The Veil between Worlds.

I'm working on a new story. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, but once it's done I'll probably be posting it up here. With any luck I'll be able to submit it somewhere someday.

The idea is actually an old one. Where do our minds go when we dream? Lovecraft wrote several stories about the subject, when the dreaming mind travels from our world to another. A few even go so far as to say that daydreaming has the same effect. In the case of writers, this means that every story ever written has actually happened, that the author's daydreaming mind has traveled through dimensions to catch a glimpse of another world. Now, I'm not planning to take it that far in my story, but the basic premise intrigues me. What if our dreams were a passage to other worlds? What if, when we sleep, we leave our bodies behind and unknowingly wander the highways and byways of another universe? What would happen if you slipped through the cracks so to speak and woke up in a world like your own, but changed? How would you react?

Hopefully sometime in the next few days, I can start exploring these possibilities with you.

Art in the Rain

Why do artists seem to like the rain? Many people find the dampness and the grey sky to be gloomy and depressing. So, why do artists, and writers, like the rain? As long as I'm not working outdoors, I love the rain. It's a perfect chance to curl up on the couch with a book, my computer and the sound of the rain pounding on the roof. It's hard for me to think of a more relaxing way to spend my time.

How to Write a Short Story

Ah ha! I bet you thought that this post was actually going to be instructional didn't you? Well, it probably isn't. When people find out that I'm a writer they usually ask one of two questions. The first is, "Have you ever published anything?" The second is usually, "How do you get your ideas?"

Honestly, I'm not always sure where an idea comes from. Most of the time they start small, a picture in my head that grows into a character or a place. The character or place grows into the seed of world, with the beginnings of a theme and sometimes even an ending. The details fill in as I write, almost like the story is growing all on its own. New characters and plot twists sometimes appear all by themselves, resulting in a story that is far beyond what I initially intended. Aravos, the central character of my recent short story, In the War of Light and Shadow, came from an idea I first encountered in the game Warcraft 3, a real time strategy game that preceded the popular online game, World of Warcraft. Deathknights were once champions, heroes. In the game, these heroes fell from grace in one fashion or another and later, as their lore was expanded in World of Warcraft, some of these fallen champions sought out redemption. Aravos become one of these disgraced heroes, willing to do anything that he could to gain the forgiveness of those he once served. A simple beginning.

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 10

Okay, finally, here is the last piece of In the War of Light and Shadow. I think I will add a little commentary about the story, or at least the writing process in a future post.

Halvor’s roaring voice cut through the air as he came to the top and sprinted down a short passage. The paladin was in a small chamber, shining like a beacon as he slammed his hammer into a dark shape. A second shape loomed up in front of Aravos, its white fangs flickering in the half light. The Deathknight’s eyes widened as he recognized Eli, his face shrunken and grey, with long teeth sprouting from a misshapen face. He swore and backpedaled, driving his long blade into the newly made ghoul’s chest. The creature moaned and tried to force itself further along the heavy weapon, snapping its jaws as it sought out flesh.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Aravos as he ripped the sword free and crushed the dead paladin’s head with the hilt. A second ghoul, one of the soldiers, lurched from the shadows, waving its withered arms. Metal sparked on metal as he split the man’s helm, sending him to the floor in a broken heap. Halvor roared again, grief and rage adding to his strength as he used the light to burn a ghoul to dust.

“Vampire!” he howled, bulling through another doorway. “Come out! You turned my friends into monsters! My family! Come out and burn!”

The vampire appeared in a cloud of smoke, a tall, skeletal shape that towered over the paladin, it’s red eyes shining with foul magic. Halvor wavered for a moment and the creature seized him with claw like hands, opening its wide mouth to plunge its fangs into the man’s exposed neck. The paladin cried out and his armor pulsed with light, raising steam as the holy magic bit at the undead fingers. The big man’s armor clattered on the floor as the beast hissed and ducked away, shaking its burned hands. Aravos stormed after Halvor, stepping around him as he bore down on the vampire, his runeblade raised and shining with a ghostly light. Halvor recovered as the vampire tried to retreat, raising his hand to blast the monster with a beam of golden light, the last scraps of magic he could muster. The holy spell stunned the vampire and Aravos growled, catching it around the throat and locking it in place with a powerful web of dark energy.

“Why?” asked the vampire as the Deathknight forced it to its knees. It stared up at Aravos with hatred. “Why? They are nothing like us….”

“No,” Aravos replied, plunging his blade into the creature’s chest, piercing its heart. “They’re better….”

As the body turned to ash and drifted to the floor, the Tower gave a great shudder. Halvor rose to his feet, wearily picking up his hammer. He groaned, stretching out his bruised muscles.

“Now what?” he asked. “Where’s the heartstone or whatever it’s called.”

Aravos brushed the foul ash from his blade and jerked his chin upwards. “They form in the Tower’s peak, the highest room. Come on, we have to hurry, before it can choose another master.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” gasped Devon as he staggered into the room. He glared at Aravos. “Did you encase me in an ice tomb?”

