Not really sure how this fits into the story. I think this is one of the causes of his insomnia.
Arccidus fought a worthy revolution, but in the middle some sacrifices were made.
He was younger then, twenty two, leading a small team of thirty in a revolution that was not his. They were winning, then the enemies got desperate and use their compassion against them -- they threw young boys to the front line to protect the few sorcerers they had left standing. He saw them coming, unsheathing the swords they could hardly hold up. No one in his team wanted to attack. No one wanted to kill children.
A battle cry sounded and suddenly everything turned to hell. Curses after curses, his men began to fall and with no where to fall back the situation looked more than grim. If he could somehow forge a path behind the boys, he could maybe save them. He began to act. Cover me, he ordered two men near him before he steered his horse toward the enemy's line. He began to act. His sense heightened as he charged toward the enemy line on his horse. His sense heightened as he dodged and blocked attacks. They would run away, he thought as he neared the line of the children. They must have sense enough to move away, he thought, no one has to die.
Most did, but to Arcchidus' horror, one did not. He tried to steer away from the boy but spells shot passed his left and right. Time slowed, he could see the fear in the boy's green eyes, he felt his heart twist as he hit him. Pain edged deep in the boy's face as he flew, as if he was weightless, to the side.
Time sped up again when he reflexively deflected a spell. He attacked along with the few of his men who followed him. The enemy surrendered soon after but the victory felt hollow.
He could not forget that somewhere on the ground an innocent boy lay lifeless, and he was the cause. He could not forget that some sins once committed could not be atoned.
Jump to story.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
One Goal
Short dabble of the restoration of Solon after the Cause War.
The City of Nyllean, the historical home of the Kings, abandoned by anyone of worth for nearly half a decade prior to the Cause War, was restored by the words of the King’s most trusted councilor and friend, the dark elf Luc Delmire.
“The King,” he told the people of Nyllean a week after the Cause War, “desires to make Nyllean his home in honor of his ancestor. “
The people, who had never seen the King but had heard all of his good repute and experienced the fruits of his efforts in the war, were in awe. They, who had heard nothing worthy of celebration, nothing inspirational for so many years, had suddenly heard not one but two very good news in a mere week.
Within hours, the faded streets of Nyllean regained life. The carpenters took up their saws, the architect their pen and paper, and the farmers their shovels. Everyone united for one goal, and in just six months time, the decrepit city had nearly transformed itself back into its former glory.
Jump to story.
The City of Nyllean, the historical home of the Kings, abandoned by anyone of worth for nearly half a decade prior to the Cause War, was restored by the words of the King’s most trusted councilor and friend, the dark elf Luc Delmire.
“The King,” he told the people of Nyllean a week after the Cause War, “desires to make Nyllean his home in honor of his ancestor. “
The people, who had never seen the King but had heard all of his good repute and experienced the fruits of his efforts in the war, were in awe. They, who had heard nothing worthy of celebration, nothing inspirational for so many years, had suddenly heard not one but two very good news in a mere week.
Within hours, the faded streets of Nyllean regained life. The carpenters took up their saws, the architect their pen and paper, and the farmers their shovels. Everyone united for one goal, and in just six months time, the decrepit city had nearly transformed itself back into its former glory.
Jump to story.
Open Doors
Short dabble about Arccedius taking his rightful place in Solon.
For a hundred and twenty years, the Hall of Cyning, guarded by the ancient blood seal the first king of Solon laid more than two thousand years ago, stood in perfect lonely silence. Many have tried to enter the great hall by force: some borrowed the destructive power of cannons; others tried fire and explosives; a few went so far as secretly [rather unorthodoxly] solicit the help of foreign sorcerers. But the blood seal fed by the inherent [forgotten, disowned] magic of the land stayed uncompromised. The doors stayed shut.
Today, the lone descendent of the First Son, the rightful King of Solon would return.
Today, the doors will open.
Jump to story.
For a hundred and twenty years, the Hall of Cyning, guarded by the ancient blood seal the first king of Solon laid more than two thousand years ago, stood in perfect lonely silence. Many have tried to enter the great hall by force: some borrowed the destructive power of cannons; others tried fire and explosives; a few went so far as secretly [rather unorthodoxly] solicit the help of foreign sorcerers. But the blood seal fed by the inherent [forgotten, disowned] magic of the land stayed uncompromised. The doors stayed shut.
Today, the lone descendent of the First Son, the rightful King of Solon would return.
Today, the doors will open.
Jump to story.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
In Her Eyes
This is inspired by Goldstin's March 15th posts. I have no idea what really happened, this is all in my imagination.
