A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade


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    A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:04 am

    Venture of Shade, Section 1:

    In a Dark Halls of Words, Corridors of Stone are seen; Graphs and Scars scratch the Walls, and the Pillars hold the Peer. The rooms are light from above, with shards of dust are stored. Chandeliers of Containers hold onto such Specs of Light. Specs of the Dust from the Stone Containers leaked from the holes at times, littering the ground and being pushed by the wind, scattering the floors with the white and pink dusts... The poor Hall, nothing resides except for the dusts and stone, the marble and limestone that remains in the dark world...

    Yet, from the darkness of emptiness, the walls and pillars are filled with the scars and graphs of what was lost in the past. Graphs of worlds, men, and strange creatures and objects remain, with lines and symbols scattering the majority of what is the Hall of Words. Dimly, everything that resides is only light by the Dust of the Floors, and the Chandeliers of the Ceiling. Yet, the cracks that exist were known to have shards of dust inside.

    The halls were quiet, with only the gust of the winds and the sound of what sounded like glass skidding on the floors, as the gusts pushed the dust across the halls. One moment, a hall was lit for minutes, but then the dust began to travel somewhere else. The Pillars and Walls went from the Ground to the Ceiling, and was a Corridors were nothing more than part of a maze.

    Yet, the hall was not empty of life... For days, one creature resided within the Dark Halls... a Feeble creature of small stature... yet was a student above all things.

    Quickly and Quietly, the small creature climbed the walls in the dark, using its arms to grab into the Scars of Walls and Pillars. Moving to different places of the wall, belongings alien to the Halls exist: Ropes were strapped from the wall to another, and was a rope that endlessly went across the wall to another, zig-zagging across the corridor that he resided in; The corridor was a home for what was not meant to hold. On a tablet section of a wall, small thread outlined, with leather being pressed onto the stone surface.

    The Six arms it had held onto the cracks of the walls, as it scurried to one of the ropes it had. Reaching for it with one hand, all began to move towards it. The Feeble creature clutched all six on its rope. Scurrying, it reached to an almost unseen portion of the rope, and slowed down...

    Reaching with two of its hands on the surface, the smooth tips were moving from the rope to something else in the shadows. As it felt the smooth fabric, one of its hands dove into the hanging object, and pulled out. It its hands, a few straps of leather took place in emptiness. With a thumb feeling the leather, it move it closer to him, as the small hides were moved by its fingers.

    After satisfied, it moved its hand onto its back, where it put the leather hides on its back. Its spare hand held onto the leather on its back, and the four on the rope moved to turn around.

    Going back to where he was, he reached the end of the rope within quick pace. It shifted as he got close; A pair of its back arms grab onto the hides, as the front arms held onto the stones and began to climb on the thin scars that existed. It began to move in hurry on its new two of four. Reaching towards the unfinished tarp of leather, it stopped as soon as a hand felt stone turn to dead flesh. Seeing its hands full, it reached to the bottom of the tarp and moved its hand to feel a stick basket. using one hand to move the leather into the basket, three arms held onto the stone, as one strap was thrown into the basket until all but one remained inside. Its figure almost completely obscure in colour with absence of light, it reached by the basket and grabbed string and needle. It moved up once more...

    Reaching to the top of the tarp, it began to sow; The string outline was beginning to be wrapped by thread, as the leather was being punctured and placed attached. With half the hands holding onto the Stone, the Leather was sown onto the string and leather tarp. The fill of the outline had expanded by a few... then it repeated the process:

    Reaching back to the basket, he had grabbed another strip of leather and went up. Sown, the leather was strapped onto the now strapped leather from before, as well as the tarp when he came back with more... going back a third time down again on its five, it went to use one of the middle arms to grab a leather... Grabbing it by its fingers, he lifted it up. Halfway, it slipped.

    Panic ensued, as the leather began to fall... down to the far below surface, killing any man who fell from where it was. Wind could be heard, as the small piece was falling... it began to grow heavier with something else. The Feeble Creature joined it; It fell a few feet down, until a hand caught a firm grasp on the falling piece. when held, it shifted its hand until it clapped onto the wall. Some slipped off when it tried to hold. A hand grasped onto the surface firmly, and with it three more join. Holding onto the string and leather, the creature was panting, clinging onto the wall.

    Sweat ensued, as light seeped onto its hind arms... the four fingers from one of them was shaking madly, the grey flesh vibrating in adrenaline. Holding onto the wall, it rested and huffed... wheezing was heard, as if breath was toxic to it. It held onto it for what felt like hours.

    It began to move its head from the wall, and crawl back into the darkness where it resided in. The grey creature becoming the faint shade it was, it crawled back steadily up the wall, and took its time back into the outline. As it climbed, it felt the scars more clearly on its palms and fingers, feeling the produced cracks and dents on the walls. Stories and Imagination flooded his mind, and he steadily took his time back up the stone to his work...

    A sense of nostalgia and wonder began to become subject. Warriors of Arrogance lead towards beasts of invasive fury... Armed with the greatest of arsenals, they had plates of gold and armed with spears of their holy order. Sent to kill what was assigned as Demon, threatening what exists in the world they ruled... Demons of flesh and metal, with many gaps that were filled by the flames they were born in. Seen as alien and dangerous, the Holy Men charged at the Demons of Fury. the Demons answered their calls...

    A hand felt the surface of the string. Being shot by interruption, the Feeble Beast turned from the slow pace to the quick, reaching towards what is being filled. Immediately, he began to work on the tarp once more.

    Time passed by, as it began to fill the the emptiness; The straps began to fill the space, as the light fabric was pressed onto the stone, with it being held in place by the strings with piercings. As the tarp began to fill, the scars underneath it disappeared; The tarp acted as a fill, replacing all that was made with a smooth, thick fabric. Threads and stitches are there from where the leather was connected, acting as the replacement of the words behind it. The leather began to replace the stone, until the creature had run out of leather... noticing that the basket had the last piece of leather, it stitched it onto the tarp. When his handiwork was done, he felt the space was remained, and counted in his mind what was needed left... it went for more.

    The halls were faint and dark, with the Chandeliers up above lighting the ground from below; Specs of dust fell from the high ceiling to the low ground, with the specs of light faintly filling the darkness as it reached to the bottom. Wind blew at the glass specs, whirling it across the long corridors of the endless maze.

    Yet, despite how the winds came, and the light filled the Dark Halls, the creature was safe from the light, being too high. The wind ignored him, and they too the glass... the Chandelier that had existed was hanging with straps of ropes being attached to it, with each rope reaching different portions of the two walls it was in between. The jars of light were empty and gone. All that remained was the shells of light. It could be that, as a beast that resides in Dark, that it was all distinguished. His ropes, as he does, uses it to travel in his current home.

    The crawler scurried onto of the the ropes attached to the Shell of Former Light. Reaching to the Chandelier, it grabbed onto a Jar, and lifted it; Liquid could be heard, as it lifted it from the holder. Feeling the weight, it covered it with one hand, holding onto the body with another. Pressing the content on his chest, he took one of the ropes, and began to quickly reach his destination. Scurrying onto the new rope, it was heading towards a darker area of his world:

    Reaching halfway of the rope, it felt another sack under its grasp. With one of its front arms grabbing onto the sack's surface, it grabbed the sack's top with one hand. It was the size of an apple in his palm. Clutching it tightly, he scurried across the rope as quickly as he could. He wanted to leave, he wanted to be finished.

    No more waiting for what possibly remained to come get him. No more waiting for something to keep searching for him. Too long, the winds haunted him with unnatural gusts and strange noises that passed him by. Too long, has he felt stories of the fallen fill his head, and haunt his memories of what he had... Too long, he felt, that he remained in a Tomb of Tomes. Yet, despite all the danger for him, he remained to find what he needed... he needed to find what was lost.

    Thinking in relief, the rope ended with stone, and as usual he began to shift to the tarp. Scurrying with swiftness, the creature returned, and moved to a corner. Grabbing onto a thread holding the Sack, it attached it onto a poking piercing, strapping the sack onto it to free his hands. With his fingers, he used his hand to open it slightly, and he dug inside. Satisfied when he felt it, he took hold. He got out with a shaft, and went to the other side.

    Reaching to the top corner of tarp, it removed its hand from the top of the jar, and cuffed a second hand on the bottom of it. The hole on top was exposed with black liquid. Quickly the shaft dove in. As he twisted the shaft onto the liquid, it began to have the tip full of the liquid. Carefully, it tapped the shaft onto the side of the jar rims, and took it out. Like an artist, the dark shaft acted as a brush that was unseen... perhaps it was indeed a brush... it's hard to say. However, as it stroke the tip of the shaft onto the top of the leather, the liquid began to slither down the tarp... the cracks under the tarp allowed the leather seep threw and go to the other side, with both sides of the tarp being covered on both of its sides... as the liquid began to crawl down, it filled only the outside layer of the leather, as the wall prevented the black substance from seeping threw and covering it. As it went down the Leather, the black liquid left a scar, as it began to reach the bottom. The light leather became as dark as the world, almost as if it was plain portion of wall... The Liquid began to drop onto the stone, and was falling onto the floor... he paid little attention to that.

    He had to move with fast pace; Reaching back to the sack, he took the brush he used, as well as the jar. Throwing what could be a brush in the jar, he scurried back onto the rope to the chandelier. Reaching it, it put it on its holder, and went quickly... he had to go, he had to move. Otherwise, all of his work was lost. He knew that it would ruin itself if he did not act without delay. He knew that there was liquids that could have been caught in the cracks...

    His mind fiddled with the though of it expanding itself in the cracks, as the liquid he used made it so that only a stroke was necessary... however, the fill will then begin to expand. Once it does, it has the potential of pushing the leather from the stone, causing it to leak and ruin everything he had been trying to build. He went back, almost tripping twice on the rope... yet, he made it without falling.

    He slithered like a snake on water, reaching to the sack he had left. Once at the corner, he dove his hands blindly as always, and reached for what was inside:

    From what he held, burned his hands greatly... it was not heated. Rather, the pink light it held burned coldly, and he felt it streaming threw his arm and coarse threw his body. feeling the very sharp edges of the crystal on his palms, he felt the crystal tearing of his skin, and even felt his hand being scratched up by just holding it... it ached as he held it longer than he should... Without delay, he mustered the pain and went to the tarp... the Pink Crystal was shining dully, however it slowly had a darker red covering it.

    As he went to the top of the tarp, the Feeble Beast moved the crystal of the edges, and scanned it across the tarp... as soon as he did it, he saw the black substance that existed begin to turn from wet to a cold hardness... the Liquids inside began to wither in colour, as the black turned into a deathly grey, and soon some of the light brown remained. Yet, despite all of it, he scanned it with the crystal, as he felt his hand begin to become weaker... it felt as if it would fall off at any minute.

    Scanning the crystal from top to bottom, side to side, the colours began to fade, and the light brown that once was remained... however, the writings and other scars on the wall it covered decayed slower, and still had the dark shade of grey. He went by them as quick as the rest. He wanted it all to remain, he needed it all to remain. Quickly, before he lost too much bleed in his hand and work, he killed all the liquid that remained into nothing. The scars of the walls were still filled by the liquid, hardened into a black, dull crystal... those that were thick had the shade of black, while those that were less had more holes and were more grey than black. Reaching the bottom of his tarp... his work was complete. Without a second thought, he achingly crawled to the sack, and used two of his hands to weakly open the sack... dropping the pink crystal inside.

    Letting go of the crystal from his hand, he felt his body begin to feel better, with the aching gone... his hand that held the crystal, however, was quivering in pain; Cuts on the palm were seen, and it looked like it was reaching across his entire hand and wrist! The blood was oozing highly. Feeling immense pain, he used one of his hands to reach for a cloth inside the sack with the crystal... he wrapped it around his broken hand.

    Almost done..., he thought in his mind... Almost done.