The Deathknight couldn’t help but chuckle. “It was a frost shield. Can you make it?”

“I’ll help him,” Halvor said, steadying the wounded knight. “Lead the way Deathknight.”

The Tower shook again, sending flakes of obsidian down on them as they climbed the last narrow stair. It was longer than the rest and they were forced to move slowly as the floor lurched in the throes of mighty magic. Aravos could feel the dark powers stirring, resonating in a part of his soul that he wished didn’t exist. He gritted his teeth, struggling to push the feeling of the damned king’s necromantic powers away. The oppressive magic only grew stronger as they reached the final floor, lit by a large gem resting on a dark altar. Halvor faltered slightly behind him, shaken by the sense of evil that filled the chamber. Devon groaned, slipping from the paladin’s arms and sliding to the floor, gagging.

Aravos remembered the paladin king’s kind eyes and gritted his teeth, forcing away the nausea as he stepped closer to altar and the stone. He could feel the good king’s spell burning away the Tower’s influence, undoubtedly the only thing that saved him from succumbing again to the will of the damned throne. His runeblade reacted to the same magic that had caused its creation and began to vibrate in his hand, heating his armor until he could no longer bear to hold on. The humming weapon fell from his hand and clattered on the floor, sliding away to slam into the wall with a harsh ring of tortured metal. The Deathknight swore and took another step, willing himself forward. Behind him, Halvor was on the ground beside Devon, using what little magic he could muster to keep the man conscious and alive. The paladin looked up, his eyes still shining with light.

“Take my hammer,” he said, catching Aravos with his gaze. “If I move, Devon will die… the Tower’s sapping his strength too quickly.”

Aravos nodded and leaned down as the paladin slid his hammer over the floor. The weapon was familiar, but dreadfully heavy as the power of the light resisted the Deathknight’s touch. He picked it up, straining to hold it steady as he plead with the light to remember the champion he had once been. For a moment nothing happened, but then the ghostly light of the runes in his skin faded and the hammer began to glow, becoming lighter in his hands. The power of the Tower wavered for just a moment and he surged forward, bringing the great weapon down on the large crystal. The hammer rebounded, shooting pain down Aravos’ arms. He roared in defiance and swung again, willing the gemstone to shatter. There was a flash of golden light and the sound of screams filled the air as the Tower shuddered, its power broken. The shards of crystal turned to dust and Aravos sank to the floor, letting go of the hammer as the light faded away, once more replaced by the potent magic of his runic tattoos. He could feel the dead Tower begin to crumble around him and he turned to look at his surviving companions.

Halvor nodded, drained of power, unable to stand. Devon stirred beside him, opening his eyes as the obsidian structure began to crack and break apart. Aravos sighed and bowed his head as the floor lurched and began to fall, resigned to die, crushed by the Tower they had defeated. There was a terrible sound of stone collapsing on stone and everything went dark.

The pain of crushing stone never came. Aravos  opened his eyes, looking around at the forest in confusion. The Tower was more than a hundred yards away, nothing more than a pile of shattered stone and dust. The undead that had filled the clearing were gone as well, turned to ash without the power of the damned king to hold them in the world. Halvor was near him, his eyes wide and shocked. Devon was on his knees, his simple armor and blade shining with a soft, silver gold light.

“Your first miracle,” breathed the Deathknight in awe. “You’ve done it!”

Halvor chuckled helplessly and clapped the knight on the shoulder. “I’ll be damned… a Deathknight uses the light and a man five years past the choosing becomes a paladin in the same day. I would have never believed it.” He rose shakily to his feet and extended a hand to Aravos, helping him up. “And to top it off we took back territory for the first time in this whole stinking war. Maybe we have a chance after all.”

Aravos looked down at his runeblade, somehow safely at his feet. The ghostly blue of the runes had changed slightly, brightened by thin threads of gold. He nodded. “Maybe we do.”

End

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 9

Okay! Finally some more action! This wasn't the easiest part to write, but it was a lot of fun.

Vampires were famous for their strange magics and illusions and Aravos could feel the powerful illusion raising the hair on the back of his neck. He had to fight to speak through a growing fear. “It’s a vampire… he’s testing us, trying to find our darkest fears. If you move, if you try to run, his magic could tear you apart!”

One of the knights in the center of the group began to gasp for breath and Aravos could hear his armor rattle as the man began to shake.

“A werewolf!” he cried, fear bringing a hysterical edge to his voice. “I can hear it growling! It… it’s right in front of me! It’s going to kill me!”

“Don’t move!” commanded Halvor, his voice sharp as he heard the man’s boots scrape on the floor. “It’s not real!”

“I can feel its breath!” the man cried. “No! No! Get away from me!”

There was a clatter of armor and the man fled with a scream, nearly knocking Devon down as he went. The other soldiers and paladins shifted helplessly as the man cried out and fell to the floor with a gurgle. Aravos commanded them to be still once more, feeling a sudden chill as a pair of red eyes appeared in front of him. They drifted closer in dreadful silence and the Deathknight felt the air grow steadily colder. He held perfectly still as the paladins struggled to hold their positions, flinching slightly as a cool breath touched his neck, tugging slightly on his dark hood.

