Coming sometime this century:

Ki once told me that "if I don't like writing, why do I do it?" There's a lot of reasons. 1, cuz I like pain. 2, cuz its THERE. 3, rice. 4... Um.. I had a fourth, but I forgot it.

Another person once told me, write what you know. I coulda read it somewhere. I think it was the spider that lives in my closet. He's fulla wisdom n' stuff. So I decided to buckle down and write something. It'll be quarky, random and might end abruptly if I get bored with it. Probably be a short story. But, I'm writing, it's a start. For your entertainment, I present:

"Twelve"

Just a story set in the modern "future" about a guy and his friends. They're big into sports, messing with each other, causing the random ruckus about town and keeping the money coming in.

... You're all waiting for the other shoe to drop, aren't you? "Oh that Flake, he so cuh-raaaazay. He ain't gonna make the story as simple as that."

It's a simple story about that group of friends, three of whom are of alien origin, two from earth, one extra-dimensional being, and a rabid monkey named 'Furious George' all of whom play a sport called "Bloodball" which consists of uploading a virtual image of yourself into a no-holds-barred deathmatch where the purpose is to annihilate anyone and everything and big wins yield big bucks. The sport is funded by the military, ironically, who have the "players" on contract to get drafted for whatever reason they choose. The ragtag crew of players are lead by a human named Jachun McCalmington, otherwise known as Flake. Flake used to be in a secret organization that planned to overthrow the government on their planet, Alath'Der (Earth has gone missing; that's right. I said missing) This organization called Fate's Hand used drugs to override their soldiers emotions and supply their bodies with artificial adrenaline, creating emotionless powerhouse soldiers. Too bad when they innoculated Flake with their serum it didn't mix well with the Battle System F.U.N.G.L.E.S chip that had been implemented in his head at birth. Of course, the doctors who did it had been exterminated and the project had been declared a bust.

So Mr. Flake, leading a team of aliens and powerhouse players in a game of BloodBall with artificial body enhancers that go out of whack when the F.U.N.G.L.E.S. in his head goes off, suddenly learns his sport is being cut off and is for some reason, charged with the disappearance of his former friend and head CEO of the Cyberium Gaming League and that his alien-cat girlfriend has gone missing. It's a good thing they have a space-ship to fly out of Atmosphere too; Flake's last unofficial medical exam, necessary to play in the BloodBall matrix games, just diagnosed him with paranoid Schizophrenia.

They told me to write what I know. The world is not prepared.

Tribute - To the Crusaders

"What happened?"

Decimus inquired, his eyes tentatively watching this strange new comrade. Shiena folded her arms,

"Are you just asking, or do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

Decimus replied calmly. A sigh escaped Shiena's lips.

"You read stories of kings and men, heroes who fought and wounded pursuing their dreams. How that desire to live over-wrought the clench of death that sought them."

She shook her head.

"I was in such an accident. Where.. I wondered if I would live or die. It was nothing serious, now that I can think of it as something I survived. But at the time, you wonder. Your mind ponders things unimaginable to the daily thought. I lived, as they thought, but... It wasn't anything awe-inspiring as the stories might have you believe. You wake up and realize things are better. My dreams, my goals... They didn't change. I wasn't filled with the insurmountable urge to better the world. But... It did make me appreciate one thing: memories."

"In the end, at the edge of that cold dark abyss, our memories are all we take with us. Amusingly enough, I didn't have many memories. I thought I didnt' have any at all, until..."

"Until?"

Decimus repeated, sitting silently across the stream from where Shiena stood. The rogue unfurled her brow and smiled faintly,

"The small memories. The simple joys of every day life... I compounded every pleasant thought I had every since henceforth, and it made me smile. Even as I lay dying. My thoughts turned to a group of warriors from far south, across the ocean. Not a Hero nor King would know their name; no history book will sing praises of their deeds. But they don't need to."

"They called themselves the Crusaders of the Flame. And when I was wandering, a stranger in a strange land, they took me in and called me friend. They became a sort of second family for me. Unlike mercenary groups or Rogue guilds I've seen, these people had an air of comradery about them that was unmatched. They didn't hestitate to trust me. Why? Because they trusted each other. Should I ever draw sword or knife against one of their own, they'd rise and protect each other. That fierce comradery was what kept me with them... Until I traveled north on my own for a season... And met my fate at Death's door."

"The Crusaders were not heroes; they were my friends. And when I thought I didn't have much to be grateful for in that dark moment, I remembered them and the times we shared."

And it made me smile.

Ballad of the Warrior

My fight will be for you
My love will be in you
My fall will be beside you
My death will endure you forever

-'Her voice was wonderful... Like a fine instrument. When asker her name, she just smiled'
Nachisrin City, circa Raoleign year 958

Red Dawn

It was dawn.

The dank morning air hovering over the bay like the fog that had come rolling in with the ships smelled of salt and sorrow.

Business thrived as usual within the Port town of Cutlas; it never ceased nor slept, but today things seemed to be a bit slow. Things were peaceful and yet, no one seemed willing to chat. Hard-faced merchants went about their business opening their wares to the quiet public, sailors and soldiers alike. Many a ship lumbered into the dock yard every few minutes, each carrying a cargo load of broken supplies and broken spirits. Though War was a guise that was subtle enough in the far off lands, Cutlas was feeling the after-effects as armies of soldiers and peons returned from the effort. Having suffered not only defeat in endless battles, rumor had it the nation had lost the war entirely. People begun to fear the usual - what might happen if their kingdom were overthrown, what would happen to the economy and their homes. Numbed minds and bodies exited each ship, wondering what was going to happen to them today and what they would do to get by.