    Reaching to the top of the tarp, he did what he needed for his completed work... he needed to move it. For years, he had to find this place, and for months it took his blind hands to finally find what he was looking for. His round jaw was quivering in both anxiety, joy, and relief. Joy of finally almost finished this and leave this tomb.... relief that he will not have to lurk from the horrors the place held... anxiety for how he will find his way out. Despite finding this in months, he did not have enough material to leave a trail back... even then, he was afraid of leaving one... He will have to find his way back again.

    Quietly, he unstitched the piercings of the tarp, and began to fold the top onto the bottom. Slowly, he rolled it onto itself from the top. As he removed the piercings of the side, it began to fall onto itself. As the Wretch rolled it up, he pinned the sides with piercings so that gravity did not force it to unroll... it was a long task, yet he was happy that this part was finally almost over. As the tarp began to reach the bottom, his hands made sure that the leather was stuck onto each other... his fingers felt the hardened black surfaces that remained under the roll, and his mind was reminded of what he found...

    Not yet, Not yet... Return and then Search, not Search and Return.

    The Wind blew with haste, as it began to bellow in horror; The pitch left nothing to see, only the frantic feeling of desperation: Memories of screams, agony, torture, and remorse could be heard threw the strong winds... a faint man could even hear threw the great gusts of wind that left almost deafness. All of the dust that existed was pushed hard, as light became silent and gone; The ceilings were beginning to shine greatly, as dust that was not being pushed like a tidal wave was crawling on the ceilings and over top of each other... rather, over under.

    Darkness ensued, as pink and white light glistered away from the coming blackness; A void that no one could see was lurking there, and it was covering the surface completely of anything that was there... it was going threw the maze of what was the Dark Hall of Words... the horrifying sounds that the gust held were streaking with the black that followed, with all light being dragged away... Some escaped by clinging onto tight cracks and seals on the walls and pillars, while the wind was moving by... then fading away moments later.

    He couldn't see... he could never see... but he knew what was waiting down below, what lurked in this maze... he had narrowly escaped it twice due to luck that it did not take him away... his firm grip allowed him to hold on to the worse of winds... he usually held upon the empty chandelier in order to survive the tremendous gusts. It still horrified him, the memories of what lurks here... he was happy his work here was done.

    Minutes went by, as the Gust faded away in pace... the gust disappeared, yet the voices were heard well... he heard them even when the storms came threw the halls... they terrified him. How men use to live these parts remains a mystery to him, how they would make a place like this. Then again... there were no Dracon left in this place at all, and all that remains are ghosts and other creatures he dared not go near... Months of this place was enough for him... he did not want to do with any of it anymore. He had what he needed... he rolled it up and folded it up once... stuffing a very large bag for it to enter... of course, it barely fit in, the tight space was enough to hold it firmly, as the bag had its top covered. It was, at least, secure and safe. The problem was getting out secure and safe too.

    Slowly, he grabbed what was the second last of his provisions when he went in this tomb; dried meat chunks, salted and marinated in herbs and the cooking of the suns above. His round jaw chewed it with ease, with the circular mouth chewing at it... he sat on the heavy, strapped Chandelier with ease. It tasted hot and bitter in house mouth, as it felt some of the meat get stuck in between some of his teeth. As meat got stuck, he unclogged the gums with a finger from his hand.

    The small creature was use to this lifestyle... he lived to find what his teachers had taught him. He was a good climber, a great explorer, and had a knack for survival... yet he lacked the ability to defend from others... he was taught to survive by other means than with brutality. He lacked any form of muscle or gut for combat... he shouldn't be here, he knew... he was not strong enough to survive, and this place was not exactly a great place to hide, much less run... the Gusts that lurked in the world were faster than him for sure, and whatever is making those strange sounds with the wind does not sound pleasing...

    Yet, after months of residing here, he still stands.... he just needs to remember how to get out. Everything looks the same, with long corridors of walls, pillars that are also seen with the scars as walls... the lights and dusts that exist of pink and white... the many directions of wind that come, usually not always coming from the same place... which haunted his mind. There was no way in knowing where to go, the bat realized. Without any sight of the world he as within, the only concept of the dark world was what he felt... and he felt the cool, chilling breeze... his hearing betrayed him in his comfort. Fear took over him, knowing that he may join the voices soon enough. His body was shaking.

    No... There is a way out. You came in, you came out. One way was not sealed when entered, it was not sealed when left alone. The route here is in mind, but the trek shall be long; Hold onto the work, hold onto the crystal. Shine it at anyone, make them scream. Shine it at anyone, run away. The work matters, only the work matters... Reach it outside, bring back what's rewritten

    He reached to his the last piece of his dinner in his mouth, he rubbed his fingers from the salts that it had. He was ready to leave. Despite how his spine shivered, his insides were heated from the spices and meat. It made the cold even more disturbing, but at least he was not freezing. Feeble and Small, the creature rested as the winds slowly began to fade away, and the chandelier no longer was moving back and forth. He was pleased at how these things were designed to survive and hold strong against fast winds... he was also happy how small he was, and how little weight he put onto it. He worried for the first few weeks that the chandelier would collapse at some point when he did use them to hide. Still... it was better than holding onto the walls when the winds came. At least now he could rest and wait.

    But his rest was over. He needed to find the path back out of the maze. Slowly and surly, the six hands began to move onto one of the ropes, as the winds began to fade back into regular gusts and sounds... still haunting it was to him, but it was better than the haunting sounds. Reaching his first hands onto one of the ropes, he started to climb down the rope, while its hands were dangling down. the bag with the tarp was strapped onto his back the entire time, along with the rest of his provisions he needed to get out...

    As he was reaching the end of the rope, he found that his body was close to touching the wall... his last hold onto it forever. He was happy he was rid of this wall... it felt too dark for him, and memories and stories flooded his mind whenever his fingers slowly coursed threw it all, as he climbed and searched. This would be the last time he would have to do that. He could not see what was engraved... but his touch felt it all, and it was all to real in his mind. At last, he was finished with this. Now, he will have to just find the way out of here completely.

    As he descended down the wall, the memories of Paladins and Demons coursed once more in his mind. As he read threw it all within the near hour of descending... feelings of mourning were well in his mind. How could such a proud race, who has built everything in this world, so easily die? A proud race that searched for power, fought against a threat that wanted to consume and destroy everything that existed in this world... in the end, they won with heavy casualties. He knew that they fought bravely, with their powers triumphing over the alien creatures. Yet, despite what they have built in this world, despite what they have defended and believed in, they still died... he wish he knew how such things were before. As he traveled the walls in search for his obtained work... he realized that they themselves were the ones to blame.

    He realized months ago in sadness that his Gods were the cause of their own deaths. He wish he did not know; the feeling of dread and fear arose from him for many reasons... but his knowledge from his teachings before filled him with a possible hope that his cause would not be in vain...

    He just wished that he knew what was the right answer.

    A hand fell onto the ground. More claps of stone and flesh were heard in the darkness, as the dusts of light were felt under him. They stung a little, however he dealt with it. He moved his hands away from the dust, as his grey flesh was shown for the world. The circular mouth with the circular teeth were seen, with nothing but a mouth and holes on the side existed, with two of them on each side... the limbs and body were jagged and withered, yet the bones were barely exposed. Thin as he was, possibly 4 feet from head to last hands, he was indeed a small creature. He crawled on all six of his hands, as he felt the weight of his supplies on his back. Slowly, he walked across the labyrinth... claps of his hands felt the hard surface below him, being different than when he had to dig his fingers into the joints and cracks to stay up.

    He hated the ground, but at least his head was more clear than it was on the walls. He hated the walls for a different reason.

    Alright... now which way?

    Slowly, he moved a hand on a bottom of the wall, searching for anything that he remembered. Nothing came to mind as of yet. His ears betrayed him too; he only felt the sound of gusts from around him, and silence when not. At least it was a peaceful quiet.. Splash!

    Startled, the feeble being jumped back a little. Unexpectadly, he felt the feeling of liquid on his hand, and now it felt it leaking down onto the floor. Confused, he did not remember there being...

    Ow, the oil!

    Relief and relaxation came to him. It was just the black substance he used before hand. He realized that it had begun to grow more and more, and was probably already a large puddle due to not killing it off... he wondered if he left it alone, could it flood the entire labyrinth? His mind though about it...

    It would take a long time, I suppose. Though, I hope anything that travels here does not drown from it.

    It was hard enough to find a way to disallow the liquid from growing out of the jar before hand... the pink crystal he has was useful from keeping it growing out and flooding everything he held... the dust seemed to have had a similar effect as well. It seems that the dust was not powerful enough to stop it from flooding in the open, rather than a small jar... at least it will not be his problem soon.

    Slowly, his hand reached back onto the wall to find any trace of where the black oils came from... he felt the wall holding no sign of it, as he walked over it with his hands. He guessed that the liquid dripped from the other wall. Memory of how he found this place in the Dark Halls came back to him... he turned around the opposite direction.

    Find the Pillar... it should be in this direction... then... then west? no, east. Yes, yes... east is the way. West is dead end. Must not hit it again.

    Then, he crawled his way back. With a hand feeling the wall for hours, his mind was jumping from one section of a story to the next, with his mind being occupied with stories of tragedy, ascension, betrayal, creation, fire, and light flooded his mind. It felt like an eternity last time, but the stories was soothing in his mind. A scholar himself, he loved the way how stories unraveled themselves, and how fables and tales in his own world were a better occupation that worrying about what he can not see. In his mind, he saw a different world all together, with descriptions and such being told well inside. Some things he did not understand fully, as he did not understand the concept of what something looked like... but how beings communicated, how they felt, their emotions and thoughts, their conditions and conflicts... he understood them well. He just wish he was not so ignorant about some of the details...

    He was reading a tale of A War of Titans, when he felt the story disappear... his hand fell from the wall, onto the ground. Shocked with interruption, he realized that he reached the end of the long hall, and was now near the center of an intersection. The Dark Hall of Words was filled with so many tales and details... he wished that he was given the ability to read it all in detail. Many of the stories were foreign to him, yet the sounded similar to the other tales he had read before. Still, he came here for one reason, and other reasons made him come to sober up; The place is filled with the dead. He had no wish to join them.

    His hands wandered on the smooth stone under him, as he felt dust blow onto him... it stung as it always did, but at least it could not really hurt him. It just felt really cold and... uncomfortable. Slowly, he reached and found the pillar. He didn't know how long it took him to find it... but this Tomb was really large and open compared to the outside. All the more reason to give him fear and confusion a lot. HE did not belong here, he knew.

    Slowly, after minutes, he found a slab hit the tips of his finger. His hands felt the stone, realizing that unlike the Walls it was curved and round. He found the pillar. He remembered this pillar. Now he needed to find the way out.

    But which way? He though in his mind. Where did I touch it the first time coming here?

    His mind was trying to remember the weeks he had been searching for the tablet, and how he had touched this pillar before and reached it... Slowly, he moved his hands on the Pillar, and looked for the surface that he felt last time. He was listening to the words of tyranny enter his ears, reading the story of a great Serpent that had turned against his own creators. He remembered reading the bottom portions of the story, but he knew there was more near the top of the pillar as well. Despite the lack of a beginning, the end had shown a large grasp of death, with many falling to the Serpent, as it turned a city fortress into a lair. What troubled him, was they both were created by the Gods. While it was Strong, Massive, and Dangerous, his people were designed to be servants. What troubled him was not how he was made to serve, but how they had lost control of their own creations. Did his people revolt as well? Did they fight the Dracon when they were created, overthrowing or being destroyed by their creators? He had doubt in his mind... but he did not know for sure...

    You think too much of the past, Kran'I. It is best to look for what remains in the present... you are here now... what happened before is done. A voice from from one of his teachers was heard in his mind. He was right though... the Teacher that gave him his name. Kran'I, the name of the hunter, he remembered. No one has called him that for the years of searching that he had gone across the world. It became almost foreign to him... no one gave him a name, but his masters gave him one. That, and they gave him enlightenment and taught him a lot about literature and description. He envied how they still remained in their own solitude.