“You are a traitor, Deathknight…” it whispered, its voice as cold and and as sweet as honeyed milk. “How? How did you break the damned king’s control?” The eyes vanished behind him and he felt as if fingers were scraping along his heavy cape. “His will is unbreakable….”

Aravos groaned as his head began to pound. He could hear his companions beginning to cry out in pain and terror. Even Devon and Halvor began to yell and thrash around as the eyes appeared once more.

“If you teach me to free myself I will let your friends live,” said the vampire gently. “Listen to them… as helpless as sheep before my magic. I could kill them now… you know this don’t you?”

The Deathknight was stubbornly silent, struggling to shake of the vampire’s powerful magic. He could hear the others running and screaming, dying as the darkness began to manifest their fears. The red eyes narrowed. “I could help you, you know, help you find the revenge you crave. Your desires are so very loud… why not let me help grant them?”

“No?” it asked, seeming to grow impatient and angry. “Fine! Then come meet your death, Deathknight!”

Abruptly the lights returned and the sounds of screams and moans stopped. Aravos looked around in horror, seeing streaks and smears of blood on the smooth floor and walls. Only Devon and Halvor remained, their faces white and strained. Halvor seemed frozen, his wide eyes locked on the bloodied spaces where his men had been moments before. The knight was kneeling on the floor, shaking like a leaf.

“They all moved…” he quavered. “They all tried to run… no matter what I said… they all ran away.”

“Get up,” commanded Aravos, grabbing his shoulder and lifting him to his feet. “We need to hurry! Some of them might still be alive…”

“They’re all dead,” Halvor said numbly, never moving from his place. “I felt them all die.”

“Such a sweet pain isn’t it?” asked a new voice that seemed to rise from beneath the stone under their feet. Mist swirled up through the cracks, drifting in dizzying circles around them. “They gave themselves over to their fears and to my power.”

“Show yourself vampire!” Aravos roared, the runes on his armor and sword beginning to shine fiercely as frost began to creep over his armor. Behind him a hand reached from the mist, plucking Devon from the air and hurling him against a wall. Halvor moved for the first time, his shining hammer thundering through the smoke as the hand dissipated into particles. He thundered a wordless cry and slammed the hammer into the floor, raising a blast of light that pushed the shadows and mists away. The vampire laughed and the mist swirled back.

“Do you really think that your holy light will work here?” it asked. The hands returned again, snaring the paladin by the shoulders and slamming him to the floor, only to vanish as Aravos’ blade cut past, a fraction of a second too slow. One reappeared as a fist, driving into the mail at the edge of the Deathknight’s breastplate. He grunted in pain but absorbed the blow, catching the hand in an iron grip. The vampire growled as the terrible cold surrounding the Deathknight chilled it’s undead flesh. Aravos pulled mightily, yanking the monster from the void and slamming his head into its bony face. It shrieked and wrenched free, vanishing in a cloud of black smoke just before Halvor’s hammer flashed past to shatter the stone of the wall beyond, turning one of the strange candelabras to dust.

The mist flowed away, wrapping around the unconscious Devon and lifting him to his feet. The vampire appeared fully, holding the knight as a shield, its fangs bared over the man’s throat.

“Shadow to shadow Deathknight,” it panted, grinning wickedly. “You are much more fun than your paladin friends… Are you sure you don’t want to free me? Overthrow the damned king and take his throne!”

“I don’t want his throne!” thundered Aravos, raising his hand to launch a fierce blast of ice that washed over both the knight and the vampire. He sprang forward, slamming the hilt of his runeblade into the undead thing’s face as his free hand pulled Devon from the encrusting frost. The vampire hissed and melted away into vapour, vanishing up the last staircase. Aravos lowered Devon to the ground as Halvor sprinted after the fleeing vampire. The knight’s face was pale and ashen, but his breathing was steady and he groaned as Aravos checked his neck for marks. Finding none, he cast another spell, weaving a web of ice like a protective shield over the sleeping knight.

“Too many damn spells,” he panted, running away up the steps. “I’m a Deathknight not a wizard….”

Super Bloodmoon!

The last time I watched an eclipse, vampires ate Manhattan. It was in a TV show admittedly, but it still makes me wonder about eclipses, solar or lunar. Over the ages, people both feared and celebrated, though in today's science dominated society most people think that the fear simply came from lack of understanding. In some ways that could be true, but there is a spiritual side to the world and I would consider anyone who can design and build structures that today's best minds don't understand, to be in a better position to know about solar events than I. When talking about blood moons, every culture has their own legends and stories. Honestly, I think the idea of the moon turning the color of blood is just creepy. Red has always been a color signifying danger and looking out the window to see a red moon is unnerving. But, the world hasn't ended yet and no monsters loomed out of the darkness to eat me, so I guess I'll see you all tomorrow. Just keep an eye out okay? Just in case the legends have a ring of truth.

