed eyes, letting the binding ink guide his hand:
“On break of word and oath the face will change to show inner worth, the eyes will shine with demon wrath and plague befall where true blood stands to reign. Only when the seeker of souls doth change the worth will bond be broken and all that was will again be whole, until that time true blood live ever on.”
Fortulee opened his eyes when he felt his hand cease to move. Looking down at what was written he could only puzzle over the meaning. His father had been a seer but he was not, yet his father's gift did come when he beckoned it to curse a broken contract. The fragment of the seer's gift had never once failed him. Even if he did not fully understand what was written, he was confident that he would get what he wanted. He always did.



The feast was about what Endor would expect, a boar hunted down for the occasion and an abundance of fruits. Endor had to admit, they did have the best fruit and the most excellent array of wines. He always made a point of taking some home with him whenever he visited.

This particular feast however, Endor was very distracted. Fortulee had asked no small price, but which was worse? Give the entire kingdom to a nephew who would undoubtedly destroy everything he'd built, or give only half to a warlock who may or may not destroy that half and attempt to take the rest.

After the feast Shahzande came to Endor's guest quarters and the two of them sat out on the open deck.
“So he wants half of your kingdom in exchange for an heir, that is a steep price.” King Shahzande was saying, leaning back in the patio chair and looking out over the courtyard. Festivities were still going on in the city below but it was a distant noise; the castle was resting up on the hill. Endor was glad he didn't have to participate in everything; he was tired and dealing with a hard choice.

“There is a third option.” Shahz said and looked over at his friend again.

“A third option?” Endor repeated with a note of curiosity.

“Fortulee has been creating a lot of problems for me. I am well within my legal rights to have him beheaded.” Shahzade answered. He'd always tried to do things fairly; as king he could do whatever he wished really but he obeyed the laws like everyone else. If he said Fortulee could be killed for legal reasons, Endor didn't question it.

“Agree to the deal, then when your son is born, send word to me and I shall deal with Fortulee here. You saved my life once, more than once Endor, let me save your kingdom.”
Shahzade went on when Endor said nothing.

“He's not a seer then?” Endor asked, not knowing much other than the rumors and stories he heard.
“No, no. Fortulee is many things but he is no seer, he won't know what's coming.” Shahzande answered with confidence.
“I would be grateful Shahz, and I know it would mean the world to Ashteen to have a child of her own.” Endor said, a smile pricking his lips. The thought of being a father to his own son was a thought he hadn't dared to have since they'd realized that Ashteen was barren. Things were going to be different now.



And so it happened that only two weeks after King Endor's return to his own country, his beloved wife was with child. So great was their joy that a grand feast was held in honor of the unborn prince.

At first many believed it a ruse to satisfy the building tension between the north and west countries. However, as weeks turned into months Queen Ashteen began to swell and the rumors were put to rest.

At the very moment the queen began to labor, Endor wrote and sent word with the fastest messenger bird. The very act of releasing the beautiful winged creature, had enacted the penalties Endor had unwisely agreed to. That was not the only unwise choice he stood to make.

Endor did not realize his first mistake until the nurse placed his son into his arms. Sweet Ashteen had yet to see the child. Weak and near death from hard labor, the doctors and nurses worked to keep her alive.
As Endor looked down on the face of the crying babe, fear took hold. His son's sweet face contorted and changed before him. The eyes blazed red, his hair grew black as ember, his nose turned up and small rounded tusks protruded from his mouth. The child he held, he determined, could only be born of evil.
Endor realized then that this child was the result of the curse put into motion when he'd sent word to kill the warlock instead of giving what was promised him.

Bundling the child he had to make a hasty choice. This abomination was not the making of him and his beloved queen and she must never know what emerged from her womb.

Endor stood back in the corner of the room, out of sight of Ashteen, so pale and fragile. Certainly one look at the demon would finish her.

Concerned at the king's expression, his trusted servant Taldeen came to him. “Sire...” he began, but the king cut him off and rushed him with instructions.

