Short Story: Mass (An Ouroboros Tale)

The following story is based on the unpublished novel Ouroboros: Devil-Lore.

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There are many paths to greatness; some may seem bigger in size and scale, but the greatest are perhaps much smaller than one would realize. I started on a seemingly great path: a proud soldier in King George’s army, dispatched with thousands of others to the Zhek Lands to fight the fifth holy crusade. Not only was this retribution for the Skaun’s attack on River City, but this was also a chance for the west to reclaim the holy city of Tul’Dominator from the hands of our wretched enemies. It seemed to be a glorious war; I marveled at the swiftness and skill of our army as we swept across the desert and slaughtered entire tribes of Skaun.

Before I knew it, we were at the walls of Tul’Dominator. The sprawl of ancient Zhekish ruins and crude Skauni hovels was like a holy mountain before us. It was exhilarating to think that I would soon be treading on the same land that the Lord himself walked upon seven hundred years ago. I would soon behold the mound where He was executed for humanity’s sins. I felt as though I would single-handedly claim the entire city for the glory of Avengore, if not the human race.

Alas, it was not meant to be. The Skaun had a surprisingly strong defensive stance against us.

Over ten thousand soldiers assembled in the sandy plains before the city; accompanied by a full flock of dragon-riders and dozens of siege engines, we expected to take the city by the end of the day. As strong as our army was and as confident we were, the soldiers joked and speculated that we would all be celebrating the Lord’s Mass in the holy city itself.

Our company’s commander roused the troops with an inspiring speech. I was barely listening to it. I looked up at the towering city and its massive ziggurat-shaped palace, feeling simultaneously intimidated by its size and anxious to kill our enemies.

When the order was given, the army started advancing forward. Catapults launched their payloads, hurling giant stones into the city walls. The stones boomed like thunder as they cracked against the thick stone walls. Archers let loose their arrows; they fell on the city streets like a deadly rain.

Then our dragon-riders entered the battle. Soaring over our heads, the green reptilian creatures flew into the city, guided by knights saddled upon them. Hovering around the buildings, the dragons belched fire on command. Their flames licked the streets and doused the Skauni homes, scorching them and igniting our enemies on fire. Some dragons landed on the streets, crushing enemies with their talons and smashing homes open with their tails. Before long, the Skaun’s black blood ran heavily on the streets.

The catapults tore down the walls before us, and we started rushing through the breech. We crowded through the narrow opening and ran up the city streets, shouting angry battle cries. Finally, victory seemed to be well within our grasp!

Suddenly, all of the soldiers in the front line collapsed with arrows and throwing daggers in their chests. Ahead of them was a row of Skauni warriors. Standing over six feet tall, these troll-like creatures hissed at us through their ugly sneers, showing off their sharp teeth. Their hulking red-skinned bodies glistened in the sun, soaked with ointment that supposedly made them stronger. With their long ears pointed up, they all looked like devils.

Most of the enemy troops wielded an odd assortment of weapons: swords, scythes, clubs, knifes, and polearms. Groups of them used bows and throwing knives while attacking from the tops of buildings. Others tossed crude bombs at us, comprised of black powder in clay jars. Landing on the ground around us, the jars exploded ferociously, tearing soldiers apart and tossing others into the air.

A pair of dragon-riders flew over the Skauni lines, preparing to flank them. Surely, their fiery breath would obliterate the entire lot of them!

Then, a flock of rukhs rushed into the dragons. These giant birds grasped the dragons with their talons and pecked at their flesh with their beaks. Overwhelmed by the attack, the dragons were helpless. One dragon’s body was ripped open in the air by the rukhs, its blood drizzling on the streets below. The other dragon plummeted into a building, weighed down by all the birds that were clinging to it.

The other dragon-riders flew to intercept the rukhs, breathing fire in the air to burn them. One rukh was caught in a dragon’s flame; its feathers ignited ablaze and the creature fell to its death. Chasing each other, the creatures circled each other in the sky, occasionally biting at each other. Rukhs were burned by the dragons’ fire, and dragons were slain by the rukhs’ vicious attacks. At times, their bodies would crash into the city, crushing buildings with a burst of debris and dust.

Without support from the air, we had to hold our ground on the streets alone. As the Skaun approached us, their numbers grew as soldiers appeared from the alleys and buildings all around us. It no longer resembled an army; it looked more like an uncivil mob rushing toward us.

The Skaun rushed into us, slashing their weapons furiously. Caught off-guard, a number of fellow soldiers lost their heads and limbs in the initial attack. Even those who held their ground faltered and were knocked down by the Skaun’s push. A dozen men fell all around me, and I soon found myself exposed on the street.

A Skauni soldier charged at me, thrusting a polearm into my gut. I parried the attack with my sword, tossing the weapon out of the Skauni’s hands. I stepped forward and jabbed my blade toward his chest, but the enemy evaded me and slammed his fist into my face. Pain shot through my jaw as I stumbled. Tripping over a fallen soldier, I fell backward and into a nearby building’s doorway.