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 8

Headache is back. Regularly scheduled blog post plus story will be back tomorrow. Longer story today at least.

They fell silent as the dark trees closed around them, making the bright morning sun seem dim and pale. No undead wandered the road, but they could be heard moving through the thick underbrush all around. Aravos stopped them once, dismounting to move from member to member of the party, using his blade to cast a spell of concealment. He then had the men dismount and gather close together, leading the horses on foot with a warning to keep the beasts calm. He tore strips of cloth from the hem of his long tabard, using them as blinders for the nervous beasts.

“We are getting close,” he said, softly. “The undead closest to the tower will be aware, but my spell should hide us as long as we don’t move too quickly or make a lot of noise. We need to get to the Tower’s base so I can open the doors.”

Even Halvor nodded, too shaken by the sounds of hundreds of undead in the distance to argue. His unease only grew as they walked deeper into the dark forest. Zombies and ghouls began to appear on the road and they soon began to act less like mindless beasts and more like drones working towards a goal. The paladins and soldiers moved slowly through the scattered monsters, hardly daring to breathe as they struggled to control their frightened horses. The Tower loomed in the distance ahead, in the midst of a wide clearing in the dying trees. Vegetation had grown thick here once, but now it was fading away, overcome by the powerful evil of the undead plague. The open spaces between the Tower and the forest was filled with activity as zombies and ghouls repaired the strange throwers and managed crude forges. Many simply stood in large groups, waiting for direction from the master inside the Tower.

“Are you sure that they won’t see us?” asked Devon in a whisper, watching the wretched masses with a mixture of terror and fascination. “There are so many,”

“Vampires and other higher undead are rare,” Aravos whispered back. “And valuable. The damned king cannot control his hordes without them. One sentient to lead the horde and one to control the Tower….”

“What happens when the master dies?” asked the knight.

“The Tower raises a new master.” The Deathknight tightened his grip on his runeblade, willing the runes to life as he strengthened the spell that concealed their presence. “We need to kill the Tower’s master and destroy the heartstone, cut off the damned king’s influence.”

At that moment, a lone ghoul wandered a bit too close the the paladin bringing up the rear, a young man named Eli. Eli’s horse reared in terror, screaming at the stench and foul nature of the monster. The man swore and raised his hammer, bringing it down on the ghoul’s head before anyone could react. The horse broke free and fled, maddened by pain as the dying  creature’s dirty claws ripped its side. Aravos’ spell broke and the undead came alive all around them, howling and screaming. The Deathknight roared and stabbed the ground with his blade, raising walls of ice on either side, creating an avenue to the Tower’s base. The undead poured through the opening behind them, grasping fearlessly at Eli as he fought to escape.

“Run!” roared Aravos. “Get to the Tower, now! I’ll get Eli!” He reached out, the runes on his armor and blade blazing like stars as he sent out a telekinetic blast, pulling the overwhelmed paladin to his arms as he began to run.

“Open the door!” said Halvor, taking Eli and laying him gently on the ground as the other paladins and soldiers made a wall of hammers and blades. “I’ll hold them off!”

Aravos touched his sword to the black stone and began to chant softly, struggling to ignore the sounds of fighting as the undead were funneled down the channel to the waiting men. The magic of paladins went off in great flashes of light, searing dead flesh and shattering old bones as the hammers struck home. The soldiers did less damage, their blades doing little but to knock the undead back. The runes on the Deathknight’s blade flashed brighter than ever and a seam appeared in the featureless obsidian, opening to reveal a wide, seemingly empty chamber. Halvor bellowed and slammed his hammer into the earth, raising a wall of golden fire that cracked Aravos’ ice and threw the wave of undead back upon itself. The paladins broke their line and ducked inside, too quickly for the undead to recover. Aravos waved his blade and shouted a command and the Tower door slammed shut.

He spun around, blade raised, wary of attack from the Tower’s defenses. Devon and several paladins took to his side as Halvor knelt beside the injured Eli. Ghouls’ claws and the rusted blades of zombie soldiers had torn at his armor, pulling several plates away and piercing the flesh beneath. The man’s face was twisted with pain as blood began to pool on the smooth floor. Halvor put his hand on the man’s head, closing his eyes as he uttered a prayer to the light. It was a powerful spell that should have healed Eli’s injuries in a heartbeat with a flash of light and warmth, but here in the tower it was weakened, barely stemming the flow of blood.

“Your healing miracles won’t work in here,” Aravos said grimly as he knelt beside the paladin. “Here, let me…”

Halvor stared at Aravos with a mixture of anger and helplessness for a moment before moving aside. The Deathknight took Eli’s hand and put it on his runeblade, placing his other hand on the dying man’s forehead. Eli gasped as the strange magic took hold, weaving a web of runes around his injuries. The pooling blood began to recede, fading back into the wounds as the flesh knit back together, leaving fine white scars. Eli’s eyes widened and he sat up, white and weakened but healed.

“Be ready,” said Aravos, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This isn’t over. We have to kill the Tower’s master, and light only knows what defenses he has set.”