She loved being with him, watching his fingers danced across the piano, listening to his dreams in his usual mix of languages, eating dinner at the small table in his cozy apartment across from him. It made butterflies fly in her stomach.
It made her feel lucky.
**
She loved him; loved him for a long time; loved him very soon after she met him. She could not help herself, he was so close to her ideal boyfriend: a gentle but vulnerable man with a pretty face, a talent for music, and knowledge of a foreign language, of another world.
There was only one problem: he did not love her and she knew it.
**
He loved another.
He used to share his feelings with her. I love him, so much, he said and even though every time was a stab in the heart for her, she listened and encouraged him to confess his feelings.
He came to her one day, rejected and crying. He told me he would never love me, he muttered behind his flowing tears. I still love you, she wanted to say, but she stayed silent and simply sat with him.
**
When time consoled him, when they began to spend more time together, when they started something like a relationship, she made herself believe, hope, wish, that one day he would learn to love her back.
But time passed and still he did not touch her with the same feverish want, he did not bestow her the same flamboyant complements, he did not, never, responded to her genuine declarations of love. Some nights she thought that his unrequited romance had dried up his capability to love again. Some nights she thought it was simply her.
It hurt, not matter how much she would like to deny the fact, to spend time with him. Each second was like salt on the growing wound in her heart.
**
Perhaps, if she is stronger things would end differently, perhaps, they may even have a happy ending, but she has always been weak, she cannot stand the pain.
She trys to capture him - a man she loved, still loves - in her mind one last time.
(She will cry later when she step out of the elevator and onto the busy street below, but at that moment, her eyes are dry and her voice is steady.)
I have to go, good bye.
Jump to story.
She loved being with him, watching his fingers danced across the piano, listening to his dreams in his usual mix of languages, eating dinner at the small table in his cozy apartment across from him. It made butterflies fly in her stomach.
It made her feel lucky.
**
She loved him; loved him for a long time; loved him very soon after she met him. She could not help herself, he was so close to her ideal boyfriend: a gentle but vulnerable man with a pretty face, a talent for music, and knowledge of a foreign language, of another world.
There was only one problem: he did not love her and she knew it.
**
He loved another.
He used to share his feelings with her. I love him, so much, he said and even though every time was a stab in the heart for her, she listened and encouraged him to confess his feelings.
He came to her one day, rejected and crying. He told me he would never love me, he muttered behind his flowing tears. I still love you, she wanted to say, but she stayed silent and simply sat with him.
**
When time consoled him, when they began to spend more time together, when they started something like a relationship, she made herself believe, hope, wish, that one day he would learn to love her back.
But time passed and still he did not touch her with the same feverish want, he did not bestow her the same flamboyant complements, he did not, never, responded to her genuine declarations of love. Some nights she thought that his unrequited romance had dried up his capability to love again. Some nights she thought it was simply her.
It hurt, not matter how much she would like to deny the fact, to spend time with him. Each second was like salt on the growing wound in her heart.
**
Perhaps, if she is stronger things would end differently, perhaps, they may even have a happy ending, but she has always been weak, she cannot stand the pain.
She trys to capture him - a man she loved, still loves - in her mind one last time.
(She will cry later when she step out of the elevator and onto the busy street below, but at that moment, her eyes are dry and her voice is steady.)
I have to go, good bye.
Jump to story.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Vague Silhouettes
This is a random dabble I wrote about Kakunojou and her parents.
As a child she loved dressing up for festivals, and parties, she marveled at pretty kimonos and hair pins, she adored fluffy animals and played with dolls. She was a normal girl by any standard and she was exactly who she wanted to be: the only child in a loving family.
Her mother was a kind a gentle woman famous for her humility.
As a daughter of a minor landlord who valued arts and education, she took lessons on language, music and dancing from private tutors with her sisters. As such, all five sisters grew up very accomplished and they all had many suitors.
Zagashira told her stories of how her mother charmed even the most callous men by her singing and dancing. You have taken after her, he would add, sometime, as an after thought. Other times, he would go on to tell the glorious saga of how her father won her mother’s hand dispite of her many other, richer and more power, suitors.
Five riddles, Zagashira would say, you mother declared she would marry who ever in the room that could solve all five correctly.
She sometimes wondered if Zagashira was telling the truth, because five riddles seemed too wondrous a way to choose a husband, and what father would allow his daughter to marry for such frivolous reason?
Yet, she never questioned him.
Her parents, after all, has long been reduced to two translucent characters that exist only in rich tales told to her, two vague silhouettes that occasionally dance in her dreams.
Jump to story.
As a child she loved dressing up for festivals, and parties, she marveled at pretty kimonos and hair pins, she adored fluffy animals and played with dolls. She was a normal girl by any standard and she was exactly who she wanted to be: the only child in a loving family.