On the ground, I watched as my enemy advanced toward me. I slashed my sword upward at him, hoping to ward him off, but the weapon only cut through air. My enemy kicked me in the side; my armor buffered most of the blow, but I still felt it as a strong nudge.

Bending down, the Skauni soldier grabbed me by the collar and picked me up; his strength was surprising! He tried to toss me around the room, but I grabbed his arms with my free hand. While we struggled, my other hand still grasped my sword. I swung it at his head; the flat of the blade banged against his head, making a metallic ping, and hurting him enough to make him drop me.

While the enemy was momentarily stunned, I charged into him and ran my sword through his gut. The blade cut through flesh and cloth with surprising ease, spilling black blood on the floor. The enemy suddenly gasped in surprise and agony, his eyes wide with fear and sorrow. I was taken aback at that moment; I had killed a few Skaun during this campaign, but this was the closest and most intimate death I had ever witnessed. For that brief moment, I felt the enemy was almost human.

In the grasp of death, the Skauni reached out and held onto me, as if pleading for mercy. I withdrew the sword and watched him collapse to the floor, with blood pooling around him. Long silent moments passed before all of his life escaped from him, and all that remained was his lifeless corpse with his glazed eyes.

Mortality always instilled fear in me during these battles, but I never once gave much thought to the mortality of others. Seeing my enemy die up close, I was stricken with sympathy and sorrow. I couldn’t shake it away, no matter how much I rationalized it. I kept telling myself that I was only defending my life, my people, and my country. But then, was he not doing the same?

The longer I stayed with the body, the less comfortable I was with it, and with myself. Rushing out the door, I came back to the city streets.

The battle outside had dissolved into a chaotic scramble. Our army’s formation was scattered all over the city, fighting pockets of Skauni resistance, lest they were attacked by the rukhs. The Skaun manned the walls of the city and were pouring stones, arrows, and burning pitch on the army below. After thinning out the forces outside the city, the Skaun infantry pushed through the wall’s breech and cut into the main formation. Our army was cut in half as the Skaun sliced their way through.

Adding to our army’s troubles were the sphinxes. The half-lion half-eagle creatures roamed the city streets, tackling soldiers and mauling them to death. Their long sharp claws tore through the toughest steel, while their fangs bit into the soldiers’ vulnerable flesh.

One heirosphinx dashed past me, knocking down a group of soldiers and catching a knight in its mouth, before taking flight with its eagle-wings. The creature glided high above me, shaking the hapless knight in its mouth the way a cat would to a mouse. The knight’s armor slid off, dropping on the ground around me.

More sphinxes glided over the city walls and started harassing the army outside. They flanked the main formations, plowing through men and knocking dozens of them over. Some soldiers were able to slay the beasts while they were grounded, but most were caught in the creatures’ mouths.

While the battle continued to fall into disarray, I started running. I had hoped to retreat the way I came and run as far away from the city as I could. With so much death and carnage, I felt there was no way we could take the city. It actually seemed too cruel that so much chaos and bloodshed should dominate the holy city.

By path was blocked as a group of Skaun ran up the road to intercept me. Turning I ran the other way, deeper into the city. A group of friendly soldiers were ahead; I hoped to find some protection among them.

Suddenly, there was a blast of fire. Flames rippled into the soldiers in front of me, melting their armor before cutting into their skin and severing them all in half. I ducked, and the fiery waves passed over my head. I could feel their heat singing my helmet. This was not the work of any ordinary bomb; this was clearly elemental magic.

Rising, I beheld a ghastly sight before me. There was a man standing where the soldiers once stood, flanked by a group of high-ranking Skauni commanders. The man was clad in an elegant white robe with ornate stitching and embedded gems; the robes of a sultan. I would learn only later that this was the notorious and mysterious Sultan Zercesis: a warlock who had recently taken control of the Skaun, and were leading them in this battle.

The sultan picked up one of the torsos of the men he had just murdered with his magic. Holding the corpse up, he gazed at me with a wicked sneer and mocked, “Behold your fellow men! This land belongs to us, and this will happen to all men who tread here, whether soldier or king!”

I was stricken with fear and panic, but deep down I felt a welling rage. I realized that I was in the presence of a tyrant, one who was purely malevolent, and one who would use the Skaun as mere pawns in his mad conquest. The true enemy was before me, and I had to destroy him somehow!

I acted, and threw my sword at the sultan. The blade spun in the air and zipped toward the sultan fast; it would have been enough to kill any normal person. But as the blade started to cut through his robes, Zercesis suddenly dissipated. Vanishing into an ethereal cloud, the sultan laughed mockingly, until his voice became disembodied too. My sword slashed through the air and clattered on the ground uselessly.

The Skauni commanders accompanying the sultan sneered at me, drawing their scimitars. Without a weapon, I was helpless; the Skaun would disembowel me with the ease of a butcher slicing a pig!

Turning, I ran away from the enemies. There were still a group of Skaun in the street from whence I came; I desperately fled past them and wedged myself between their bodies. Knocking one of them down, I sprinted away as fast as I could.