The floor shivered slightly as a deep rumble shook the walls. Aravos looked around at the others as their faces drained of blood. “The master knows we’re here….”

The paladins and soldiers gathered behind the Deathknight, seeming for the first time to accept his guidance without question. He lead them down a short hallway, lit by strange candles set in jagged alcoves. It almost immediately opened up into a second chamber, set with torches and a wide stair leading up to a second level. Several doorways opened into darkness on the far side of the chamber. Aravos had barely set foot in the chamber when something large and misshapen leaped from the shadowed door in the center, roaring over the sound of chains. He jerked back, slashing with his sword as the werewolf slammed him to the floor. Devon reacted first, driving his still consecrated blade into the monster’s back. Halvor was only moments behind him, his massive hammer catching the wolf in the side and lifting it into the air and nearly wrenching the knight’s sword from his hands. Aravos rolled to his feet, gathering his magic to cast a ball of ghostly fire at the creature as it fell. It’s fur aflame, the werewolf howled angrily and attacked again, hindered by a heavy iron collar and chain. Halvor swung his hammer, smashing the beast into the ground, shattering its bones as the holy weapon seared its fur and skin.

The animal writhed, the magic of its curse beginning to repair its broken body. Aravos loomed up out of the shadows and drove his runeblade into it’s skull. The sword was not holy, nor was it silver, but its magic was strong and the beast went still. He pulled it free and swept the wolf’s head from its body. Devon watched in horror as the corpse began to smoke, fading away into the broken body of a man. The knight shivered.

“The curse can’t pass to us can it?” he asked nervously.

“No,” replied Aravos. “Only bites and profane rituals can pass it on. Come on… there could be more.”

Halvor walked beside him as they walked up the wide stairs, his great hammer shining with a slight golden light as he gathered his magic. Devon followed close behind, rubbing the holy amulet still bound to his sword’s hilt as he whispered a prayer to the light. Eli came last, his face drawn and weary but still lit by the power of the light.

The second floor was deserted and seemed to be completely unfurnished but for a second stair near the wall. Without warning, the chandelier lamps went out and they were left in complete darkness. The company froze as Aravos shouted for them to hold still.

“This is a spell,” he said urgently as he realized even the light from his runes and Halvor’s hammer was gone. “Hold still!”

Smells and Sounds of the Past.

It is said that the sense of smell holds the closest link to our memories. Smell more than any other sense, has the capability to bring us out of the present and into our memories of the past. I can't personally say that this works, but most people will tell you that it seems to be true. Maybe it's because I grew up on a farm and learned early on to ignore the many odors wafting about. It does happen though, when I let down my unconscious guard on my nasal passages, or when I come across something with a particularly powerful scent. For one example, today I came across something that smelled like the Hudson River in Manhattan and for several quick moments I almost thought I had dreamed the last two years and was actually taking a nap while on a job with my metal fabrication friends. Thankfully this wasn't the case and I was able to get back to reality in the woodlands of New Hampshire, a happier place for me by far than the big city.

It wasn't long after that odd experience, when I turned on the portable air compressor we had at our job site. The instant it kicked on, the sound sent me on another trip, careening through time to land in the milk house on the farm where I grew up. It was incredible, the flood of unbidden memories. I could see the milk tanks and sinks and hear the cows lowing in the main barn as my father pushed through the door to begin the evening's work. A much better memory to be lost in than the the waterfront at Chelsea Piers.

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 7

For some reason there is a zombie craze in popular media right now. I don't particularly like zombie stories, but I wrote one about them anyway.

By some twist of luck, they made it to the stables before Halvor and the other paladins. It was petty, Aravos knew, but he took some small pleasure in the big man’s annoyance when he finally arrived. The Deathknight hung back as the others brought out the horses and loaded their packs, almost dreading what would come next. He grimaced when Halvor finally lost his patience.

“Aren’t you going to saddle your horse?” the paladin growled impatiently. “You know where the gear is.”

“None of these horses will tolerate my touch,” Aravos replied. He sighed and pulled a shard of obsidian from one of the pouches on his belt, casting it to the ground. The runes on his skin reacted with those on his sword armor and began to glow, reflecting on the dark stone shard. The paladins shifted uncomfortably as the rock began to smoke and vibrate. The black mist began to swirl and bulge as the other horses began whinny and snort, backing away as the cloud grew bigger and bigger. Aravos waved his sword and the the smoke vanished, replaced by a great, skeletal stallion. Blue and green flames bound its blackened bones together, bursting into sparks as it stamped the ground. Its saddle was obsidian and glimmered slightly in the morning sun.

“What is that monstrosity?” asked Halvor with a roar. “Dismiss it, now!”

Aravos touched the mount’s fiery mane, ignoring the paladin as he swung into the saddle. “If you want to reach the Tower before dark, we need to leave now.”