    He did think too much about what his people were before... but he still wanted to know what had happened. He spent years exploring the ruins of the past... yet he still did not know anything but their conquests and destruction. With all the treasures and creatures that existed now, history only told of the defeats and victories in wars. Perhaps they only wrote down what wars they have survived and failed at, as if it was a text of honor or shame. Still, he wondered why so many did not write of their creations and discoveries. It might have helped escape from the existing ruins...

    Slowly, he reached part of the texts telling of the Serpent being locked away in the fortress by survivors, with the traps and machines being left on to hopefully give the prisoner Dracon a chance to fight back... tales tell that none escaped out of there, however.

    Alright... straight off is East... then keep walking 'till next junction.

    Leaving the pillar, he felt the story fade away in his mind, as his hands felt the plain floor... he preferred the forests and mountains up above. At least they told something. He could not feel anything but emptiness feeling the ground. Hard, Cold, Emptiness... he wondered where all the dust had gone. He had not felt any for a while.

    As he continued to walk in the Dark, a sound from the distance was heard... his head peaked from pointing down at the ground, and his ear holes twitched. A low hum was heard from a distance... he didn't know what it was, but it was coming straight at him. As he scurried a little more, he heard the hums from the distance change; The sound of cries were heard once more. Without any sense of direction, he ran.

    He moved his hands as fast as he could, the poor Feeble Beast. As the Screams were turned to deafening, he felt the wind around him began to rushing closer. He did not know where to grab on, where to hold. It felt like he was running forever to nothing...

    he felt cuts cross his flesh as they passed by; the dust had returned once more, which he learned to curse quickly after realizing that they were gone. Panting and Moaning at the same time, from the deep pains of the wind gushing into the opening wounds, as well as his near exhaustion from the weight and sprinting to safety... he couldn't hear himself at all!

    Slowly, as the dust began to disappear, the lights around him were gone once more... this time, he felt his entire body lift from the ground, and was rush forward. With fear and shock overwhelming him, Kran'I screamed with the rest of the ghosts that pushed him forward.

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:05 am

    Venture of Shade, Section 2:
    Pain. Lots of pain. A sheer amount of cold could be felt, with his body too weak to shiver. The insides felt like it was burning... tearing itself apart... trying to get out... So much pain. It felt worse than when he held the crystal; He felt his body being completely weak. It felt like his body was consuming him, and it disturbed him greatly. He tried to move, but his limbs would not cooperate. The Feeble Beast felt weaker than he ever did... the stinging glass felt like it was inside him.

    Kran'I, the Scholar and Student, was crippled and weak. Stuck on the ground, cuts and scratches were around him, and blood was the only source of warmth... even then, he felt extremely cold. It wasn't the first time he felt this... the first time he came here, the dust had literally torn him to pieces with the gust... but before, it did not drag him away like that... the two times he was caught in the storms gusts, he was holding onto a wall. The other times it came, he was on top of a Chandelier and Safe behind its cover and reach of the Dust... he felt his entire body feeling weak as when he was caught... he just couldn't move at all. Too much pain... the dusts of light were still inside him a little, and they burned greatly. He knew that they would be a major cause of pain if he didn't get them out... but he couldn't. His hands would not cooperate. His entire body would not cooperate.

    He felt his chest was lying onto the limestone floor... that he knew. He felt the weight of his luggage was crushing him now. Part of him was at peace, knowing that at least had had his belongings... part of him was yelling at himself, for being in this damning, helpless position.

    "Sigh..." I need to get up. I need to leave. Gotta walk it off, gotta make it home... too much pain. No, no pain... Pain needs to be ignored. Work needs to be returned. Need to get up... "Urgh"

    The pathetic creature tried to move its fingers... they felt like they were frozen, and they were extremely numb... some felt like they were not cooperating at all.... worry came to him. What if there was nothing there? What if they completely degraded into nothing? Did the wind take it away, ripping it off from my hands? Questions rose in his mind, but most of all the reminding of pain was there, and with that he felt his heart pounding with thoughts of fear and mortality. He began to surge.

    Trying to clutch his hands like a fist, he felt that he was on top of one of his hands... he also felt nothing on the scarred hand before, when it was handling the crystal on the tarp... He moved his hands from the ground, trying to lift them. No avail. Kran'I moved his hands on the ground, sliding around. It was painful, feeling not only his hands but his elbows and wrist moving was not comfortable... but he prevailed. With all that he could, he tried to turn himself around, using his fingers and arms to try to turn onto his side. Feeling his entire body becoming numb, he used his hands that he felt to push himself to his side, removing the weight that was compressing him onto his side. His arms under him were free.

    The Creature put his hands that were mobile to feel his immobile ones; The scarred hand was fine, there was no cuts or wounds made from the glass, although blood from the latest even could be felt, and it was wet. It was probably numb and immobile due to the damage from before and now... He felt it with his most flexible hand; The arms, joints, fingers, and hand were all there. It was just functioning... Everywhere but his scarred arm and back were scarred. He felt his face, his other arms, his chest... wounds from the dust before could be felt... it felt like they were still inside him. He needed to clean himself, but he knew that he had nothing to do that now... he will have to wait for his body's blood to leak out the rest, and the rest will be inside him until he cleaned it properly.

    It wasn't the first time he had the Dust inside him... one time, one of his hands was severely damaged as it was closest to the storm when he first held on. That was when he decided that he needed to wear some forms of clothing... using the leather pieces for protection, as well as the ropes and some fabrics. Most of that disappeared though, or was left behind... the Tarp was already now big and heavy alone, and he had some things that he still needed to bring... the rest were too much for him.

    Yet he still had enough to survive. He just needed to get it. Slowly, his hand moved the straps that tied the bag to him, and was removing it... sliding off as he went. When he was done, he began to shift himself, moving on the other side of his body, to face the bag.Many sacks and pockets were stitched and attached to the Tarp bag, so that everything was in place... he was a good weaver, with his hands being taught how to weave with fabrics and string. He was always proud of his works. Kran'I reached for his a pouch, opening it by pulling out the string that kept it tight and closed. Slowly, it began to open, and he did not pull it out all the way... just enough.

    Putting his hand inside, he rummaged the small pouch for something of relevance; He felt strings, a needle, some pieces of linen, pins... at least he did not need the piercings anymore, being used to keep the tarp firmly attached onto the rock. They were enough of a burden as they were... his luggage was still larger than before. The Tarp was the main cause, with all the sacks and pouches being stitched to it, so that he can bring more that the Tarp Bag allowed... it still wasn't enough.

    Grabbing a thread roll, he pulled it out of the bag. He went in again, and looked for a needle. he accidentally got poked by it, but the pain was already numbing, so he didn't feel any of it more than he did. Taking it, he dropped it with the thread. He dove it one last time, and grabbed the linen cloth... with it a small, sharp knife... then he was ready. He had what he needed, he knew.

    Stitching and Weaving was all too familiar to him. Despite how he could not see, his hands always help with creating anything. He was good at what he did, and it was a hobby for him to past the times during his lessons... now it was one of the ways to stay alive, and help him on his journey. It has helped mend wounds, create protecting, and in general saved his skin more than once. His hobby has become his savior at times... He use to remember weaving and creating blankets, clothes, containers, bandages, and even banners for the fortress he resided in... with all of his teachers living there. they always appreciated his work, although one of them thought that it was primitive and distracting. Still, the fortress was known to have many of what he had sown. He was happy to do something for them... and now he needed his skills more than ever.

    He moved his body onto the sack, resting in a sitting position. He felt his body become less stiff, although the pain was growing as intense as it was when he woke up. Still, he needed to fix himself up... he had bled too much, he knew. At least he wanted to make it so that what was left bleeding had stopped.. He moved his hands on most of his flesh, and he felt that much of the blood spots had already hardened. Still, some wounds were slowly leaking, and he felt that they were not drying with the stream... he did what he could.

    He grabbed the Linen with one hand, and held it by two different ends with his fingers at a piece. Slowly, he grabbed the knife with another hand, and began to bring them together. his hands were shaking, and he was shaking. Pain was returning to his entire body from the brief numbness and stiffness he had. He took a deep breath, with the wheezing sound of inhaling, and exhaling. His hands began to steady more... he continued to breathe deeply... the toxic sounds were heard from the beast, with his circular mouth becoming small to growing twice as big... its small, sharp teeth showed around its mouth whenever it inhaled. Despite how he sounded, the hand calmed and steadied. As it was reaching down the linen, it started to cut down, tearing at it and removing a small piece from the large, long linen cloth. Putting the larger piece away, it brought it closer to one of the leaking wounds it found, and wrapped it up.

    Slowly, as he tightened the cloth around one of its wrists, it put held it in place with two of its hands, while two others went to grab the string and needle. Putting the string and tying it onto the end of the needle, he slowly brought it close to the linen. As his hand was shaking a bit, he breathed in only once instead of a couple, and struck the fabric. Slowly, he connected the linen cloth onto the skin, and the pain was felt on his arm... he ignored it. he had done this before a couple of times in the wilderness already. He had to make sure it never fell off. he Realized that he would either have to wrap a lot of linen across his body to make sure it did not move, or stitch it onto its skin. He took the later approach, since supplies were low anyways... It hurt a lot, but he knew that it was better than bleeding out.

    As he finally had stitched the linen onto the flesh, he moved it with his free hand; the Linen was firm in place, with the string connecting to his skin to all the layers. It was in place, with only an end of the linen being loose... which was fine for him, he will take it out when he has a better way to take care of it. For now, it was better than nothing. He grabbed the knife he put away, and cut off the rest of the string. As soon as he did that, he knew he was finished with that...

    He continued, however, to cover his arms, hands, and body with the linen cloth, stitching them and wrapping certain areas that were bleeding. Some of them hurt more than others, and other were bleeding more than others as well. However, the linen cloth was firm enough to make sure that there was enough pressure yo stop it. That, at least, was clear. The problem, was that he felt there was still the pink dust from the chandeliers in his flesh, as they blew into him when the gust storm appeared. He continued to do so, until Kran'I was completely covered in all of the places that were leaking, with the pressure sealing them up. It took him a long time to do, however it felt like seconds to him as he was working; time went by fast when he worked.

    He rested on the backpack, and he let out a sigh... sounding like it was almost a weak growl. The Feeble Beast was exhausted, and the pain was not going away. He wanted to rest, he needed to rest. But it wasn't safe where he was... where ever he was. It dawned to him.

    No! The Path! I lost the Path! Where am I!? Where is the Pillar!? How am I going to get out like this? I am damned, should have ran faster. Should have ran back to the Pillar, or something... should not have ran to blind spot, needed to get cover. I...

    He screamed. His working hands banged the bag, banged the floor, and banged his chest. Kran'I felt lost. In fact, he was lost. Blind and lost of track, stuck somewhere that was quiet and plain... his senses told him nothing of his surroundings. He had his bag, and he was on the same flooring as before. He couldn't hear anything other than himself yell. His teeth twisted so that they were pointing out of his mouth as he screamed; Sounds of a dying child was heard, with trumpets playing at the background. Pain grew physically as he was banging with his hands, but psychologically he was hurting more. He felt failure reach him. Finally, after all of his work was almost to a close, the wind took him and he... he felt defeated.

    He put four of his hands onto his head, while the others, including the scarred hand, acting limb. His screams turned into cries, with the sound of the anger mellowing from ear scratching noises to... pity. He kept crying, and stayed there just to cry...

    "Come on now, Kran'I... you have to see the master in ten minutes."

    The Beast felt startled... he moved his hand from his side, and put it onto his face. He felt his plain skin, as his fingers rubbed his lips... his gums felt sore for some reason.

    "Come now. Master Gru'Yia will not be pleased that you will be late. You can still make it if you get up. Come!"