The Skauni commanders did not follow me, and neither did their soldiers. I realized that they probably saw no value in killing me, for I was no longer a soldier of Avengore. In flight with no weapon, I was now a cowardly deserter. I was no longer a worthy opponent for them; I was not even worth pursuing.

I became apprehensive and ashamed as I thought of all this, but it was all still overshadowed by the fear and anxiety of the war around me. Dread overcame me when I heard the cry of a something immense echoing across the city. It was a loud booming roar. Coming from an ancient arena deeper in the city, I realized with a sinking heart that it was a fabled creature of legend; a monster so huge and vicious that we all believed it was mere myth.

Watching the giant wings unfolding above, I saw that it was no myth indeed. Chamrosh had awaken; the Skaun had freed it from its prison, and the fifty-foot tall bird perched itself on the edge of the arena. Taking flight, the creature soared over the battlefield, its mass silhouetting against the sun and casting a colossal shadow on the ground.

Diving, Chamrosh swooped over the battlefield in front of the city. The gliding bird ripped through the army’s formation, throwing soldiers in every direction. The creature’s talons dragged against the ground, crushing hapless knights while throwing up sand. In its wake, Chamrosh’s passing drew a huge cloud of dust and sand that covered the battlefield.

The archers at the rear formation of the army launched a volley of arrows at the bird. It was a thick heavy wave that would have intimidated most enemies; against Chamrosh, the arrows bounced uselessly off its thick heavy feathers. Circling the area, the bird came down on the archers and stomped on them, massacring entire squadrons beneath its heavy talons. Chamrosh then went on to ravage the catapults, tearing them to pieces with its beak and claws.

With the army in total disarray and most of the commanding officers killed, most of the surviving soldiers were fleeing from the city. Those who lingered were killed by the Skaun or their treacherous monsters. Those who fled in the desert were harassed by rukhs, sphinxes, and Chamrosh.

Panicked by all the carnage and chaos, I fled the city through the breach in the wall. Ahead of me was a dismal field of bodies; the blood of hundreds of fellow countrymen stained the sands. Rukhs were circling around the dead, occasionally picking at the bodies and devouring them whole. Skauni raiders started treading among the bodies, looking for valuables to loot as they finished off surviving troops.

I stumbled across the field, wanting nothing more than to run away from this seemingly-hellish landscape. The fighting, and all of the emotional turmoil it brought with it, was exhausting me. In the desert heat, I was starting to feel worn down. The body-ridden sands before me seemed to stretch for miles, and the clear empty horizon beyond was equally discouraging. Combined with my aching muscles, all my willpower seemed to drain with each drop of falling sweat.

As a final act of defeat, I started shedding my armor. My helmet, breastplate, greaves, boots, and chainmail were all discarded in the sands around me. Without all that heavy steel, I felt lightweight and free. I felt a new burst of inspirational energy, and I started running.

Even without my armor, running in the desert proved difficult. The sand was soft, and each footstep sank a little and slowed me down. The oppressive heat soaked up my energy. It wasn’t long before I felt even wearier than before.

In minutes, I reached the edge of the battlefield. I stopped to rest my burning muscles and catch my breath; relief swept over me when I considered that I made it this far without running into more enemies. In between my heavy panting, I thanked God for His mercy, and prayed for additional safety.

Looking back, I saw the city gleaming in the desert sun. Chamrosh circled it, appearing like a giant eagle protecting its nest. With the city’s cluster of buildings, towers, and spires, it still looked as inviting and glorious as when we first approached. When we first came, we all felt nothing but elation and joy at seeing the holy city. Now, I could only look back in despair, thinking of it as a treasure that could never be won by human hands.

I, along with a handful of other weary soldiers, left Tul’Dominator in defeat. We headed west across the desert, treading on a mile-long stretch of flat sand before coming to a immense expanse of sand dunes. It took us days to cross the desert from Fort Azala; we were equipped with food, water, supplies, and the expertise to guide us across the barren sands safely. On my own, I half-wondered if it was only a matter of time before the desert took my life.

Hours passed as I walked over sand dunes, covering at least three miles before the evening. From this distance, Tul’Dominator now looked like a humble dark mound in the middle of the horizon. The setting sun tinted the sky orange, and gradually faded to purple. With the fading light, it felt mercifully cool. The rising moon shone silver light on the sands, while the stars glittered overhead and pointed the way westward. I knew that this would be the best time to travel, without the blazing sun and the hot air.

But by this time, I was exhausted to the point of defeat. I stopped, intending on a short break. But when I lay on the sands, still warm from the day’s sun, I felt too much at ease, and I faded into sleep.

I had a long rest that night, even though my dreams were troubling. I dreamt of the Skaun; they came at me in waves, gnashing their teeth and swiping their scimitars. With flames behind them and death all around, I thought they looked more like an army from Hell. But looking around the dreamscape, I saw that it was not Hell; it was Avengore.

In my dream, I watched in horror and dread as the Skaun pillaged and burned Vale City. Charred skeletons littered the streets, while buildings collapsed in a shower of ashes. I moved through the flying sparks, brushing past them the way a bird flies through a cloud. Penetrating the veil of fire and smoke, I came across a chilling sight.