Devon grinned at the sputtering paladin and followed the Deathknight out of the gate and into the deserted fields beyond. Halvor took the lead, remaining sullenly silent as the small band rode carefully through the empty farmland. The land had been deserted weeks before, not long after the undead had taken the Bulwark. Most of the citizens had retreated behind the walls of the stone city, but a few hardy farmers and hunters had fled into the vastness of the mountain wilderness. As Aravos looked around the burned and blighted fields he began to wonder if they weren’t the wisest of them all. The trail of plague blight lead into the forests, and they soon began to see shambling corpses moving in the distance, the last remnants of the horde that had been at the city the day before. Without the influence of a powerful the leader, the undead monsters ignored them, shuffling mindlessly into the depths of the forest.

“Where are they going?” asked Devon as they waited for a small knot of zombies to pass them by.

“The Tower is calling them back,” Aravos said grimly. “It’s master needs to give the horde a new leader.”

“New leader?” grunted Halvor, staring at the Deathknight. “Wonderful. How do we stop it?”

“We need to reach the tower before a new commander can be raised,” he replied. “This far away from the damned throne, the magic takes a few days to work. It could be quicker if a vampire’s controlling the Tower, but until the spells are complete, the undead will be quiet.”

Something howled in the distance, an unnerving wail that made the horses pull nervously at the reigns, whickering in fright. Aravos watched a lone ghoul pause and stare curiously at the frightened animals before turning away and wandering into the trees. He loosened his grip on his blade. Of all the undead, ghouls were among the most unpredictable, with a hunger for flesh that could sometimes override the mental control of the Towers or even the horde commanders.

“Keep close,” Aravos said. “Dark things live here now.”

What is it About a Book?

I'm not the greatest with technology. I can make my way around, fixing my computer when it acts funny, or figuring out how to use a new app on my ipod. I'm no stranger to gaming consoles, my xbox currently runs everything from games to television, and I even have a kindle to take my books with me on the road. As handy as these gadgets are, every one of them begins to pale in before a good book bound hard or soft.

What is it about a good, solid book that makes it so much more satisfying than words on a screen? An odd thing to say perhaps, particularly for someone who writes on a blog, but true none the less. As handy as my kindle is, for travel and the like, I would much rather relax on my couch with a book, a book with pages that I can feel and turn. There's nothing quite like it, so lost in a story that you don't even remember turning the pages or feel the weight of paper in your hands. So simple a thing, ink and paper, but so powerful and wonderful all the same.

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 6

This one is a little longer, but I had to find a good place to bring this part to an end. Enjoy the dialogue while it lasts, the action will start again soon.

The knight who had aided him in the battle on the wall stood outside. The man bowed.

“Aravos ser, I’ve been assigned to be your aid,” he said with an easy smile. “Halvor decided that I needed to learn a lesson for disobeying his orders.”

“I… I’m sorry,” said Aravos. He stepped aside, holding open the door. “Please come in.” The elf watched the knight carefully, wondering at his smile. “You are a knight, not a squire. Halvor was out of place.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I care not. You were the one who saved the city. I want you to teach me what you know.”

Aravos blinked. “I would have thought that you would want to learn from a real paladin, not a fallen one.”

“You were the only one that knew to look for the enemy commander,” said the knight. “The paladins didn’t even send anyone to stop the undead in the city.”

“What is your name?” asked Aravos.

“Devon,” he replied. “Knight of the house of Lyrr”

The Deathknight nodded. “Well, I guess we can get started.”

Aravos and Devon talked long into the night, far longer than Aravos ever had before, even as a paladin. The Deathknight had only spent a short time in the damned king’s army, but Deathknights were among the undead horde’s most powerful champions. With the damned king controlling his mind, Aravos had been an engine of destruction, the first to bring the armies of the undead to the edge of the Bulwark itself. He had been the commander of a vast horde and had a hand in raising fearsome Obsidian Towers that served as havens for the walking dead. A powerful paladin from an outlying town had broken the damned king’s influence in the battle fought below the Bulwark, and Aravos had killed hundreds of undead before turning himself in to face the justice of the stone king and the paladins.

It wasn’t the first time he had told the story, but it was the first time that anyone had seemed to care. Devon, for his part, told of his childhood in a village not far away from the city and of his unrealized dreams of joining the Church of the Light. His hopes had come to naught; he was unable to perform the miracle required for joining the paladin order. He went to the knights instead and eventually took a place in the stone guard. He had seen the soldiers leaving for the Bulwark, and seen the survivors limping back, fewer than had left, but he had never seen combat himself. Not until the undead had reached the walls of the stone city.

“The Towers are the key,” Aravos said, nursing a mug of tepid water as he watched the growing light. “We need to destroy their masters and the heartstones that bind them. Without the power of the Towers as a conduit, the damned king’s necromancy would falter this far away from his throne. The undead would die out.”

“Then why don’t we do that?” asked Devon, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “Destroy the towers and take back the land from the dead?”

“Only powerful agents of the undead know the secrets to the Towers,” Aravos replied. “Once I fought my way to the base of a tower, but I couldn’t break it. Even with all the power of the light that I could wield, the doors wouldn’t budge.” He laughed sourly. “Maybe the king could have opened them once, but none of the other paladins would even be able to scratch them.”