    His ears rang... slowly, he felt himself pushing from where he rest... the soft roots under him were pushed, as he used his hands to get up. Slowly, without a single thought, he used one of his hands to stretch out to the being.

    "That's it, child. Let's go."

    He felt a hand grabbing onto his... a weak hand that felt as if it was going to fall off. It did not tug at him, nor did he tug his friend... he welcomed the cool hands that he was use to. Slowly, he flipped himself to walking, holding onto the hand... he was being led, being blind. He did not mind it... he could have found the study, as use to the place as he was... but today was special for him. Today was the day that he was going to reach to the higher studies in the fortress.

    As the two walked, Kran'I and his old friend went to the Chambers of their Master. His friend was not like him... he was an old being, assistant to the Master. However, he loved him as an older brother nonetheless, and as his personal teacher. He cherished his work with weaving, and always helped him in times of trouble in his teachings. He was his best friend here... despite how he couldn't talk to him. He had other ways to talk to him though, thanks to other established communication between them.

    In his mind, he was excited. Today, he was going to get away from the basic tombs, and study on what the others could not... even though he knew that there were very few students. He was a beast after all... and the other creatures were not the same, and some were not even beast. Still, he had grown a fondness to the works of the Dracon that lived here, and he wanted to more. The people fascinated him, and he had found some ruins of the world before he came here... which he did not intend to. But, he was happy that he was here now. He loved it here... It was his home. He would prefer this place than anywhere else in the world... despite it being hard to get use to this place for the few days he lived here.

    "Kran'I, I hope you remember your manners today. Master Gru'Yia is very pleased of what he have done for the Fortress... just make sure that what you have achieved make not arrogance now."

    The young beast used its tongue and let out a venting sound, its teeth twisting to point outward. He never knew what he looked like, as he never seen his face, nor touched it... but he knew that he was old. And he knew that he could see and hear him. That was good enough to make understanding easier.

    "Good. I will be beside you when we go in... Afterwards, I can help you in the restricted studies. How does that sound?"

    He looked at the ground... he didn't like the Master. He never taught anyone in the place, and he was very strict... he didn't like how he treated other either. He was uneasy with him... he felt there was something off. He pointed his head down. His friend knew what he was thinking.

    "Don't worry, Child." The Voice sounded deep yet frail, as always... yet calm and gentle. "It will be only a short time with him. You can then go and work on some new projects after, and learn some new things about what we do... other than literature of course."

    The old creature chuckled... He was always very humble, although he never understood why he laughed at things that did not seem very funny... I guess in his views he thought about what he did was humorous. Still, he loved him for what he had done. Thinking about the Master, he gripped his hand tighter around his Teacher. He will not enjoy this, he knew...

    The Feeble Beast felt his teacher turning right, as his hand was being tugged. He followed to make sure that he was in the same pace and reach as his old teacher. As they continued walking, his ears heard stone move... he knew that he was near. He let out a wheezing sound of a a sigh, as he was going to take the next step in his teachings for the first time.

    He woke up from his tired sleep... the limestone underneath him was still ever present, with his small back outstretch onto the bag, with its head resting on it. Its got tighter, as he moved its arms and started to shift uncomfortably. He wished that he was home... it was a lot more comfortable than anywhere else in the world that he knew... at least the pain was gone a bit, as his stiff limbs just felt tired. He did feel tired. He moved his hand, and he felt where he left his weaving and stitching supplies were there. In a ill attempt to remove it from the ground, he tried to put the supplies by the hand full into the pouch, where he has lost feeling of. As a hand was weakly looking for it, he found it and carelessly shoved everything inside. After it was inside, he removed his hand from everything and closed it with the pouch's thread.

    He came here for a reason, he knew... he had work to do... he couldn't give up yet, he knew... but he wanted to sleep more. Slowly, he moved a hand to the strap, and began to slowly put it around him. However, one hand could not lift the massive bag properly, or rather the heavy bag with its weak arms. Annoyed, it turned its body and began to stand up...

    It turned around, and lifted the bag a bit so that it was sitting on its butt end, instead of its side. As it was standing with him on the stone floor, he heard the wind in the background slowly gust past him, and he heard the sound of the dust skidding across the ground, as well as clashing into each other mid-flight. Slowly, he began to lift the bag up with all six of its arms, and painfully turned his body around to strap it on his back. He made it tight around, making sure that it was firm once again. He felt the lightness that he had when he woke up disappear, with the usual weight he was accustom to in his travels come back again. He turned around from where his bag was resting.

    Alright... time to get out now... time to leave. No looking back. It's over... Need to bring the Tablet back now. No point of crying... Time to Leave. No look back. Can still get out, can still live. Still alive, that is all that matters. When dead, can rest. As alive, keep walking... As much as possible.

    The Creature aimlessly walked blind, with no sense of direction... he was looking for a wall, or any pillar that was near. Slowly, he walked around for minutes. He remembered how the Dark Halls were so vastly large... he didn't know how the Dracon would have traveled in this Tomb, but he guessed that they were not meant to. It always felt like an eternity to him, to find something that was not just the floor. He hated looking for it, walking blindly. At least when he found the tablet, he remembered, that he had something to occupy him. Even when he was searching for the tablet, he could read all the many stories and tales that were written... but when going from one stone to another... it felt like it was so long. He had no real concept of how large the place was, but it was indeed very large for him. It took hours for him to scale from the top of the wall straight back to the floor, and usually walking from one wall to another across a hall took half the time... he knew he was small compared to the people, but he knew that they would take a similar speed in travel as him... at least they knew where they were going... he didn't know how dark the place was, though.

    Minutes went by, as he looked for any stone. Anything. A hand was stretched out, as the rest were walking, crawling on the floor once more... it was better for his back in the long run. The Grey Beast looked and looked, and after half and hour wheezed in irritation. Not once, had he ever felt so lost before here. It annoyed him that he did not know where he was...

    I am alive at least. I am lucky that it did not tear me to pieces, I suppose...

    He didn't know if there was anything else actually lurking here. He heard the screams of others when the winds came... but he never actually interacted with anything at all, other than the winds, architecture, and dust... it was all the same to him.

    Time went by, as he kept walking... as he did not find anything, his mind was degrading into an inner rage and spite as minutes went by. He hated this blind walking. He never felt so weak and helpless in his life. He just wanted to get out, he had everything he needed here. He was angry for not running back to the pillar, since he knew where it was in difference to where the wall he thought he was running to. He might have even past it in the hurry and just went threw its halls, he thought.

    But he knew better... he can't hate himself forever for it... he needed to get out. The most important thing to do is to get out, the Bat replied. The only thing that needs to be done, is getting out. But first, he needed to have better bearings. He needed to get a fi-

    A hand felt something stop him, as his joints compressed from something foreign. He pressed down on it with its hands, and he felt stone. His mind surged with energy, as he began to crawl closer to it. He moved his hands around the wall, and began to rub at it... feeling the words and writings sink into his mind.

    I found it! I found it! Free, Free! Can get out, need to find way out now. No more floor, wall is hear. Have the wall, everything is good. Good to go, Good to go!

    His mind went from anger to joy, as his front arms began to clap. It wasn't over, he could still get out; he had a chance again. Slowly, he moved his hands again on the wall:

    Stories of three kings of one throne spoke in his mind; they ruled one kingdom, with the kings ruling a city of gears and grinds. Creating devices of power, they had dug deep underground, harvesting any material they had from underground. However, as the city began to progress, the Kings began to have conflict. One of the Kings wanted to join the forces on an outside city that was going at war with Dracon that have turned rampant and poisoned. One of the kings rejected against the idea, and wanted to keep mining and mind their own business... the third king wanted to help destroy the defending city, as it gave opportunity for more wealth in their mining palace.

    The three kings fought at each other for resolution, and the residence did not help at all, being stuck between picking one of the three sides... most choosing to take either the first king, willing to defend their neighbor and comrades. Others wanting nothing to do with the war that was outside their home, and would rather set up their own security against the coming wars above.

    The Third king felt betrayed, as many did not take the side of thee. Seeking to get revenge, he began to give support to the second king, while behind it all he had ordered machines of war being built, stating "it was for the better of security". The people cheered him, and the first king was the odd man out. Fighting still for the defense of their fellow man, the people exiled the first king with any other Dracon that decided to take his defense. Two kings remained.

    However, as night dawned, the Third King took action; The machines of defense began to turn offensive. The Machines built ran into the homes of others and began to kill any who fought back, while those that stayed were imprisoned in their own homes. As the Second King and warriors came to defend, the Third King marched in front of the Machines and fought. The Dracon Warriors fought with what they could, but the machines were too much... the Second King was defeated and destroyed.

    As the Third King was in power of his own kingdom, he made all under him follow his lead, as the served the mines with the machines at watch. As he was getting ready for his own reign, he sent a battalion of robots to go to their neighbor city at war...

    He kept reading the story as he followed the wall. He was happy that there was a distraction, although the story felt a tad bit gloomy to him. Of course, from the many texts he read in this place, there were worse things to read than what the story showed. Still, he was happy to have something to occupy his time, as he slowly walked in the Maze of Shadows, looking for his way out again, with hope in his heart.

    Hours went by, as the Beast followed the same wall as before... the texts had changed from what it was before. He never recognized these walls before... he must of passed them during his search for the Tablet. Yet, it was so familiar. Kran'I was more thrilled with this story than the last. He moved his hands slowly, absorbing the texts that were partially written at the bottom:

    Within the world that existed, a great beast arose from the ashes of a kingdom; A Titan, known in texts as Fr'Faan, was a creature that scaled all others. Made out of the glass of sand, its flesh was almost too thick to break, and no creature dared to face the giant. Walking in the plain deserts, it had destroyed two other kingdoms that it came across, bringing ruin with beasts of sand, whirlwinds and storms, and crushing blows from itself. Fr'Faan became tyrant of all in the desert, and Dracon feared it for what it was.

    The Titan created armies made out of sand, controlling it with its own powers and creating minions that many fell to. Some flew with the winds, while others crawled under the dunes. Nothing alive was safe from its wrath, is it searched for anything that was not a spec of grain, and sent its minions on the hunt. With the sands around it, it shifted the plains into its own means of hardship, while turning the deserts into oceans of sand, with waves upon waves clashing and moving and great heights. Sand Storms came to destroy what stood, and whirlwinds trapped the poor into a constant vortex that tore them to pieces.

    The Titan of Glass, Fr'Faan, was a great Titan indeed. Many Dracon had fled the sands that he ruled, trying to reach the safest places of the world. However, the Titan was not merciful, and hunts began... No one was safe from this Great Monstrosity. When it did not destroy, it resided in the Glass Kingdom in the sand, its home and birthplace, and rested in the deserted city.

    Despite the tales of the Great Titan, many saw this giant as an advantage; With tales of the Fr'Faan the Glass being told by the very few that had escaped, conquerors, kings, usurpers, guardians, and users of light came to battle the him. Some brought in beasts, others machines. Armies of all sorts from different kingdoms of the Dracon Empire marched to fight the great titan, or subdue it for their own desires. Nonetheless, they all came. A battle ensued.

    Many armies had fallen against the sheer power of the sandy world collapsing and destroying them alone. Others found ways to survive, while unexpectedly being taken out by the sky or underground. Those who were strong and brave enough to survive the sands and minions faced the titan... to no avail.

    The sands began to cross borders, reaching to jungles, mountains, and everything that was around it; all were not safe, as it began to expand more and more. The people of the mountains saw this threat; The Monarch Huntress, Mi'Juska, saw this titan, this Fr'Faan, as a threat to her people. She saw it as an endangerment to all that lived in her region, as well as her people. With hast, she ran to the top of one of the highest mountains of them all.

    Days had passed, with her climbing the mountain slopes, reaching to the very top. She slipped once, the Dracon Huntress, and fell onto a bolder and broke an arm. She fell a second time, and broke her shoulder. Climbing with one hand and feet, he continued to climb. She had to face the cold temperatures, killing all that were above for as much layers and warmth as possible. She used traps and spears, set up with only one hand. She was beginning to lose parts of her body... she was nearly dying.