“Take this demon child away from here, none must know of this!” Endor spoke in a hushed urgent voice. “Go quickly to the children's home and find a motherless babe and bring him here. This must all be done with haste. The queen must never see this demon.” Taldeen was then given the bundled infant. He did not question his king and only obeyed. Luck was on the king's side in some small way. With so much chaos in the room with the condition of the queen, no-one noticed that the king stood by with empty rolled-up blankets cradled in his arms; not one of them thought to question him.

As the years went on, the king forgot the demon child and focused his attention on the boy Taldeen had brought back that same night. He was blond and blue-eyed like the king so there was no reason to doubt his birthright.

Queen Ashteen had given him the name Alamear, in honor of her fallen father. She, like the rest, did not suspect a switch, remaining ignorant her of husband's rash decisions the night of her true son's birth.
Alamear was raised with all the love, devotion and privileges that befitted a prince and sole heir to the throne.

On the day of Alamear's coronation which would take place on his eighteenth birthday, things would change forever.


The throne room was decorated with draping royal blue silks hanging from each column, framing the tapestries displaying the royal coat of arms in gold thread.

A long red carpet was rolled out from the doors to the throne at the top of the steps, the platform decorated with fragrant red roses in huge golden vases with blue silk ribbons.

The carpet was separated from the rest of the throne room by woven gold and blue cords wrapped around each column and stretching across the gap between to help keep the royal court and guests from stepping on to the carpet.

Two guards already stood on either side of every pillar, with four at the doors and eight more behind and around the throne's platform. Others would be around all the walls and scattered throughout the crowd. While there was peace in the land and no unrest to cause alarm, no chances would be taken. Alamear was first in line for the throne, his cruel cousin was second to both Alamear and his elder brother who was heir to his own father's throne to the west.

The brother kings kept the peace although it was known they did not agree on many issues, but the desire to keep their respective lands safe overpowered any hatred they held towards each other.
King Endor had of course invited guests from all three of the other countries to witness the coronation. Festivities had been going on all afternoon and for three days before. That night after the coronation there would be a grand ball in honor of the newly crowned prince. Already the room was a buzz of excited chatter.
As the doors opened however, silence fell and all eyes turned to the great King Endor and his beloved wife Queen Ashteen.

In perfect silence they ascended the steps and sat on their respective thrones. There was only a moment more of silence before the trumpets sounded and the large doors were heaved open. In stepped prince Alamear dressed in the traditional golden armor. A long trailing blue cape trimmed in gold was fastened with the crest of his House. An honorary sword hung from a fine leather belt, the sheath and hilt of the blade were intricately designed and gold plated; sapphire jewels set in golden brackets. The precious stones glittered in the sunlight pouring in through great windows along the hall. The gold of his chest plate reflected the colors of the windows.

The armor was not intended for battle and was in fact, very thin. The decorated pieces were only symbolic of the wars that led to their freedom and the golden age in which they lived.

Alamear held his head high as his mother had taught him. Without looking to either side the young prince took careful steps forward. Though his heart pounded, aware of all eyes on him, he looked the part. His hair perfectly combed, his shoulders back, chin high and eyes forward.

Before the prince had even walked halfway up to his waiting parents, the heavy doors behind him exploded in a hot fiery flash, sending chunks of stone and wood into the crowd. Flame easily caught alight the silk hung in decoration around the throne room.

Screams and panic tore through the hall. The young prince spun round, nearly catching himself in the trailing cloak. The dust and smoke hadn't cleared, the attacker remaining unknown. Guards rushed to defend the royal family but Endor and Alamear had already drawn blades. Even the queen was prepared, her blade thinner but still as deadly, as good a swordsman as any man in the room.

The first things to become visible in the gaping hole where the doors had been, were the eyes, shining red. As the smoke cleared away the square shoulders, a head taller than Alamear, were armored steel plated skulls; a black cloak draped from the open mouths. His chest plate was thick and scored, dented and mended in several places. This man had known battle in recent days.

More startling than his attire was his helmet that resembled the head of a great boar, with jutting tusks and flared nostrils. The red eyes of the boar’s head was no trickery of light. Demon eyes, those of a Kraid, spoken of in only hushed whispers of the past. He stared down the smaller man in thin golden armor with his glittering blade, barely a plaything in comparison to the battle ax the intruder wielded. The head of the ax alone would have taken four men at least to lift, yet this man held it easily in a single hand.