One particular ship had just reared into the naval yard and finally made port on the western dock. Immediately, sailors leapt to and scrambled offboard, unloading the cargo and letting the passengers leave the ship. Several soggy and moldy crates were tossed down to the men on the dock, one splitting open and revealing pounds of half-aged food and bad meat.

Wrinkling his nose at the sudden smell of salt and rotting vestiges of pork, Dagron the Dwarf raised his chin and scanned the town of Cutlas. Shops were overflowing with soldiers, runaways, mercenaries of all caliber. Wagons threatened to trample those still standing in the street as men fought to be on their way. But no one noticed the three standing at the base of a ship, each looking off into the blank green horizon.

Dagron shuffled his belt, his hammer and axe losing girth and threatening to fall onto the creaking boards below their feet. His massive tower shield was slung over his back, per usual, awaiting use but in dire need of repair. His shabby metal armor had been sewn together from several disgarded suits of metal in the war effort amid his duties of tempering and cleaning weapons, suits of armor and other equipment. He sniffed and then grunted out a congested cough, knuckling his bristly beard while doing so.

The cleric at his side glanced his way at the sudden noise, then promptly turned her attention elsewhere. Yalla Apollose ran her eyes over the skyline, letting them fall onto the town. She placed her glove-laden fingers on his waist, absently checking her equipment. Cutlas was a port town that housed figures of shady intent; it would come as no surprise if her cut mace and shield vanished right off her being. The split mail she wore had been given to her during the war effort, much like Dagron's. Yalla had been trusted to tend to the wounded and aid the War-priests in their business of watching the wounded and praying for those that were lost. Yalla and Dagron had become friends at Tirenfar Outpost, when the army had pushed into the valley and had to construct a sudden base of nothing but sparse trees and mud. Yalla wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty as needed, but never strayed from her holy roots.

The third body in the line was that of a short in stature Halfling named Dygg. Well into his 100's, Dygg had aged in mind and wisdom but lacked in physical abilities or even maturity. He was wise for his age, and had taken to apprenticing a Sorcerer in the war named Bannon. After Bael'Gar keep was destroyed and Bannon vanished, Dygg's hopes of becoming a true magic user began to flourish as he sought a new master to learn from. Dygg didn't enjoy physical labor, but helped where he could, his lack of height limiting him to cleaning and cooking. Many a soldier did rant about his rabbit stew; some of the best they had experienced. Dygg enjoyed cooking but felt the urge to be something more, an urge that had drawn him to where he stood today - beside Dagron and Yalla.

The three remained transfixed on the edge of the dock, each watching the town and wondering what it held in store for them. They had agreed on the putrid boat ride home that even though the war was over, the struggle to do good was not. Each had experienced the horrors that war could bring, but did not forget the savors of achieving their goals meant.

The red sun pierced through the fog at that moment, sending a pink ray of light into the distance. The war had changed them, but each had made up their mind.

Dygg shouldered his black cane-sword and sighed, then looked up at his companions with a grin. They all exchanged glances at that moment. None knew what fate might have in store for them, however, one thing they knew for certain.

It was gonna be a hell of a time.

Karma

This is so amusingly ironic, I had to post it. Amongst my tears of pain, I was also laughing pretty hard. In mid-writing, my media player is on in the background. Bout 700 or so songs, on RANDOM. Started out... Like'a this'a:

First song came on: 'God Must Hate Me' by simple plan

then came: 'Rock-bottom' by the Offspring

along played: '(It's Been The) Worst Day Since Yesterday' by Flogging Molly

next: 'Everything Sucks' by Dope

and last: 'Psycho' by Puddle of Mudd

Wait for it... I'm not done yet. After these 5 came on in that order and I'm sitting here thinking about my luck and how terri-bad things have been lately, I started laughing my ass off at everything and wondered if my media player was trying to tell me something. The next song played?

...

I Feel Fantastic by Jonathan Coulton.

Yeah. God exists. And he has a weird freakin' sense of humor.

And now, something for your comedic twitch.

"Oh aye, there's one thing left: Tha' chuck-shot! A secret Dwarven technique passed down from me daddy, from 'is daddy, from me great-great-uncle Triggerfinger Ironstone..."

"So named because of his legendary Marksmanship?"

"No... Because that was the only finger he had left AFTER HE MASTERED THE CHUCK-SHOT."

"What?! You're not really going to do this! You're insane!"

"Listen 'ere, Missy. Lemme tell ya sum'thin about Dwarves - WE GET THA JOB DONE. Now ya pointy-eared granola-munching bunny-kissin' green party pacifist raver elf chicks would never think to launch a live animal outta blunderbuss BUT WE DWARVES IS HAPPY TA DO IT!!!"

----Flintlocke, dwarf warrior, engineer, disaster

Under the Burning Stars

(click to enlarge)

No big epic thing about this guy. Because, one day, hopefully not in the distant future, I intend to pick up my novel A Redemption By Blood and finish it. Since it's still in the editing phase *cough* (Sorry Ki) I can't talk about this guy or his origins.

Sufficed to say, Vasaimune is a bad-ass. When he's around, it's a bad thing. Ya really never want to see or be near this guy should he ever show his face. Worlds have fallen at his feet, lands have been ripped apart and remade in the aftermath of his power.

But he's just so cute, ya' know?