    Reaching almost to the top, her fingers broke off from the cold. She slipped, and was falling to what was six days of climbing a three minute fall. As she fell, she closed her eyes, ready to die. The poor woman kept falling and falling. She was waiting for the inevitable landing... she waited longer... and longer... When she opened her eyes, she found herself in the clouds, hovering across the world... wind was pushing her up instead of passing her by. She looked at shock, as she saw the whole world around her from the sky. Confused, she looked around, and was greeted by the greatest User of Light.

    Known by many as the Master below the great mountain, he stood there with his great robes, wearing white with brown trim. His face was hooded, and in front was a mask; a wooden mask of guilt. Mi'Juska asked what he was, and he replied with a cruel, booming voice by quote:

    "I am what many call the Master of Light; I am truly the Seer of Heights. I watched you climb our mountain to seek help, huntress. Yet you know not what will do. Nor what we do. You have diligently rose higher, despite how you were falling to your end. Bravery and Insanity come in mind; I see only a Predator.

    "You seek for our service? I advice for you to take a stance. You have two choices. The first: We let you fall back to your home, where you can show with pride your diligence and persistence of almost reaching your intention. The Second: You will forever be forgotten, and you will no longer be a man. However, you shall continue hunting as a predator, and fight the monster as such.

    "Choose wisely... for either fate impacts not the world, but the life as well. Once chosen, there will be no heading back."

    Mi'Juska did not think; she only saw intention and nobility. With ease, she chose the second. And with that, Mi'Juska died that day. All before the climb was lost, and what all that remembered her had forgotten. Yet, on the stones written, only memory of the Predator remains in tale, when its mother held it in her womb of naivety, to the end of its purpose. From the body of the huntress, a beast was born. The body was of Leather Flesh with Great Resistance to Decay; A head of great Bone Strength to Ram; Short Legs to cross the Sands with fast pace. Scaling the Size of the Core in the Sky, the Beast, Miska, was born.

    The Beast was dropped into the sands destined to go to. Its mind set with the purpose of its mother, it ran in chase. The Sands were no deterrent, as its ran threw it. Similar to that of a fish in water, it ran threw it like it was swimming. It only had one direction, and it saw in its mind where the Titan was. Fr'Faan of Glass saw this beast come to him. He saw game; Other creatures of all sorts came to challenge him. The beast was seen as nothing more than another to consume in the sand. It raised its hands, it showed its light to the dunes of death.

    Tidal Waves came to clash on the beast; Miska went threw them with ease, with its skin ignoring it and its head breaking the waves into nothing. Whirlwinds came, but it was too heavy and fast to grab it, and they disordered into nothing bust gusts of wind that slowed. Sand Storms brewed, but its hard head at front mustered the sands as it went threw it without break. The beast was set on its course of action. Furious, the Glass Titan sent its minions; they all became dust. The creatures of the sky were passed, and the glass minions underground shattered with a simple charge. Nothing slowed it down... nothing stopped the charging monster, not even slowed it down. Fa'Faan's Rage turned into Curiosity. In turn, it turned to standing its ground, seeking to challenge the power of the beast with his own.

    She charged from the sands without stopping; The glass giant raised a whip that was made from the grains around him, with a Spade of Glass that was as big as he. When the beast was at eyesight, it began to taunt her. In the deep desire and thought of doing what its sole purpose was, Miska charged at the great titan. Swinging the Whip of Sand, the Beast charged threw it, crashing into its leg and destroying the hunk of glass completely. The Titan Fell with ease. As it tried to stand, dropping all that it held, Miska charged once more, crashing threw both of its arms with the bone head. Disarmed in all but its legs, the Titan was slowly breaking apart from the damage it had, and cracks were shown across its body. It tried to stand, however the titan could not even lift its head when its skull was fractured. The Beast Roared in triumph.

    The Titan was destroyed, and the regions were saved from the great dunes consuming all that existed around it. However... the cost had to be paid. The Dracon saw this beast as a furious creature of havoc, and saw it as nothing more than a threat. Many came to the desert to collect the pieces of the Fr'Faan, as they charged with their weapons against the Bone-Headed Girl. Miska, with nothing left in this world, had no concept other than to hunt. It saw what her mother was trying to defend as prey. It charged... it was then that the beast had made its final choice.

    The Story stopped instantly. Confused, Kran'I tried to feel the wall, but the texts stopped, and changed to a different one. It climbed a bit up the wall to see if there was any text up above the tablet. None existed. Quickly, it coursed its fingers on the texts past what he read. The Story of the Titan and the Huntress was gone, and the was replaced by a story of a Warrior and its fight to become the Champion of Heroes. He wrapped his hand around the texts furiously. yet, despite it all, there was nothing. Disappointment filled his head, and something felt off... the Scholar felt that the story had context that was different than the rest. However, as he thought about it, his mind could not remember. He grew annoyed at his inability, and sighed with wheeze.

    He wanted to find out what happened to Miska... and the lady. Mi'Juska. For some reason, his mind felt pity for her. The Feeble creature thought it to be unfair choice for bravery. Yet, the master seemed to think otherwise... the texts chilled down his spin. Every time he read the texts, the Dracon were known to hurt themselves constantly in strife. Every text, it was always stories of tragedy. It was as if there were none of the good, not of anything growing to a peaceful, lively fashion. In his mind, the Scholar saw it as mass destruction upon each other, usually many falling because of the powerful and cruel. It saddened him, to think that his gods, the Dracon that once were, were destructive. If that were true, and the stories point to destruction of all that existed... what was his purpose? His mind felt unsteady.

    He decided that he no longer wanted to read anymore stories. He felt tired. His mind was sore, and he wanted only to rest. He kept on walking, finding hopefully an incubator of light. From what he knew, the entire place was a death trap, and any who rest on the ground were victims to the storms. However, the Chandeliers up above were strong enough to withstand the storms, and they were high enough to allow none of the dust to tear him apart for the fourth time... even if such dust came from them.

    Hours past, as he walked with the wall nearby, pressing one of his hands in his crawling state, to make sure that he did not wander off from it. He crawled instead of standing, and he kept crawling until he could hear the sound of falling light. His ears were perked in the dark, finding any movement. What he heard were small blows of wind, as well as the sound of some dust moving the the floor and skidding the walls... yet, none could be heard glistering from above.

    He continued to walk. He needed to rest, he needed to sleep... he felt tired from the pain that still lingered, with the feeling of the dust inside him still remaining. He didn't think that it would stay in for so long... usually, the dust would have tried to escape threw the linen by now. It worried him; Is it trapped inside him somewhere, or did it just leave a mark that will linger with him for longer than it usually does? Ideas of everlasting, cold, draining pain came in his mind... he didn't like the idea at all.

    He remembered the feeling being harsh, when the dust always scrapped across his body. They were small, painful specs... pushed by the wind to scar anyone that was in its way, which was almost impossible to avoid when the heavier gusts come. They were annoying, painful, hurtful... yet, he himself holds a treasure of the same content. The crystal in his bag.

    Whenever he held it, he always felt a different feeling. Yes, pain was felt across his body... but the dust only was a pain that would hurt upon impact. The crystal, however... it was so strong, it didn't require pressure. He remembered the many times one of his hands held it... he remembered how cold he felt... how much his body burned. It was similar to the glass dusts... but this was greater. It never lingered for long... but unlike the dust, he felt his entire body tearing itself. It was unique. It terrified him, but his mind was... content, with what it was. Disturbed with such thoughts at first, he grew to see it as his only security against anyone... he already used it on another before. He knows that the creature was not edible; there was nothing left.

    The Crystal and the Liquid were treasure he took for this trip. He needed to create a tablet replica, and he couldn't bring a large supply of artistic paint... nor a heavy stone and chisel. he needed enough weight for his travels, and they were the best choice... he could not write with anything that was not stone either; his touch betrayed him at times. However, he knew that, despite whatever it was made of, the Crystal he still held was stronger than anything he had ever held before. It was sharp enough to cut him by just poking the smooth surface, and could even break his entire hand if he kept it there.

    Time passed, and the beast remained walking. Unable to hear any specs of dust falling from the sky for a while, he knew that he was not near any chandeliers. In fact...

    He moved his head around the area, twitching its four ear holes, listening... nothing. No wind, no dust, no screams from the ghost... no cries, mourning, agony, or anything from the ghosts of the dead. Part of him was comforted. The other was... uneasy. For the many months he was in this tomb, he always heard the cries with the gusts of wind... yet, since he had woken from the storm, none of the ghostly sounds have ever came. The absence of wind and dust was also present. He always heard any of those, if not all. Yet... he only heard his hands crawling by the wall.

    A realization of absence was existent. For the first time, he felt truly alone. Alone in the dark, alone from life. The perfect dead. Everything was stasis but him, and he was wandering the Dark Hall alone...

    He wanted to go home. He wanted to feel the winds both cool and warm on the surface. Dive into the waters and swim, feeling the wetness as he moved. Sleep on the many trees that use to scale the size of the rooms in the Fortress, and feeling softer and yet harder than the roots he had slept on... He missed the many sounds of movement, and more so the movement of life. The world he was in now, was... alien. He was almost completely handicapped and unable to bear his surroundings. Kran'I was... alone.

    And it disturbed him greatly.

    Last edited by Acidic_Cook on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:17 am; edited 1 time in total

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:07 am

    Venture of Shade, Section 3:
    It felt like an eternity. The entire walk down the long hall was leading to no where, and the wall had yet to have turned... his mind thought that he could have missed a turning point on the other wall... if there was another wall across from his. There was no sound, no winds no dusts... no ghosts of agony. The walk was silent... he tried to occupy his mind with the tablets on the walls, but even then they were not helping; his mind was trying to comprehend his surroundings. Where was he? He never been to a place like this, ever in his months of roaming here... at least, he thought it was months. He never knew how time was measured, other with grains and the amount of time he walked... sometimes, he would click his teeth back and forth to use as his measurement. However, his teeth got sore from doing it after the two hundredth click or so.

    He has never seen the suns rise or set... not the Red nor White Stars... or at least, that was what he was told. His teacher was always good to him... he always told him about the world above, a place that neither of them could touch. Kran'I had no premise of what was above, other than the world grew light and dark, as people would say. Yet, his teacher showed him a world he would have never thought of existing. An untouchable world? His Friend told him of the world above, how it shifted and turned. He told of the studies of his people had made with the sky. How the world above was lit by balls of flame, and when they were gone specs took their place in a place of darkness. He told of the Orb in the Sky, the massive orb that their world had been 'revolving'... he never truly understood what he meant, but his master tried to teach him about it. It was important, he said. He wished that he could ask why now.

    But all he knew now, was that the Halls of Words were dark... that was what the text told. How the world was like the night sky... he never made the correlation. Still, he expected that this place would be filled by horrors... yet all he has known to exist, was the gust storms that had the voices of the dead. That terrified him. Of course, he had dealt with creatures that he never knew what they were physically... but he knew that it was different than the rest he had encountered in the surface. The ones in the Dark Halls seemed abnormal... it did not fit at all what he knew of the world above. He wondered if the other worlds of the underground were housed by ghosts as well. What made it better than the rest, was that he has never dealt with anything actually... touchable. He thought that, what bothered him the most, that he could not deal with these... he wondered if others had tried before him with better luck.

    But he digressed. The ghosts are gone somewhere. He did not know where, but... somewhere. Everything was gone from his premise. He had no idea where the storm had-

    He slid to his side, where the wall was... where the wall should be. As he stuck his front hand to check to see if the wall was there, it had... disappeared. His hands tried to reach something, but it had left him... rather, he had left it. He was surprised.

    How long when I checked last? Where am I?... Must be crossing to new hall. Must be reaching across to other side. Must be an intersection... should I keep on, or head back?