Devon started to speak, but a knock at the door interrupted him. Aravos glanced out the window and groaned.

“Let me guess,” said the knight. “It’s ser Halvor.”

When they opened the door, the paladin glared at them impatiently. “The King has ordered an excursion outside the wall. The undead raised another Obsidian Tower inside the Bulwark. The King says you can destroy it.”

“Maybe,” Aravos said carefully. “But I need some men. Paladins or seasoned knights. Maybe a dozen.”

“A dozen against an entire horde?” Halvor questioned. “Do you really think me that foolish?”

“This isn’t a trap Halvor,” snapped Aravos. “My magic can conceal us from the dead, bring us to the tower itself. Once we make it inside, I can seal the doors until we deal with the tower’s master.”

Halvor’s face twisted with loathing and annoyance, but he was forced to relent. “Fine. I will gather my best men. Be at the stables in an hour.”

“Pleasant man,” muttered Devon as the paladin stormed away. “Not quite as I imagined a paladin.”

“He’ll be a valuable ally soon,” Aravos said, opening his chest and taking out the armor, one piece at a time. “Anyone can consecrate a blade or get holy water, but only paladins and priests can use the light itself to heal or harm.” Devon helped him shrug on the heavy plate as he continued. “They are the only reason the undead haven’t overrun the entire kingdom.”

“Still…” Devon said as Aravos strapped the runeblade to his belt. “I always thought that the ‘champions of the light’ were supposed to be the best of us. People like the king.”

“Most paladins are like the king,” replied the Deathknight as he helped Devon gather the armor he had discarded earlier. “But in the end they are human and elf just like we are.” His face twisted. “Well, like I was.”

Devon yawned as he strapped on his heavy mail. “You said you survived the plague. Doesn’t that still make you like us?”

Aravos shrugged. “The plague changes you, binding your spirit to your body. Most people die physically in the process and their bodies begin to decay. They are the ghouls and zombies, the skeleton soldiers that make up the damned kings vanguard. If you survive the transformation, you usually become vampires or Deathknights.”

“Sounds pleasant,” grumbled the knight. “You can tell me about the ghosts and liches on the way to the stables.”

“The damned king attracts all sorts of evil,” Aravos continued as they walked out into the street. “The plague is not the only way to become undead, or even monstrous. Werewolves, wendigos, witches… the damned king has a place for all of these dark things.”

He fell silent as the streets became more crowded. People gave him a wide berth, wary of his black armor and fearsome blade. Devon chatted easily as they went, ignoring the people on either side. He paused in the market, digging a gold piece from his purse to buy some cheese and wine. Aravos gratefully accepted the offer of food and bit eagerly into the cheese, far better fare than he had had in months.

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 5

The next part of the story is up. Enjoy!

The paladin’s face tightened but he bowed and unlatched the Deathknight’s chains, before turning stiffly on his heel and marching away. Aravos barely had time to bow to the monarch before Halvor was gone. The king grinned at his exasperated look and waved him away. He caught the throne room doors just before they boomed shut and slipped through into the evening air. Great plumes of smoke rose from the open fields beyond the walls as warriors and priests and peasants gathered the fallen, undead and human alike, to be burned. He wondered for a moment where his corpse would fall, in the ceremonial pyres of the fallen heroes or the acrid pits where dismembered ghouls still writhed in the flames. Halvor waited impatiently at the head of the stair leading down into the city proper.

“The king should have never issued you a pardon,” he said grimly. “By rights I should be throwing you from the ledge and burning your broken body.”

“Well, I guess we can’t always get what we want now can we?” grunted Aravos, feeling his ire begin to rise.

Halvor growled and turned away, hurrying down the steps and into the back alleys. The few people wandering the streets gave the Deathknight wary glances. Aravos ignored them, knowing full well that Halvor’s presence was the only thing keeping them from either running away or attacking him outright. The elves had died out decades ago, wiped from their forest kingdom by the waves of undead, lead by their terrible king. A handful of survivors had made it to the Stone Kingdom, most too weak or too young to fight in the savage battles. Aravos had been a child himself, his first memory that of the Church of Light and the mighty paladins that championed its cause. He could still remember they day he joined the order, performing the miracle that marked him as a servant of the light.

“I was a paladin here for years Halvor,” he said wearily. “I know my way around the city as well as you do. Just tell me where to go.”

“The king may trust you, but I don’t,” growled the paladin. “I’m going to make sure that you don’t leave the Church’s sight. You will not leave your quarters without an escort, do you understand me?”

The Deathknight nodded. “Fine. How long until our first assignment?”

“If I have my way, you will never leave your quarters again,” Halvor snapped. “Don’t get used to this Deathknight. I may not be able to put you back in your prison cell, but I swear to you that you will never know freedom again.”

“The realm is falling to the undead,” Aravos said as Halvor stopped by a small stone cottage near the wall. “Not even the paladins can stop it.” He stepped around in front of the paladin, blocking the door. “I can help you Halvor. I know their secrets….”