My family stood in a ring of flames. My wife, Angelina, was holding my infant son against her soft bosom. Her skin looked as fair as when I last saw her, and her clean golden hair billowed softly amidst the hot breeze. The glowing ashes danced around her head like fairies.

Since leaving Vale City, I always felt that they would be safe and secure. But in this vision, I beheld wicked spirits among the flames around them. The flames materialized into skeletal shapes, bearing hot glowing eyes. The ground beneath them melted, turning to molten glass. The fiery spirits molded blades and clubs out of the ground.

The fiery Djinn closed in on my family, raising their glass weapons in the air. Out of desperation and fear, I ran toward them, shouting. As the hellish monsters swung their weapons, one of the Djinn turned on me and stabbed me in the hand. Stinging pain shot through my arm, blurring the vision until it dissolved away.

Jarred awake, I suddenly realized that the pain in my hand was real. Looking over, I saw a scorpion nearby; it launched its stinger into my flesh a second time, making it hurt again as it pumped venom into it.

With a shout and a burst of energy, I rolled away from the arachnid. Drawing my sword, I stabbed it and cut it in half. The thing twitched as all its yellow blood spilled out.

In the dry desert air my hand felt dusty and brittle as it was; the scorpion venom made it throb dully. Without antivenom (or the knowledge and means to create it), I merely endured the pain.

Seizing the scorpion’s body, I brought it to my lips and reluctantly bit into it. The vile critter tasted bitter in my mouth, and its meat was uncomfortably crunchy and spiny. But I was much hungrier than I realized, and the scorpion satiated my hunger well. It is strange how vile disgusting things can become a delicacy in a dire situation.

It was early in the morning; the air was cool and the night sky was still a deep purple vista littered with bright stars. I could see the sun’s morning light gently glowing in the eastern horizon; it would rise in its full blazing fervor in a matter of hours. With the nightmare still fresh in my mind, I was inspired to move on before the dawn came.

Walking across the sands again, I couldn’t stop thinking about the family I had left behind. I was fortunate to have seen my newborn son before embarking on the crusade; seeing new life born and seeing my own legacy alive in front of me was such an uplifting and joyous experience. I was also fortunate to have seen Angelina one last time before leaving. It was a cruel fate to be taken away from them so soon.

Tomorrow, it would be the Lord’s Mass. In Avengore, kings and peasants alike would be making merry with drink, feasting, and the company of others. I would have been content in doing the same following a victory in Tul’Dominator. It never occurred to me that I’d be alone and suffering; at this point, I wanted nothing more than to return home and celebrate the Mass with my family.

My wishes and dreams turned to prayers that I started uttering with each step. I wasn’t even conscious of my own words; I must have seemed like a rambling madman.

Countless minutes crawled by as the sun inched its way over the horizon and gradually illuminated the sands and the sky. The air became hotter, and the desert came to life. Yes, even in the desolation, there was life. I saw more scorpions crawling around the dunes. Some of the sands shifted as large wyrms moved beneath the surface. I spotted a group of basilisks in the distance. And birds occasionally flew overhead.

But not all life here was harmless. At times I heard the telltale flapping and squawking of rukhs soaring in the skies above me. I had no way of knowing if they were wild creatures or tamed minions of the Skaun. I watched the large birds in the sky wearily, ready to run if they ever charged at me.

One rukh glided toward me, skimming over the dunes and closing in on me like a hawk trying to catch a field mouse. Frantically, I scrambled for my weapon and brandished it. I held my blade out just as the bird reached its talons toward me.

Thrusting the sword, I cut through the beast’s thigh and drew black blood. With an angry squawk, the rukh thrashed in midair and flapped away from me. Large feathers fell around me as the bird lifted away. With its wounds, it couldn’t gain much altitude; it hovered over my head, drizzling its blood around me like black rain.

Unable to escape or maintain altitude, the bird plummeted toward me. Its talons reached out again, making one more attempt to catch me. I slashed at it as it came close; my sword cut through its chest and split it wide open. With its heart punctured, the rukh collapsed in front of me, withering in pain before dying.

The dead rukh proved to be a boon. Its feathers provided the perfect kindling to make a fire, and I used its flesh to keep the fire going. Wrapping some of my clothes around the bird’s bones, I made torches to keep the fire going. With the fire established, I cooked the bird’s meat and filled my stomach. It was a crude meal, but I was grateful and felt it was like a feast.

Ripping out the bird’s leg bones, I propped the carcass up against the sun and made a very crude lean-to. The corpse’s hide and feathers provided a big enough shelter for me to sleep under. With the sun out of my eyes, and in the cool shade, I slept in the day.

It proved difficult to sleep. The desert heat made me toss and turn uncomfortably. The sand beneath my body was rough and coarse. The rukh’s carcass in the heat produced a rotten smell and made the air sticky. I only caught a few hours of sleep before I determined that I had enough.

I continued walking. The sand dunes continued on and on. The sun kept beating down on me; the sweat poured down my face while my mouth became dry and my body became dehydrated. Little by little, all the energy left my body and my muscles became increasingly sore.