    The Bat thought of turning right, turn back to find the wall. He might follow the wall to when it splits, and go hold on to go to the next when it turned... but he was afraid that he would not find it again, if he head back. Rather, he was afraid that going back would be pointless. Still... he did not want to wander in the emptiness again without proper direction... he turned around. He needed to pay attention more. He could not risk getting lost here. The place was too empty, too blinding. As long as he had some proper hold of where he was, at least he- "Click"

    His ears propped up. What was that? That lever? Where could it be?, He thought. He looked around frantically with its head. Its head lifted in the air, trying to find anything around him. Nothing. Strange... he stood there and looked to see if there was anything that was coming, or if something was shifting. None came to be in ear shot. With a shrug, he laid onto the ground once more, and kept crawling... That was when he heard something sink... it sounded like stone rubbing on stone. His mind was racing. He didn't know what was happening... he never heard anything move except for what he already knew... but again, he usually stuck to the walls. Right now... he was in the middle of the open.

    From his ears, he heard something drop. Something came loose and fell below him... somewhere. To his left. Something fell. It was not coming to him... it was moving away. His mind was trying to put two and two together... until the sounds began to come around him. Sounds of stone slabs falling was present and seen... h heard things fall from around him somewhere, yet he never heard anything land... he felt warm air hit him instantly, despite how he had been feeling cold since he came to the tomb... something wasn't right.

    Panic and Fear drove him. He ran, slithering away on all of his hands. He felt a slab from one of his back hands fall down with the rest, with hot air sizzling his feet. He could here the stone slabs pushing against the heat heavily, falling down with great mass and speed... he never heard it ever land on any surface. He didn't think about it, though... he just ran.

    Wind of heat began to follow his back, as he heard the floors falling down. He kept crawling as fast as he could, but the weight on his back restrained him from going any faster. Soon, he felt his body almost falling down! With a cry it began to stop slithering, and started to leap. As he used his four back legs, he pushed and made himself project forward. He left the falling stone, and met with one that was still in place. He felt it losing its hold. He leaped once again, with his front arms clawing at the ground, helping him go forward and continue to leap without delay. He got away as fast as he could, the poor, Feeble Beast. The world was falling down, yet he did not know why. It terrified him. Yet, all he felt was the urge to keep going. Otherwise, he feared, he will find out the hard way where everything was going.

    After running away from the falling floors, the Stone Slabs began to stop. He ran for a few seconds, but his ears heard the sound of the floors finally not giving away. He breathed heavily, his toxic wheezing relevant in the chase from possible death. He moved back and forth on the ground, moving with his entire body wanting to do more of a lap... he felt his entire body racing. His mind was cursing a storm, and he was terrified beyond belief... he did not know of such things... he never encountered something like that here before. It scared him greatly. He paced and paced... he needed the wall, the wall will be safe. His body stopped pacing, and tried to find the wall. It took a while, but his hand felt his hand touched a surface he was all to familiar with.

    Good... Good... Hold Tight. Lay Down... Lay Down...

    Karn'I laid onto the wall, throwing the pack on it, with him laying beside it. He wheezed and wheezed with his adrenaline still surging. He felt hungry. His stomach was boiling with his hearts. He needed to have something.

    Quickly, the small creature raced his hands on the bag. Being discordinated and stressed, he opened a pouch and found his weaving utilities. Cursing, he found another and opened it. Reaching inside, he found the large hunk of dried meat. Quickly, he tore of a part of it, and closed it up. He was starving... he didn't know when he at last...

    His body felt hot, as he felt the uncomfortable heat from the former hole reach him. He already felt too hot as he did... the meat didn't help. Too spicy, the meat was, and it made his chest burn as he swallowed it. The scholar, nonetheless, felt his stomach was feeling a bit full... but know he felt himself sweat. His heart was steadying... he was staring to breath, in and out...

    Time passed, as the poor creature just sat there... he finished his piece of meat, and now he was just sitting there... he felt pain begin to surge in his body. He felt his muscles aching. He didn't know how long he had ran, but he was terrified. Questions arose in his mind; rationality saw that he had stepped on some form of panel trap... a tarp meant to drop all into a pit or something... he realized how gimmicky it always felt, when he read two fairy tales about such things happening to adventures... he didn't expect to find that to be here. His mind raced. Not once, had he ever triggered a trap in the Dark Halls. Not once. This place felt very wrong... he never explored the entirety of the tomb, yet he explored a lot, he felt... was he somewhere else in the halls completely? How far did the gust take him?

    He sat there on the floor, resting his back on the wall... he needed to continue, he thought. His body was aching still... he told himself that he can wait. He has time. Safe, he thought. As long as he is safe, he can continue going afterwards. This time, he thought, he might be keeping a hand on the wall constantly. The thought of his arms tiring was there, but it was better than ending up in the open without warning, and... and then that... why didn't that happen before? Did he not go straight back?... why didn't the floor collapsed then? He felt the wall for any indication that it was the same... but he had let go of it for awhile... who knows what he had missed.

    His mind cursed at his carelessness, but at the same time he relaxed. he survived. In his mind, that was what counted the most.

    Kran'I followed his hand on the wall, crawling on the floor to find the intersection. His hand felt the stories and tales to be shorter than expected... they were tales that were of conquests and battles between heroes. He didn't feel the urge to really listen to any of them too deeply. For one, he was worried that he might accidentally fall into the hall while walking towards the supposed turn. The Second, was that the Heroes were all fighting each other to proclaim a champion. Many died, just for reputation and gratification. Id did not interest him greatly. It seems that stories were usually the same in this Tomb.

    Still, he hand his hand touching the stone wall, feeling the symbols slide. He did not read them entirely, and passed most of what was written, making the stories seem incoherent and sloppy. At least he didn't have to read them. he mind slowly was pacing as a sloth. The pain he had, had returned once more. he felt uncomfortable.

    Nostalgia began to sweep across his mind... although he never thought much of it. He just keep crawling. After a while, he felt the hot air he had felt slowly degrade into the cool nothing again. He wondered if he was going the wrong way... he passed by it. He didn't feel like dealing with the hole that already killed it once. Whether it was dying or farther, it didn't matter tom him. He was just happy to have got out of there in one piece... he was tired.

    As he kept walking, he felt his limbs were giving away. The pain was returning harder than the adrenaline: His hands were walking without proper stance, and he almost tripped twice on his own hands... he had been walking for some time... he just wanted to sleep. He wished that he could sleep somewhere that was less exposed... but there was no chandeliers as far as he could tell... and he didn't want hopes of finding them to be false, when he tried to look for them while scaling the very high walls... he didn't want to deal with that.

    Slowly, he dropped his bag on the ground, and turned it to his side... his bag felt comfortable compared to the floors, at least. Slowly, he lowered his body to rest, with him holding onto the bag with some of his hands, pressing it on his body closer. He felt a bit more comfortable now...

    As he drifted into sleep, a hand began to slide towards a pouch. Reaching towards it, he felt the pouch and its rough content inside. It did not hurt him, but he felt it slightly. Despite the pain, it felt comfortable. Since it was covered from his hands by the pouch... it would not hurt him. He felt security from the crystal of death. But right now, it was his only security that he did have. As he gripped around it tightly, he slowly drifted into sleep, with his body feeling like it was beginning to frizzle form the inside. Then, he left.

    "I trust that the Beast has settled with the remaining of his catch? Make sure he does not spill all over the books."

    A voice of cruelty and sternness was heard from behind him. Sitting at one of the stone stools, he was using a feather and ink, writing on the parchment that was given to him. He had listened to the mocking elder before, but his teacher came at his defense as always.

    "Yes, Kran'I has been doing well in progress in the forbidden section of the archives. What troubles does thee have with this student, Gravekeeper?"

    The elder laughed mechanically. He was always cruel to the Feeble Beast, mostly because of not only his frailty, but also because he was a student. The elder, however, was nothing more than a librarian and tablet protector, while also known to put away all that is dead. Gravekeeper was his given name, being that he mostly interacts kindly to the dead, and only the dead.

    The creature sneered at his teacher "He be best not to chew on any of the work here. Best be a good pet, and listen to its owner. Otherwise, I be breaking you in half before I bury you with the exiled."

    "Kran'I has always been good to the Fortress, and has always been kind and gentle here. Your quarrels seem false, since all thee do is patronize and yell those we bring it. He has been a great student, haven't you child?"

    The Working Writer turned its head and let out a wheeze from its mouth. It sounded like the air was sizzling, as he did. The Gravekeeper laughed.

    "Look at this pathetic creature. It's dying while living! Why not put it down now, and I will give thee a proper burial. Would that please ya, D'Ra?"

    The Teacher looked firmly at him. His wrinkled, decayed face showing sternly at him, with bones from part of his jaw already exposed. He looked at him sternly.

    "Thee best go. Otherwise, I shall take your place as Gravekeeper myself, and do the duty with pleasure."

    The Gravekeeper loom sternly at him, before he finally turned away. The cloaked creature with uneasy eyes and the full course hair of roots down his chin was unpleasing to the Teacher. They were always fighting when they got close... Kran'I was told this before. His voice always changed in turn to what he felt. He had a hard time understanding that, but he learned to understand once he listened to the changes of his voice. His hand was making sure what he wrote was right, while others were drawing on the parchment with quill. Writing taught from the Dracon were shown.

    "It seems, child, that you have a better time chiseling than ink work. Do not worry... it is different and hard, I know. Once you get use to it, however, you will get better and do it without checking for errors. I am sure of it."

    The Feeble Beast turned in the stool towards the voice that he heard. His bottom hands were gesturing with a needle and string, waving and moving in the way that he would have been weaving. The teacher looked at him with a smile.

    "Soon, Karn'I. Weaving is as important as is the literature we teach. However, you have no problems with such skill, and need to learn better the other." He moved his hand on the creature's shoulder. His cold, broken hands were felt. "Why don't you work on the parchment. Once you are done, I will show you something. I will be back... finish thee work when I come."

    The Student gestured in response. "Good. I shall return." He heard the steps of his friend leave, and the Beast was left alone. With a sigh, it turned around and continued his work on the parchment. It was mostly done and full, with the ink covering half the page, and drying instantly. His free hands had felt the paper, making sure that no marks of error were found. He only felt a few at the top, but he felt it began to leave. One of his hands was running on a small, stone tablet, to make sure that all symbols were right... it was harder to know at times, since the ink blended into the paper better than the scars on stone.

    Yet, he kept on writing the verse of a story he found; A tale of a girl and her adventure with what was said to be a "creature with majestic wings, and a soft touch. He didn't understand what the creature really was like, but it sounded beautiful to him. He continued to write, until the end of the paper was reached. Slowly, he reached at the top right of the page, and at the corner wrote "Be seen another time".

    He dropped the quill, and put the ink and feather away. He put the parchment alone, as he got off the stone and used four of its hands to lift the Tablet. Heavy as it was, he slowly started to move to where it was encased in. As he walked, he heard movement from another come behind him.

    "Let me get that for you, young one."

    The voice sounded gentle and odd to him. He turned around to face the being, but it did not respond. Instead, its soft skin touched the tablet and took it away from him.

    "This is a basic tablet for all students to learn, Child... not all will learn, if it were to drop, hm?"

    The Beast did not make a noise, but it crossed its arms twice, while using its fifth arm to point at the case. It felt like he was treated lesser from another one of these people. The voice hummed.

    "Thank you. For a creature who can not see, direction seems to not lack."

    He looked down. Not many complimented him and his stature, since he was physically not the greatest of all the students here... he was also one of the youngest. While many were greater than twice his age, he only knew that many remarked him as very young and 'different'. The kindness was not really expected from another, although another part of him felt like it was a remark more so that a compliment.

    "Let's see..."

    Karn'I was startled, realizing that the being was closer to him now... closer to his stool and table, at least. He was startled how silent the person was then... especially since he heard the creature when it came, before it took his tablet... the school's tablet.