The four guards nearest the door rushed to attack. They stood little chance against the giant. The guardsmen were cut down with a single swipe of his mighty ax. Screams of panic re-ignited with the splattering of blood and echoed in the hall; no doubt alerting guards in other parts of the castle if they had not already been drawn in by the initial blast and eruption of panic.

“Is this the welcome a lost son of Endor receives?” The voice bellowed from within the boar helmet.
The remaining guards hesitated to attack, standing in defense still but unmoving until given further command. They created a semicircle around the door, giving the Kraid man a wide berth.

“My son is here, I have only one.” Endor answered, coming forward to stand beside the boy he'd raised, just behind the line of guards.

The boar-headed man bellowed an unexpected laugh; it only lasted an instant but the unsettling sound hushed the room once more.

“Yes your son is here, the son you sent away to die because of your own shame. The great King Endor broke his word to the powerful Fortulee of the eastern land.” The boar-headed man bellowed to the room at large, though his hateful red eyes were fixed on the king.

With his free hand that looked large enough to crush a man's head, he pulled an old scroll from a leather travel bag at his side. With an easy flick of the wrist the scroll rolled out for all to see; the contract signed in the king's own hand and blood.

The true son spoke the words of the curse from memory. They were his fate, his burden to bear because of a hasty choice to spare the heart of an ailing queen.

“On break of word and oath the face will change to show inner worth, the eyes will shine with demon wrath and plague befall where true blood stands to reign. Only when the seeker of souls doth change the worth will bond be broken and all that was will again be whole, until that time true blood live ever on.”
Guests from the western kingdom around the room threw aside their courtly tunics and capes to draw swords, attacking the northern guards who circled the giant at the door. The attack from the west was not something they expected in this way. Many of the guards fell before they knew what had happened while others were able to fight against the western soldiers. Even then, they proved to be outnumbered. For all their precautions against attack, it was not enough.

The few guards who remained still surrounded their queen and would stay with her. They knew well that in situations such as this, the safety of the queen was priority. The king had made that clear.
“See now what you've brought to the land you so wished to save! Oh great coward king of the north, bringer of plague and wielder of lies!” Dropping the document on to the floor the man lifted off the heavy helmet to reveal a face more hideous still than its covering. The tusks had grown up over his sun- tanned cheeks, his nose more the snout of a hog than it was human. His teeth grown sharp and his hair black as night and thick like straw.

Young Prince Alamear scooped up the discarded scroll and read the words for himself. As realization of his true heritage sunk in, Alamear turned to his father, or at least the man he'd called a father. “I am a lie, no son of a king!” The anguish he felt was the last thing he knew before the ax of the hog-faced prince smote him in two.

“No! Alamear!” Ashteen cried helplessly as she watched the only son she'd known slain so effortlessly by the monster she'd unknowingly birthed. Endor stood stunned, soaked in his adopted son's blood. In the next instant Endor rose his blade to avenge him; with his battle cry he brought down his sword to slay the hog-faced man.
The king's blade broke against the heavy chest plate. The hog-faced prince laughed down at his true father. The guards who rushed to his aid, despite their orders to defend the queen, were intercepted by the western soldiers' blades.

Screams and cries of pain and pleas for help were all but muted to the queen as her bodyguards rushed her away. She recalled she cried out for Endor to come but she could not see him, lost in the bodies of men and women being slaughtered by the westerners. Those that fought with whatever weapon they could find were cut down without mercy. Those that surrendered were slain. No prisoners were being taken.
All Queen Ashteen saw was her true monster of a son pass easily through the battle and come up to the throne and seat himself upon it. The windows darkened and the stench of death overwhelmed the throne room as the massacre unfolded.

Certain that her beloved was murdered, Queen Ashteen fled to the east and her beloved northern kingdom fell into darkness because of broken oaths.

Not all tales have a happily ever after, but true stories never end.[/spoili]


I'll keep adding as I work on more writing. Please come again and Thank you!
 
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