More rukhs circled around the skies; I half wondered if they were watching me and waiting for me to die. At one point, I spotted a group of sphinxes crossing the sky, carrying Skauni patrols. I watched them cautiously, and was relieved when I saw them pass me by without stopping.

Hours passed as I pushed on. I no longer had any idea which direction I was heading. It felt as though the desert went on for infinity, and I would never find a civilized place again. Defeat overwhelmed me again, and I found myself uttering prayers again. The words were unintelligible in my dry mouth. I needed water badly, but I had no idea where to find any in the desert.

I continued onward long after the sun started sinking into the flat horizon ahead of me. With the heat waves shimmering against the sands and the sun in my face, I thought I perceived a clean blue ocean in front of me. Running toward it, I desperately reached out and tried to scoop up the fresh water. Dismay fell over me when my hands impacted sand and I realized that it was only a mirage.

Each step was slow and arduous, each breath burned, and each passing moment felt like agony. Even after the sun set and the air became cool again, I perceived a hellish landscape all around me. I don’t remember when exhaustion overcame me again, but sometime in the night I collapsed.

It likely would have been the end of me. In my state, I didn’t expect to wake up again. Even if I did, the thirst and dehydration would have done me in. I’m not even sure if I cared anymore. Perhaps it was better to perish in my sleep than to continue this fruitless trek.

I imagined how subtle and serene it would be for dreams to transition into the afterlife. I only feared what awaited me on the other side of the mortal plane; I prayed that God would forgive me for the murder I committed in Tul’Dominator, but feared that He may not forgive me. The Church may teach that all Skaun are demonic offspring and deserve death in God’s name, but the sight of the dead Skauni still haunted my memories. I did not understand how I could be forgiven when guilt still lingered in my heart.

My thoughts eventually shifted toward Angelina and my son. It saddened me to think that I may never see them again, but I prayed that they would have a fortuitous life without me.

Fading in and out of consciousness, my thoughts became disembodied and vague. I was only dully aware of my surroundings; on occasion I caught a glimpse of the moon shining silver light on me, a bird circling over my body, or dark figures moving on the dunes around me.

At one point, I realized that my body was moving. I felt the sand moving roughly beneath me. Then I realized that something had grabbed my hands and was pulling me. With small amounts of strength returning to me, I glanced up and saw a Skauni’s head silhouetted against the moonlight. He was dragging me by the arms. Panic swelled when I realized that I was being captured by an enemy!

I had no strength to resist or fight. My enemy brought me to a camel, and with a burst of inhuman strength he tossed my body on one of the beast’s humps. Mounting the camel in front of me, the Skauni rode the beast further west. The ride was moderate and steady, even if it was bumpy and uncomfortable. I was anxious the whole time, wondering what diabolical fate my enemy had in mind for me. Skaun typically don’t take prisoners, but when they do, it’s often for a gruesome and wicked purpose.

We rode for twenty minutes, during which I faded in and out of consciousness. The Skauni halted the camel in front of a hovel nestled against a large rock. It was a small, nondescript home made of clay bricks with a thatched roof. Hitching the camel on a post near the house, my Skauni captor manhandled me off of the beast and carried me inside.

Inside the house, it was cool and dark. As my eyes became adjusted to the shadows, my captor led me into a small room, and lowered me onto soft bedding. I remained there for the whole night, sleeping better than I had in days.

The morning came, and soft noises awoke me. Looking at my room for the first time, I saw that it was a plain and empty space, occupied only by the bedding I lay on, a dragon’s skull on the wall, and some scimitars on a rack beneath it. There was a small table by the bed, with a large bowl full of water. I examined it closely, wondering if it was safe to drink. But as clear and cool as it was, my thirst overwhelmed my common senses, and I gulped it all down.

Moments later, my captor entered the room. I stiffened, expecting a dire and violent confrontation. My fears were quickly snuffed when the Skauni presented me a bowl of food; strips of spiced meat on a bed of cut cactus pieces and cooked reeds. Accepting the bowl, I eagerly devoured the meal; it was the finest meal I had eaten in months, and the flavors lingered in my mouth long after I finished it off.

After I was done, the Skauni took the bowl away, and examined my hand. The scorpion’s sting had made much of it swollen and red; untreated, the bite probably would have become diseased, assuming that the venom didn’t slowly kill me first. The Skauni went to another part of the house and came back with a vial of pungent green liquid. My spirits brightened when I speculated that he was giving me antivenom.

The Skauni brought the vial to my lips, and the fluid tricked down my throat. It was a bitter, foul taste that made me shiver. But as it entered my bloodstream, it made me feel warm, and minutes later I felt much stronger.

Then, the Skauni cleaned the scorpion bite with water and a salve, before wrapping my hand in bandages. I regarded my hand gratefully, before regarding the Skauni with curiosity. He left me alone for most of the morning, and I drifted to comfortable sleep again.

In the middle of the day, I awoke with renewed energy. With my muscles rested and all my hunger and thirst satisfied, I left the bed and moved to the house’s main living chamber.