    "Ah. A fairy tale. A creature of no sight seems to be getting good at making one... what is thine name?"

    Kran'I could not speak, and wheezed at her in a sigh. putting down one of his behind hands to be back on two feet, he walked back to the table, and took a quill and bottle. Quickly, he took the paper from the being, and turned it around. It dabbed the feather into the ink, and started to write his name in the same language.

    "Kran'I? That seems to be Dracon Given. Does thou not have a name of thine own?"

    he looked puzzled at the stranger... he made the gesture of saying no, but he realized once again that communicate was lack. So, he dabbed in the bottle and wrote:

    No name was given to me; I chose the name with my teacher. Chose it after the letters were read, I did, and chose it once I could read.

    The person read the parchment, and looked at the blind child. "You must be very special to be able to choose your name. If thou can not see, you read by hand?"... The Bat replied.

    "Hm. Then Thine must be a good touch. If thou can not speak, as can not see, then the many hands thou hand must be good at what they do..."

    The creature took the quill and madly wrote on the parchment. Willingly, it told of the many works that he had made, most had to do with weaving and writing by stone. He was good at making things with his hand, he told, and he was good at reading and feeling.

    "Such a narcissist thou are, it seems. Perhaps it would be false, if thou tried to show it."

    He madly wrote down on the parchment once more, with a question:

    Are you saying that I lie?

    The voice hummed again. It sounded different than the rest, more light than heavy. The being did not seem to be decayed or old as the rest either. It took the quill from his hand, and set it on the stone top.

    "Perhaps thou shall prove me false. Yet, I am not sure whether to doubt thee or to laugh."

    Turning around, the person had left him, and this time he heard the sound of movement once more, although it seemed to be delayed. As the person left, Kran'I was left alone again. Odd... no one tried to go near him, and usually never noticed them until they moved or spoke. Even then, they were easily ignored. The place had very few people, however he had never heard the stranger in the Fortress at all. Slowly, he grabbed the bottle and quill once more, and put them away with two of his hands... the other flipped the parchment to its front. Then with wonder in his mind at such new opportunities, he waited for his teacher to come back.

    The Entire Body felt off. One minute, it felt like something was missing, or at least something was off, but he could not put his finger to it. Moving his hand across it, he felt the smooth texture that he was so familiar with, and found that there were some gaps. Cuts and holes that surrounded it. Shocked, his fingers went over and over, trying to see how much damage was taken while he was out.

    Kran'I moved his fingers threw one of the holes; almost his entire hand could fit threw it. An intense amount of pain filled his head, as he tried to comprehend the situation. He had no idea why this had happened, but he only had once thought in his mind, trying to analyze the situation. One that has been constantly at him, whenever he was off and away:

    Someone, or something, had been at his robe again.

    Annoyed and Irritated, he did not know why it would have been torn so easily. It was his robe, his mark that the Master had rewarded him. It was his mark into the restricted archives, and was suppose to symbolize his abilities. He never worn them unless it was ceremonial, but recently there have been cuts and holes in the fabric. Made of silk, he had roughly stitched it again and again, replacing all the holes and sewing all the cuts that were made. No, this wasn't something. Someone was at his work again.

    Furious, he was getting fed up with the amount of vandalism and harassment he has earned from the people here. For once, he would like to be left alone in his work, and be left at peace. However, someone did not like him for what he was apparently, being beast and weak. He had learned to get angry at the amount of people who were willing to damage all what he earned, and his dignity for what was little of. Respect was little to none, and Kran'I felt the need to take a stand.

    First, he needed to fix what was broken. That was important more than revenge now. He can not be seen with the robe broken as such. So, he grabbed his needle and thread. It took him time to find all the cuts, in which he had sown without much trance of being broken. The holes that existed usually had fabric loosely attached, and with that began to work on sewing the hole back to its whole. Some, however, required the use of using linen and silk fabrics to replace what was missing. He hopped that, despite how he could not tell himself, that they would not... he understood quite well that sight was important to them... appearance described the character, he said. If they saw this, they may think that he was careless... or maybe caring of what he owned, he was not sure how they would react if they saw it. He would find out soon, he thought.

    When his fingers could not find any trace of cuts or wholes left, he took the robe and put it over him. He never worn the Robe except twice when he went outside. The robe was made for four of his arms, which made him a bit happy in this regard; they made the robe themselves, accustom to the student. He was happy that they cared enough to build something made for him, and not for a generic student. Yet, it feels like some might disagree with that cause.

    As he put on the Robe, he covered his smooth, bald head with the robe. Wheezing, only his teeth were shown under the robe, and he knew that many commented on how... grim, he looked. Still, it seemed appropriate at this time. He needed to get out of here. Feel the outside world than this clustered place right now. He needed to take a breather. Still, his thoughts mingled in ways of seeking his revenge on the vandals, or vandal if there was just one. With the robe securely one and tightened around him, he looked under his root bed, and rummage for what he wanted. Mostly finding nothing, he looked deeper until he found his box. With haste, he took it underneath his robes, and walked out.

    Following what he remembered so clearly, he walked threw the halls, turning with every count he made in his head instinctively. he walked in this place again and again, and have seen many of the few people that live here. Yet, he still had to put up with some of the most discriminating characters he had ever seen in his life. He didn't need to put up with that. He knew that he didn't. Yet, he does. Which frustrated him... he needed to relax for now. As he walked to one of the doors to the fortress, he quickly moved his hand in front of it. Looking for the panel, he found it with a few taps on the stone, and pressed it. Instantly, he heard the stone "click", and the stone lifted itself up. Immediately, he entered.

    The Feeble Beast walked into a world of cold; he felt pebbles of burning cold touch his flesh gently, yet it never bothered him. Sometimes, he licked the flacks when they were near his mouth. His hands and face began to cool when he stepped outside. With the sound of crunching being heard from under him, he kept walking in the same way as he always did when he came here: The courtyard was one of his favourite places to go, and the cool air mixed with the fluff and the heat from the sky made his mouth wheeze in relief... despite how much people ridiculed him for sounding like a dying amphibian.

    No time to think... just do. Do your thing. No one around; No one to come. Got time to make; got time to wait. Revenge with praise, be good for thee. No need to go bad now. Be better... Better.

    Slowly, he was halting in his place, reaching towards a bench and sitting down. The roots held by the marble stone were nice. He remembered he liked the benches, for the marbles were carved and cut... his fingers would feel the patterns and texture that its maker had made. It always felt interesting to him, and was in a way satisfying. Slowly, he took the Box out of his robe, and put it beside him. His feet, feeling the fluff become wet, rubbed the bottom hands with his closer ones, while looking threw the box:

    The Inside had a large book inside; Leather encased parchment, being sown and wrapped together by his own hands. He had a quill from a bird that he had hunted, while he was trying to help his teacher get quills for the students. The feather he had was smoother than the rest... mostly because he had soaked it in the springs whenever he came here. He took the ink bottle with one hand and opened it, letting it stay open as he jabbed his quill inside. He shut the box halfway, so that the snow did not enter his ink bottle, with the cork loosely on the opening.

    With his hands opening the book, he felt the pages inside; he made it all himself. He wanted to make something that he was fond of. As his fingers rubbed every page, he felt the writings, poems, patterns, and symbols that he made inside. It was his own creation, which he used in order to learn the ways of writing. He found it easier to write with the quill, rather than chisel; It took strength and time to write down something in stone. It may have lasted longer than parchment, but he knew that the parchment would exceed him for sure, and it was made for him. Just him. So, he saw it best to write it all down in his book. He found the page that was half empty; A story of demons rose in his mind. He studied them for some time, despite how little the Dracon had in texts about them. Usually, however, they made them to be dangerous and the dangers of all that exists here. With the story he made, he wrote about the Demons and their attempt to slay a forest. However, he wrote of the diligence of a machine with the search for a soul come to fight them. Comedic, he felt it to be, but much of the literature he read was always tragic. He felt, at least, that some form of lightheartedness against a subjected evil would be good to ease him. He knew it was wrong form his teachings, but he needed to make something that made him smile.

    With madness afoot, he wrote about the story of the machine in his paper, and when the ink ran out began to dip it in the bottle again. His fingers coursed threw all that was written, making sure that everything was detailed. Time passed, and he had already flipped three pages in his book, and he felt like it was almost done. When he was about to finish his story, he felt something touch his shoulder...

    Immediately, he became paralyzed, not until he closed most of the book shut.. although making sure that the ink did not seep threw the pages while wet. Surprised, he turned his head and hissed and the stranger, moving a hand to feel the palm that was on his robe. It was smooth.

    "Mornin', Young One. You seem to be up and early, more than the rest."

    The voice was familiar. Quickly, he moved his head back to the book he had, and put the book to his side... he still held the page open with one finger, and within a few seconds shut it completely. While doing so, he took the box and moved it onto his lap. He opened it to put the book away, but something stopped him. Before he could do anything, he felt the book was taken away from him. He wheezed with anger, with the sounds of the dying child almost present and ready to break the ears of others. Yet... the stranger did nothing.

    "I see that thou has taken interest in the arts of quill, as much as the needle... has thou made this book too? It is indeed impressive."

    Kran'I took the words lightly, but he was still annoyed. he had enough problems as he did... he did not need to be patronized by this odd one. Still, he felt the wind move, as the stranger sat beside him. The bench was big enough for three, and the Scholar was less than one for sure. He was a dwarf compared to everyone that was around him. Still, he moved a bit away, and his head was turned. His teeth pointing outwards.

    "Thou has a knack for being hostile to I, yet I have not not laid one on you. Care tell, would thou have problems with the rest as well?"

    Kran'I responded with a yes... but he knew that he would not be able to understand him. So, he did what his teacher taught him as the way the Dracon responded: He nodded his head. He didn't want to, it felt unnatural to him, from what he was born and raised with. Still, he was the minority here...

    "Hm. I can tell for thine robe is stitched from being broken. Either thee has private destruction, or public ridicule. From what I seen, thin has both."

    The Feeble Beast looked at the Direction of the voice, and crossed his arms. His teeth that were exposed from the hood of the robe showed, and the creature wheezed with a sigh at him. He wanted to be left alone.

    "Thou has a knack of stubbornness and hostility towards me. Does thou know what I am? Who I am? I know what thou are, and thou are special in terms of wealth. I must say, that thou has a tendency to create. Would thou like the help in order to stop the ridicule once and for all?"

    The gentle, calm voice was an annoyance to the stranger, whatever it was. Yet... he never was offered something from someone, other than his teacher. Still, he did not know anything of this being, and his trust is off; the many that reside are near dead. This one feels like him, but it is not. This fact lingered with suspicion... he didn't know what to expect from it.

    "Here is the prospect for thee: thine infamy for being beast and weak physically is well known. However, many jealous of thee for its creativity. Thine works are prosperous and new to the Fortress, and the Master and Teachers are pleased... the students and others, however, show envy. They will be there to be a blockade, as thou see the beast weak; thou weak and small. If I were to help thee, I need you to make something for me. Rather, get something for me. When done, I shall help thou better or fair, than worse...

    "Does thou want thine offer?"

    Suddenly, he felt a pulse come threw him. Shocked and Sweating, he felt his fingers aching with inactivity. He found his hand aching more where the crystal was... he let go of the crystal threw the pouch fabric, and stood up. His heart was racing for some reason... he was not sure what it was, but it was racing as if here was running for his life again. He wheezed and breathed as hard as he could. His body felt so sore before, but moving around he felt great again... he didn't know why exactly, but he felt great. He tried to remember what he dreamed, but in his mind all he remembered was clouds and fear... He didn't really want to remember. His dreams were never good to him anyways.