Her mother was a kind a gentle woman famous for her humility.
As a daughter of a minor landlord who valued arts and education, she took lessons on language, music and dancing from private tutors with her sisters. As such, all five sisters grew up very accomplished and they all had many suitors.
Zagashira told her stories of how her mother charmed even the most callous men by her singing and dancing. You have taken after her, he would add, sometime, as an after thought. Other times, he would go on to tell the glorious saga of how her father won her mother’s hand dispite of her many other, richer and more power, suitors.
Five riddles, Zagashira would say, you mother declared she would marry who ever in the room that could solve all five correctly.
She sometimes wondered if Zagashira was telling the truth, because five riddles seemed too wondrous a way to choose a husband, and what father would allow his daughter to marry for such frivolous reason?
Yet, she never questioned him.
Her parents, after all, has long been reduced to two translucent characters that exist only in rich tales told to her, two vague silhouettes that occasionally dance in her dreams.
Jump to story.
Newton's Third Law
This is an unfinished House one shot I wrote in response to Season 5 Episode Joy.
It was suppose to continue onto the last scene of the episode when House talked to Cuddy at her house, and Cuddy's really emotional line: "You son of a bitch. When I was getting a baby you told me I would suck as a mother. Now that I have lost it, you tell me I would be great as a mother. Why do you have to negate everything."
You knew she was hurting.
To be promised your heart's desire -- have it at your finger tips before helplessly watching it being taken away – hurts.
The greater the hope, the greater the disappointment: it’s a universal law, a simple extrapolation from Newton’s third law of Motion.
You were given a personal lesson on this law not too long ago: a few weeks of walking without a crane, a few weeks of morning run, a few weeks of blissful sleep -- only to find the pain return with renew intensity. It made you wish those three weeks never occurred. It was so much easier living with the pain when you have almost forgotten what you have lost.
It was Wilson who told you the news. It was three o’clock, and having solved the case, you went to Wilson for some well deserved gloating. House, Wilson said solemnly after you cracked a joke on Cuddy’s expense, There is no kid. The mom changed her mind. Your eyes widened. Leave Cuddy alone, Wilson pleaded, realizing your intentions, she needs time.
You mounted your bike and told yourself you would ride straight home. You told yourself you would not bother her. But you found yourself taking the wrong turns and perhaps inevitably, perhaps against your better judgement, stopping at Cuddy’s home.
Jump to story.
It was suppose to continue onto the last scene of the episode when House talked to Cuddy at her house, and Cuddy's really emotional line: "You son of a bitch. When I was getting a baby you told me I would suck as a mother. Now that I have lost it, you tell me I would be great as a mother. Why do you have to negate everything."
You knew she was hurting.
To be promised your heart's desire -- have it at your finger tips before helplessly watching it being taken away – hurts.
The greater the hope, the greater the disappointment: it’s a universal law, a simple extrapolation from Newton’s third law of Motion.
You were given a personal lesson on this law not too long ago: a few weeks of walking without a crane, a few weeks of morning run, a few weeks of blissful sleep -- only to find the pain return with renew intensity. It made you wish those three weeks never occurred. It was so much easier living with the pain when you have almost forgotten what you have lost.
It was Wilson who told you the news. It was three o’clock, and having solved the case, you went to Wilson for some well deserved gloating. House, Wilson said solemnly after you cracked a joke on Cuddy’s expense, There is no kid. The mom changed her mind. Your eyes widened. Leave Cuddy alone, Wilson pleaded, realizing your intentions, she needs time.
You mounted your bike and told yourself you would ride straight home. You told yourself you would not bother her. But you found yourself taking the wrong turns and perhaps inevitably, perhaps against your better judgement, stopping at Cuddy’s home.
Jump to story.
Late
I originally started this with intension of it being an AU Naruto fic, but since I never even got far enough to mention the main character's name, I am considering this as an original dabble.
It was her first class in the semester and she was late.
There were no turned heads as she walked in the lecture hall. No one could care less, it was university, after all, and no one cares what you do anymore because suddenly you are supposed to be perfectly responsible for your own action. She made her way to the very back of the class, and settle down as quietly as she could in a corner seat to avoid causing disturbance. She was self conscious for no reasons; it was her personality to be self conscious.
Jump to story.
It was her first class in the semester and she was late.
There were no turned heads as she walked in the lecture hall. No one could care less, it was university, after all, and no one cares what you do anymore because suddenly you are supposed to be perfectly responsible for your own action. She made her way to the very back of the class, and settle down as quietly as she could in a corner seat to avoid causing disturbance. She was self conscious for no reasons; it was her personality to be self conscious.
Jump to story.
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