I stopped in mid-stride when I beheld the Skauni family before me. In the course of demonizing our enemies, it never occurred to me that our enemies could have families of their own. But before me, I beheld a young Skauni boy, no bigger than a common human child, clad in a plain cloth robe. Next to him was a Skauni woman (which was extraordinary, since I’ve never even considered that the Skaun had women, and I don’t think many men have ever seen one). Covered completely in a burka, she looked no different than a typical human woman. I was certain that if I uncovered her veil she would have a head full of long black hair, a pair of pointed ears, and a set of jagged teeth.

They regarded me for a long quiet moment. I couldn’t tell if their expressions were ones of curiosity or apprehension. Amidst these creatures, I couldn’t help but to feel unease, despite the generosity they have already shown. But then, were they as uneasy as I was?

The boy seemed to overcome the unease first, approaching me and uttering Zhekish words that I could not understand. The young Skauni’s hands touched the sword sheathed at my side; an obvious expression of boyish curiosity. I drew it and held it out to him, allowing him gaze upon the steel. The blade was still stained with a rukh’s blood, and the entire weapon had become dusty and rusted. Despite this, the boy was impressed by the weapon, his eyes wide with wonder.

The mother took the boy’s hand and drew him back. I sheathed the sword, feeling a little embarrassed for drawing the weapon in their home. But given the boy’s enthusiasm, the mother was understanding, and regarded me with complacent eyes.

The father then came through the home’s doorway, carrying a dead creature in his hands; undoubtedly something that he had hunted in the desert. It looked to be a shadhavar: a creature much like a gazelle, but with a single hollow horn on its head that could produce a musical hum when the wind blew through it. They were more common in these eastern lands, but considered ominous. Only the Skaun were courageous and wicked enough to kill and devour them regularly.

Facing the Skauni father, I gave a curt bow and tried to thank him. I couldn’t tell if he understood my language, but he seemed to approve of my grateful behavior.

I started to leave out the door, but he pressed his hand against my chest and held up the shadhavar carcass before me. He uttered something in Zhekish that I could not understand. Did he expect me to eat the animal?

I wanted to object, for it was said that eating shadhavar meat brings bad luck. Sensing my reluctance, the Skauni pointed to the far wall. There was a small icon hanging there; the unmistakable image of the Lord carved and painted on wood. I remembered that it was the day of the Lord’s Mass; did the Skaun intend on celebrating it the way we westerners do?

“Azhaka’Tum,” the Skauni said, pointing to the dead animal. Of course, Azhaka’Tum was the name of the Lord in the original Zhekish tongue. Seven hundred years ago, on this very day, the Lord was born, so he would go on to liberate mankind from sin and the Skaun from the bondage of ancient Zhekish slavery. It made sense to me now that the Skaun celebrate the Lord and his Mass with as much fervor and ceremony as all Carnotholists. Our two faiths worshipped the same Lord, and perhaps the same God. What reason had I to leave in the midst of their celebration?

The Skauni family spent much of the day preparing their feast. They roasted the shadhavar on a rotating spit outside the house, while vegetables were gathered from their private stores and their private garden. It was not as elaborate or as big as a typical western feast, but it was more than plenty for this small humble family and me.

In the evening, the Skauni family had finished cooking and preparing their meal, and had their bowls filled generously with cooked meat and vegetables. Before eating, they sat on the floor and faced east, and started bowing. A reverent Zhekish prayer song issued from their lips; undoubtedly praise for the Lord.

I prayed in my fashion, kneeling and folding my hands together. I thanked the Lord for my life and the generosity of these Skaun. I was grateful for the hospitality and care I was shown, by creatures that had seemed like such wicked and demonic enemies before. Moreover, I was grateful to have been given the chance to live. Hope burned to life that I would see my own family once more.

We all ate the meal in silent contentment. The meat was tender, juicy, and tasty, while the vegetables were fresh and crunchy. It was as good of a feast as I could ever hope for, especially in this far-off land.

Following the meal, the Skauni father presented a bottle of liquor. He poured it in goblets, before dripping the blood of the shadhavar into each. We all drank it; it was a strong and warming liquor that made me cough. With a laugh, the Skauni slapped me on the back the way a fellow soldier would.

The meat and drink combined restored much of my energy. I wasn’t sure if the shadhavar truly brought bad luck to those who devoured their flesh, but the Skaun didn’t seem to believe in it, or care. All things considering, I decided not to believe in it either. If this encounter proved anything, it’s that all of life is filled with omens and events both good and bad. There is no definite side to anything; everything is an even balance. For I was among enemies who became my family for a single night of holy worship, and elsewhere there would be fellow humans who would go about committing unspeakable sins.

I realized that all creatures in this world are equal in God’s eyes. Whether male or female, human or monster, pious or wicked, I couldn’t believe that God would condone the mass murder of the humble family before me, much less the entire Skaun race. After all, we all worshiped Him the same. I started to think that if we tolerated each other’s company on an equal level, perhaps we could all be blessed with peace and happiness.