The big man grabbed him and slammed him against the side of the building with enough force to bring dust down from the thatch eaves. “I don’t need your help!”

Aravos’ face tightened as he struggled to control his temper. Mist rose from his shoulders as tiny lines of frost began to grow on Halvor’s plated hands. “You would defy the king? The leader of our order?”

“It’s not your order,” he snapped, releasing the elf and pointing to the door. “These are your chambers. If you need anything, you can beg your guards for help.”

“Will I at least be able to get food from the market?” grumbled the Deathknight, more to himself than to the retreating paladin. “I guess I could always leave and force them to follow me. I’m sure that will go over well.”

He opened the door and stepped into the sparsely furnished house. Two stuffed armchairs waited around a cold hearth near a simple table and chair. There was a ladder leading up into a small bedroom loft. A large chest had been left in the middle of the floor, undoubtedly the gear they had taken from Aravos at his arrest. The Deathnight knelt beside the box, gingerly lifting the lid to look inside. Everything was as he remembered, polished black armor adorned with the skull sigil of the damned king. He had once carried a mighty hammer, like many paladins, but it had been lost in the last battle he fought for the light. Now, he owned a heavy runeblade, the signature weapon of the powerful Deathknights. The silvery runes on the sword and armor glowed, reacting to the runic tattoos etched into his skin. There was a knock on the door and he closed the lid.

In the War of Light and Shadow: Part 4

Two nights in a row and I haven't written anything new, at least as far as storytelling goes. It's said that the desire to write grows with the writing, so I had better make sure that I write something unique tomorrow. For now at least, here is part four of In the War of Light and Shadow.

“This was the first battle we’ve won in months,” the king repeated sternly, staring at the gathered paladins and their prisoner. “And it is because of him! We repelled the attack on the Stone City because of him!”

Aravos, in chains once again, could almost feel the anger radiating from Halvor, the leader of the paladins. He sighed, listening halfheartedly to the man’s protests.

“He is a Deathknight!” the big man repeated, as respectfully as he could manage. “He is undead! He is one of them and he could turn on us again at any moment!”

The king’s eyes flashed angrily. “You know as well as I, that he is undying not undead. He survived the plague, by some strange blessing of the light.” He groaned wearily and massaged his head. “Aravos, you were once one of us, a paladin. By that right alone we owe you some small honor. Tell me, do you have any connection to the light left at all?”

The elf dropped his head, suddenly sad and ashamed. “No, my king… I have been made into a creature of shadows… the light has forsaken me.”

“Perhaps,” murmured the king. “I am a paladin myself, lest  you have forgotten.” He almost smiled as Halvor began to shift uncomfortably. “If you had truly forsaken the light, you would think it a small matter, of little consequence, a simple trade of power for power. But you look at your runes of shadow and frost and fire with disgust… with the humanity of the champion that I remember.”

“You honor me sire,” Aravos said quietly, staring at the floor. “Honor that I do not deserve. I fought against the realm, against the Church of Light.”

“And today you saved the realm and the order,” said the king. He stood, an old man, yet still strong and dressed in robes of shining gold and silver. “And in spite of your crimes and your unfortunate fall from grace, it seems we have need of you once more old friend.”

“My king, I must protest….” Halvor said, only to be silenced by a sharp glance.

The king stroked his white beard. “You fought valiantly to save us just this morning… yet I understand than many fear you will fall under the influence of the damned king once more.”

“They are not alone,” replied the elf carefully.

“Then let the fears be eased,” said the old paladin. He moved closer to the kneeling Deathknight and gestured to Halvor and the others. “Come, lend me your light if you will.”

The paladins glanced at each other and gathered around their monarch, raising their hands. A soft, golden light began to grow around him as he knelt beside Aravos, taking the elf’s head in his hands.  Aravos flinched, expecting the holy man’s hands to sear his skin. Instead, he felt a sudden warmth spreading through him as the king looked into his eyes. The old man released the elf and touched him on the forehead, just above his ghostly blue eyes.

“This spell will protect your mind,” he said softly. “It is a mighty magic, and if the damned king takes you once more it will fill you with light.” His eyes turned sad. “It would kill you my friend, but at least you would no longer be a threat to your friends.”

He stood up and turned back to his marble throne. “Aravos Sunstrike, I hereby grant you my royal pardon. Your weapons and armor will be returned to you, as will a portion of your estate. But hear this, my pardon comes with a price. You have a knowledge of our enemy that we do not. The undead devoured your people before they moved on our borders, but more than that, you were, for a time, a commander and slave to their armies.” He leaned forward, his old eyes shining with the power of the light. “You will go with my paladins and knights and reclaim the Bulwark and the towns beyond this city wall. Guide them and aid them, protect this realm and rescue its citizens… repay the crimes that you committed. Do you understand?”

Aravos nodded, at a loss for words.

“Halvor,” continued the king. “Have one of your men retrieve Aravos’ armor and weapons from the armory. Unchain him and take him to the chambers we’ve prepared. Provide him with a squire if he wishes.”