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A Bard's Tale"When you know you know the season's coming to end, it's long past time to prepare."
The words were commonplace, instinctively known to most of the people gathered in the small inn's common room. The delivery though, was quite another story, just as the tale itself promised to be. Outside, the wind blew strongly, groaning as it rushed between the buildings, seeking a way in to little avail. The scant snowfall glistened in the cold winter air, bringing truth to the bard's words. It was long past time to prepare for the oncoming winter storms. There was little that could be done at this point, save for pulling out the warmest, thickest clothing and cloaks, building the fires tall, and pulling out mending or some other handicraft to while the time away with while sharing stories. Such was the case now, as those trapped within the cozy inn warmed their fingers around mugs of heated cider or ale and waited for the bard far from home to begin his tale.
"Such was the cas
The steady and yet not steady thwock of pole on pole drew his attention the moment he first heard it. It was not hard to determine where they were- a crowd had quickly grew around the two who had long since entirely blocked their observers from mind. Curious to say the least, Jornar joined the crowd, and soon found his way to the front with only a few muttered threats. The jostling, elbowing, and cheering crowd around him faded to background noise as the two's sparring became his sole focus. They were skilled, certainly, but the one closest to him had a flaw. It was a small flaw, but one that held him back. He pondered the wisdom of calling out, realizing that his voice would likely be drowned out, but could not resist. "Change up your stance," he called out. It was a simple action, a simple change, but it would make all the difference in his fighting technique and defense.
At first, it appeared that his words had not been heard, or
Trapped"The skies spell tumult tonight," Rafiel the Grungial said as he entered the chamber, his normally straight hair clearly mussed by the winds that grew stronger by the minute.
With a heavy clunk, Mathiea de Edrolo set a large flagon of wine on the table in front of his friend, sloshing some of the dark and rich wine over the edges on to the table, "Sit."
Rafiel sighed, but refused to follow the order, choosing instead to raise the simple wooden flagon to his lips and take a long drink before sighing and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "There is no time; the storm grows worse as we speak, and yet no one will admit to the fact that the war grows closer with each day.
"And what do you expect us to do?" Mathiea said, somewhat abruptly. "We cannot leave, King Mattaes has made it quite clear that we are not to leave the fortress."
Rafiel glared at him. "I cannot stand to remain cooped up in here any long, doing nothing while the enemy's forces gather against us, only a mere wall's b
The Son of M'dorTHE SON OF M'DOR
He was the invalid son, the embarrassment to the family that no one outside of the manor was even aware of. The lord of the manor, of course, was M'dor. Naithed M'dor, to be precise. He of all men, was not one to be crossed. For one thing, M'dor had enough of a voice in the high authorities to scare anyone with the simplest of threats. And for another, his temper. One did not anger Naithed M'dor and get by with it easily.
The son, on the other hand, was clearly his mother's son, and Naithed disliked him all the more for that. His legs had never worked- even since birth, they would not cooperate with the commands of his mind. It was not Brandhol's mind that was the problem, that much was evident. The boy was brilliant, but could not express it, for he was always shunned because of his 'condition'. It was, the one time visit doctor thought, a rot of the bones that had soured the nerves, that was caused before birth but it could not be proven for certain. Not surprisingly
To What Purpose?The more that I think about it, the more I realize that I really just don't understand. The entire concept of dressing up in scary, horror -movie like costumes is one thing, but then allowing our children- young an innocent as they are, to do the same is an entirely different story. Why do we allow ourselves and those that look up to us for guidance and direction to celebrate the Enemy? It's only in fun, you might say, never meant to be taken seriously, but do you really know what's going on in the unseen world of the Spirit? It's a battle, and I'm willing to bet you that we're not the winning ones right now. Am I asking you all to set aside your costumes and fun, the sweets and late bedtimes? Not at all! There are better ways, that's all that I'm saying.
Celebrate the time of harvest, choose a different day and for pity's sake, mind what you wear! Children... sweet, innocent things should not be the ones chasing their friends around looking like the Grim Reaper with the modern conveni
Playing at "Teen Mom"I was at a Halloween party, quietly observing life from the corner where I always end up hiding. It was quieter there, and most certainly cooler by the open window, but it was enough to lure me into the realm of the subconscious introspection that I'm altogether too prone to falling into. It was all fun and games and food for a good length of time, but then I noticed something only a few short feet away from in the gathering of circled chairs. And I don't understand any of it. Really, I don't. Please, could you tell me what all of this means? Is it just because I'm a sheltered, quiet homeschool Christian girl that sets me so far apart that I don't understated? Or is it because the world has become so twisted, and corrupted that I no longer recognize normal from abnormal?
I don't understand this. Why is tossing a balloon under your shirt to make it look like you have a child inside the newest thing to laugh over? I'm sitting here, in the corner, watching and wonder
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