When the evening came, the sun disappeared once more. In several hours, the day of the Lord’s Mass would be over. By which time, I would have overstayed my welcome. The Skauni family knew this too. They gathered a parcel of gifts for me to take: a full waterskin, morsels of dried meat and vegetables, a set of linen robes, a vial of medicine (made from the shadhavar blood), and a sturdy walking staff. Accepting the gifts, I bowed to them and left their house.

It was cool in the desert night, and I felt I had the strength and will to cross all of the Zhek Lands if I had to. The Skauni father pointed the way west, and I started in that direction. After a few steps, I glanced back at them, wanting to do more to thank them for their hospitality.

The Skauni mother bowed at me, and the Skauni boy waved. The father maintained a stern expression, and planted his scimitar into the ground at his feet. It was clear from that action that, next time we meet, we would be natural enemies again.

With a grateful bow, I started westward again. Filled with newfound humility and wisdom, I found my own way home.

Merry Christmas!

It's been a busy time these days, as I've been working on various stories all over the place and finishing up some real-world work.  I'm having a relaxing time for these next two weeks, tackling some writing projects on occasion, but mostly enjoying the holiday.

It's hard to believe that 2010 is almost over; this year seems to have gone by fast, but thinking back on it a lot has happened.

It's been an interesting winter so far; a modest blanket of snow has covered everything with majestic whiteness.  The past few days have been sunny, making it perfect for a few good pictures.  I will have to post some later.

For now, Christmas is here! Time to open a big stack of presents! Time to eat to the heart's content!

I have a short story drafted, inspired by Christmas time, taking place in the fantasy world I've been developing over the past few years.  I will post it shortly:  I hope you all enjoy it, and I welcome any criticism.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Feel Good

Halloween and Guy Fawkes Night have come and gone.  I wasn’t particularly festive this year, but it was a good excuse to watch a massive pile of bad horror movies and eat candy.

But I haven’t been wholly idle during all this time either.  I went to Fountains Abbey once more; so late in the autumn the trees have become a gorgeous multicolored array of seasonal colors, with the dead leaves dotting the ground.  I got to hike around here and there, to the next village and back, to see more autumn-time colors.  I’ve also gone Christmas shopping a couple of times (I hope everybody likes what they’re getting).

So late into autumn now, I've put some more thought into the story idea I had mused about earlier.  Seeing the seasonal changes firsthand makes me even more giddy about the idea of creating an autumn-themed mythos.  And I think a story is starting to weave itself together.  I think it should definitely be a paranormal mystery of some kind.  I definitely want to write about an alternate world coinciding with our own; a netherworld that we cannot see, but is the residence of ghosts trapped in Purgatory.  I think it would be an excellent set-up for another thrilling adventure.  I've started some more research and designing on this project, but it is still a low-priority thing for me.

And just the other day, I took the chance to see a band I enjoy; the Gorillaz played live at Manchester with guest stars Little Dragon, De La Soul, Bobby Womack, and others.  It was quite an excellent show; the music was so loud and vibrant that I could feel it more than I could hear it.  Many of my favorite songs of theirs, especially “Feel Good Inc,” were played with bombastic energy.  It definitely seemed more vivid and alive, and combined with some excellent graphics and lighting, the show was quite entertaining.

More importantly, the writing has picked up, finally.  My number-one project over the last year or two has been an epic fantasy called Angel-Craft, the second in what I hope to be an eight book series (collectively called Ouroboros).  This book compliments Devil-Lore, the story about a warlock who becomes a power-hungry tyrant.  But while Devil-Lore was a rather dark and gothic portrayal of evil, Angel-Craft is meant to be the exact opposite, focusing on good over evil, God instead of the Devil, love instead of hate, and mercy instead of revenge, with a woman as a main character instead of a man.  Angel-Craft will also focus on the mythology of the east (where as the previous book was based on Middle-Eastern myth and culture); the environment in this case has been modeled after ancient Chinese, Japanese, and Korean mythology.  I’ve drafted this book in its entirety once before, but determined that the story didn’t work for some reason or another.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it felt off.  I think the plot structure was too contrived (I was so bent on reflecting Devil-Lore so much that I made the two stories too similar for their first halves; the second half of Angel-Craft felt too disjointed, hopping from one battle to another without good enough coherency).  I also think that the characters didn’t receive good enough treatment, and I don’t think I was immersed enough in the environment to care for it.  Thus, I’ve been redrafting the entire manuscript, keeping maybe 25% of the original and rewriting the rest.  It’s a daunting task, and it’s dragged on for many months, but I feel much more confident about the new draft, and I’m gratified in thinking that I’m getting it right this time.

I took a bit of a break on that, working on a story idea I had for over eight years now (Perfectly Inhuman, the story of a promiscuous woman who is discovered to be a clone).  But now, work on Angel-Craft has continued, and I’ve made good progress in it.  I think I’m finally reaching the same level of immersion that made Devil-Lore such an easy thing to write, and the story feels more natural now.  I’ve got over 80 pages drafted, and I think the most interesting parts have yet to come…

I’ve also taken the time to submit new queries for a couple of my finished manuscripts.  One came back as a negative already, but it still feels good to think “at least I tried,” as opposed to not doing anything at all.  And I’ll likely try again soon.

Blues in the Rain

It’s been a dreary week; autumn truly has arrived, bringing torrents of rain streaming through the gray haze of the overcast clouds.  And as I drove to work and back, I had a playlist going on my relatively new iPod; a moody collection of blues, jazz, nu-jazz, and downbeat rock and pop songs.  Miles Davis, Nina Simone, David Brubeck, the Seatbelts, Moby, and David Bowie, to name a few artists.  Combined with the rain and the cool air, it was very appropriately atmospheric; I felt like I was in a film noir picture.

Someday I’d love to write a mystery novel with this same atmosphere, in the style and settings of the old-fashioned noir stories and mysteries.  I’ve only scratched the surface of developing such a story; I really should read the books (such as the works of Dashiel Hammett), study the slang, and develop the mystery.  But for now, this is only a backburner project, slowly boiling in the back of my head.  At the very least though, the music I picked to inspire this story is cool.

I can’t say I’ve done as much writing as I’d like to, but I managed to get a little bit done.  Started a short story at the spur of the moment (of which I’ve made this sketch), and I’m continuing work on a manuscript (one of many really, but this one specifically has become my top-priority favorite project; an intense sci-fi tale of genetic engineering gone too far, and the bloody revenge that ensues).  But for the most part, I’ve had work to do, video games to catch up with, and whatnot.

Hopefully, the rain will clear and I can get back into the mood to get some real stuff done.

The Brink of Autumn

It’s been a rather long and dreary week.  I can’t say that I’ve done as much writing as I should have done; just a few bits here and there.  I guess I’ve been distracted yet again!

Aside from the usual humdrum work, I went off to see a play called “Is That a Bolt in Your Neck?” It’s a rather amusing parody of Frankenstein; the actors were marvelous and the production was very well-done.  And I had a good laugh or too.

I took a bit of a walk around Fountains Abbey.  This abbey has always been a favorite of mine; it’s very distinctive with its towering arches and its tall square tower, and it has an expansive and picturesque garden.  At this time of the year, the surrounding trees and foliage is starting to transform from green to gold; autumn is surely upon us.  I took some decent photos with my new camera; they are probably the highest quality images I’ve taken at the place yet.  And with its unique setting that turns all but one color to black-and-white, I produced some very interesting images.  Some of them might be inspirational for a future story idea.

Yes, as we draw closer to the brink of autumn time, I find myself thinking about a story idea I conceived of last year.  I have a possible title, a possible subject, maybe a character, but no real story or plot to go with it (it’s strange how some of my favorite ideas form that way).  At its core though, I know that I want to focus on the feeling and essence of autumn time.  There is something about the fall that feels special in its own way; certainly not as warm and uplifting as spring or summer, but autumn time still retains a semblance of the light of summer, while simultaneously touching on the cold of winter.  And in this nether-season, when the vegetation turns to red and gold and the harvesting begins, it seems like the perfect setting for an unusual and atmospheric story.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I should experiment with writing a more surrealist story.  In the same vein as certain films I’ve seen lately (Donnie Darko, Triangle, or Mulholland Drive), perhaps it would be interesting to tell a story that operates on its own rules in its own environment, but without a direct explanation.  This would force the audience to really think and figure the story out on their own (is it a dream? Is it all in the character’s mind? Is it a parallel universe?).  Such a thing could probably be incorporated well into my autumn story idea; it will require a lot more thought and development though.

But right now, I am distracted yet again.  Not just by this blog, but also by the brand-new PlayStation 3 that arrived in the mail.  Having accidentally dropped my old “phat” model and breaking it beyond all known repair (do’h!!!), I decided to invest in a new slim model with the PS Move bundle included.  The Move feature is quite slick, and is actually rather invigorating beating virtual people up by swinging my arms around instead of pushing buttons.  After over a month without being able to play PS3 games, I have grown a little anxious to resume playing a number of favorites.  I really should have used the time to get reacquainted with good old-fashioned PC gaming, but I never did.  It seems that the PS3 has spoiled me and turned me into a console fanboy.

With a new PS3 at hand, I’m now spending time reinstalling, re-downloading, and re-enabling all my old favorite features.   It’ll be fun re-exploring the games, but hopefully I’ll find time somewhere to resume working on a manuscript.

First Post Ever!

Hello.  My name is Alan; I am a 27 year old guy living overseas.  A mail specialist by day, a bit of a homebody at night, and an introverted geek all around.  I enjoy watching films of all kinds, I listen to music of all kinds, I enjoy gaming, I take pictures and video on occasion.  But more importantly, I enjoy writing:  science fiction, fantasy, action, adventures, perhaps some horror or mystery...I'll explore any genre and style as long as it is exciting.  I hope to write stories that folks will find entertaining, or perhaps insightful, and at times provocative, but hopefully all of the above.

If there are any fellow writers out there, I hope to learn and connect, and perhaps help if I can.

I'm still new to this whole "blogging" thing, so this page will probably evolve over time.  I'll get back here later and post something else new.  Thank you for reading.

Cheers!