    After moving his limbs and feeling the muscles and bones becoming loose and ready again, he went to his bag and picked it up. Lifting it, he put it on his back and tightened it. HE felt the weight change, but it didn't bother him at all... he should have felt the pain across his body, from the amount of stress he has been through. Yet, he felt alive and ready... An idea of escapism was prominent and well, and he wanted to take it as his own. He could make it, he felt... he didn't know what it was, but he felt it.

    Crawling on all of his hands, he began to walk... but felt something was off. His entire body felt fine, but one of his hands was still twitching. He stopped and sat down... his hands looked at the one that was... shaking. The scarred hand. Worried, he began to look at the cuts, scarring, and bruises that were there... his hands didn't feel much of any. The idea was... impossible. His hand should be in a worse condition for months, if not weeks. The crystal he used had made one of his hands scarred from using it before, and it took as long. Now... his hands were good. No scars were felt at all!

    He had been walking on it and using it at times as well... yet his hand was fine. His mind was puzzled... there was nothing that he had encountered that was 'good' to him... many of the things that existed were usually meant to hurt him. Yet... they were fine. He was worried.

    He also felt the impulsion of movement, and instead of the sores of mobility, he had that of immobility. He didn't know the cause... was this place really magic? Was this place different that the rest of the Dark Halls? Was he... dead, too? No, he could eat, he got hungry, he was still alive. He still felt a lot... from what he learned, the undead are known to not feel much. He feels a lot... so why did he feel so good? Why was he not bruised and scarred?

    He noticed that much of the Scars and Bruises from the Storm incident were healed as well. They were all clean, and fixed, and the stitches were just... there. He didn't feel any indents in his flesh, no cuts or holes... although he did feel that at times when he did press, his flesh would feel something inside it. The dust... its stuck inside him. The crystal glass that destroyed most of his body in the first place, and now he had it in him. Why... Why was he so rejuvenated?

    He tried to remember what he did when he slept... he tried to remember what he had done before he went to sleep... The sprint for his life, the reading texts of Miska and the Titan of Glass... the eating of some meat... resting on his bag... something was off. He knew something was off. His mind tried to remember, but-

    The bag! He held the bag close to him last night! One of his hands was holding onto something... his scarred hand was holding onto something. The Crystal. Yes, the Crystal. Quickly, without haste, he took the bag off and opened its pouch. Slowly, he used one of his hands to feel it: The Pink Crystal... it was his own treasure, and one of the most valuable things he had, before the tablet tarp. It always had hurt him when he held it. When he did, he felt the energy and hard glass... he felt his fingers feel a sting... but he did not feel cold. He felt rather... warm.

    All of his hands started to touch it... he felt his body feel something from within, but he did not know what to make of it. He learned that it was dangerous when he first had it... the feeling of the crystal was the same as the dust that was here. He felt the dust still in him... he had the crystal by its hands, even its former scarred one... yet. His stomach rumbled, as a sizzling sound came from his mouth... his teeth were edgy and they felt like they wanted to do something... his mind was racing with ideas of his former self...

    After feeling the crystal in his hand, he shook his head. Terrified of what it was doing, he put it back into the pouch it was in, and sealed it. His mind felt clear, yet the sting remained. He didn't know what it was, but the crystal seemingly changed on him... or maybe he changed to it. Whatever it was, it was different... too many differences have been arriving lately, and he did not like it... he wanted to get out. That was what he wanted. He still wants to get out. Yet, all that he knew was changing... the ghosts disappeared, the writings changed, the new trap he never felt, the lack of dust and winds... it was unnerving. And now this?...

    He saw the only thing he could rationalize on. He can't solve anything here, he felt. Speculation he could do, but it would only seek a probable false answer. Instead, he got up and threw his bag on top. Feeling the crystal from the outside pouch, he felt the hardness from behind it, and the energy... He didn't know if he should keep it or not. Still... he had it. It was valuable, and it has... possibly something for him other than the breaking of form. As it had once done before to him, as well as it doing to many others. He chose to keep it for now... if it gets too much of trouble, then he would leave it.

    Standing on all of his palms, he quickly began to walk... he needed to get out for sure. He can make sense of them once he was home again. Once he was behind stone that was more appealing, than the emptiness that was now his hell.

    The Scholar put his hand on the walls once again. His fingers trailing on the wall... he felt the words seep into his mind once more. A distraction. He was use to reading constantly when he was at home for study. Now, he felt like he was doing it for occupation. He wondered though... how many writings were there on the walls? He had scaled them before... he and followed them before. They were enormous... he had trouble understanding how a culture would so much history, so much written on the walls. Yet... when he read them, all he found were tales of... well, not the same tales as it was at home. His were a bit more delightful... out here, though... he felt that it fit the atmosphere. The dusts and winds fit well, and the sounds that it had were also fitting in his mind. Yet they are gone now. The writings, however, stay the same.

    This tale, in particular... he did not like this tale. In his mind, he listened to a story of a home. A sad home. A family lived from the rest of the world, far into an island, isolated from the rest. The house use to be home of a large family, known to live their life away from the conflict, farming and growing what they could to sustain themselves, living from the rest of the world. They lived well, but the children were hidden from the truth.

    The father was a holy man, a Dracon that once fought for the empire that once was glorious and vast across their world. There, with his consort, he left the world behind, as it began to collapse on itself. They tried to live away from the world, making a possible life for their wanted family. They wanted to keep them away from the world... Yet, they could not.

    They had a two children, one coming after the first came. They lived, by growing crops, collecting food and clothing, making a shelter and living off the land that they held to themselves. Their children grew healthy and strong, and the household was well. The family lived, and the mother and father saw their children grow up. However, by nature, they were curious. Every day, the children asked questions about the world around them, trying to understand what it was... the parents wanted to tell them the truth... but they also did not want to tell what was out there. They wanted them to be safe. So, in order to protect them in fear, they lied. They hid.

    The prizes that the father held were stashed away and hidden away form any of the children to see. All jewelry, clothing, and belongings from the world below were burned, buried, or stored. When kids asked questions about what was across the waters, the parents responded with the easiest of answers. Nothing. The parents, however, told them many stories, many fairy tales to their children and filled their minds. Yet, when the kids asked about the characters that they were told, when they asked about how the stories were made... they told them it was just a fairy tale, and that there was no one but them. They asked about the sky, the red and white sun above, as well as the Core in the Sky with other Orbs floating around it. The parents told them the truth about what they were; they lied about how such things were discovered.

    The Children were raised to see their parents as the only beings in the world. They grew up and saw them as the brightest of them all, the most trustworthy, and they felt safe. The children were well for their parents... it could not be the same, however, for the parents to the children. Time passed, and the family hid from the world, with facts obscured and hidden. The parents were good to their children. At times, they took them swimming and fishing in the waters they were by... other times, they helped with the land and house, making sure every chore was set and done. Other times, all they did was be around each other and smile. They were, a working family, a content family. The children were content with the lifestyle they were given, and the parents were content to never let the world come. Yet, despite their best intentions, the world came to them.

    Beasts came from the forest, and made the fairy tales come true; the creatures came from across the sea, the sky, and some even the ground. Their farms were invaded, their crops were taken, and their land was haunted. Machines that wandered came, reaching to the island and leaving, coming for whatever intention or process that they were looking for... that they may or may not have found, depends on the machine that came. Nonetheless, both came into the worlds of the isolated.

    At first, the Dracon were shocked... and fear consumed them all. The children were consumed by it, because they were told that they were just fairy tales, that creatures did not exist as they saw them now... they were frightened, and the parents were of no help. They feared that the world was coming to them, despite their goals of shadow. Now, they were at their doorstep, and threatened their lives. Worse, it threatened the family's connection. After the many things they were told, the children trusted their insight completely. Now... the children saw their parents, their caretakers, and the only people they knew with different emotions.

    The children became angry and sad, they grew to fear the world and became more shy. Insecurity arose, and children also grew to be disobedient. The children asked questions, yet the parents still lied, and as time went on and reality seeped at their doorstep... they only saw what was not true. Many times, the children had kept away from their parents, while other times the children would seek more comfort from their parents then they did before hand. The parents began to see what was happening. They saw the change in the children, they saw what they tried to establish crumble...

    Years past, as the parents began to try to mend what they had created. Yet, the children began to see even their truths as doubtful. The oldest child, a boy near man, grew to detest his father, despite how they use to fish and play, working together in the fields... he did not enjoy his company anymore. At days, they fought and fought, and the two began to have went from verbs to physics... in the end, after a long fight, the boy left the house, leaving everything behind. he made himself a raft, and sailed where all else came from. He did not say goodbye to anyone, but his little sister.

    The younger girl was known to be closer to the parents than the son... she was brought to be scared, and despite what she was told still felt a need to be very close to them... she knew only her brother, but then even he scared her as much as her father. She had her mother, but all she did at times was stand their and watch... The little girl was all alone in the house at times, usually helping her quiet, ashamed mother. She wanted some comfort, but all she felt was loneliness. Her brother, father, and mother tried to get her to open... but she couldn't. Now the son left, and the house just went into silence.

    The father spent most of his time fishing. The girl prefered to stay in isolation, and the boy was now gone. The mother worked all the time and never rested, and she was always tired. The consorts began to fight each other, with one feeling depressed and defeated... the other feeling tired and sad. The couple fought at each other, while the girl listened to them again and again. One day, after a night of fighting, the mother went to their bedroom, while the father went out to go fishing once more... the girl, left alone and feeling as if she was meaningless, went into the forest of the island. She never looked back. She kept walking in the dawn. The parents found her gone hours later.

    The father, feeling panic and a great surge of remorse, had grabbed what he worn as a holy warrior, and left the house of the poor, crying wife. Charging threw, he searched the island as best as he could. Looking in the forests, and shores, the cliffs... he could not find here anywhere. Time went by, as the love sick, guilt filled father looked for what he had lost... tried to find what he had abandoned. He knew he had left her alone for a long while. He regretted it when he realized what he had done.

    Days passed, with the suns setting at separate times, when the Core of the Sky disappeared from their view, with all of the suns leaving the world into the uncommon night... yet, he never found her. No clothing, no prints, no trace. She was gone. The father, with the lack of sleep and food for staying up for the many days... felt heavy. Slowly, he had headed back to his home. In his mind, he lost them both. He had let them down... He felt that, as a parent and partner, he had failed. The former warrior was better at combat than he was at trying to maintain peace. He realized his failure; he tried to hide them all away, when she should have told the truth instead of lies.

    When he went home, though, he realized that again, he left more than just his children... maybe he can be there for that, he thought. He can try to mend what was left... he can be there for her. It was all he could do.

    Last edited by Acidic_Cook on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:18 am; edited 1 time in total

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:08 am

    Venture of Shade, Section 4:
    Suddenly, with the stroke of his fingers, he felt the story end. Shocked, he moved his hands to feel what was missing. Nothing. It disappeared, again. The story ended without a clear end, as the last one. His mind raced. This was becoming something of a repetition.

    Where is child? Where are children? The wife, did he help her? What happened afterwards? Why did it end now, of all places? Need resolution. too vague, to obscure... why is it missing? Why has the story ended without end?

    Slowly, his mind raced... the texts of the place he was in before always had finished texts... even the tablet he held was complete and set. He even checked before he set off to leave... he remembered doing it. The Feeble Beast was being filled with more and more questions, and none of them are being answered. The world around him has become strange and unfamiliar, and yet he did not understand why...

    He knew he was not dead, that was what he knew. His hands felt very much the same as when he was alive, and the people of the fortress were very much detailed of the difference between life and death. He knew he could trust them to that extent... unless he was trapped somewhere. He wish he knew where the wind took him... he wish he knew what happened after he blacked out. This place, this world... it was off from the Dark Halls of Words he remembered. Then, everything was complete, it was cold, it was windy, and it was... haunted. Now... the only thing that nearly killed him was not a storm, but instead what he thought was the floor caving in when he accidentally wandered away from the wall he was at. The crystals and wounds that he had... they also were off as well.

    When he held the crystal with all of his hands... he should have been near dead for holding it that long. It was meant to take life away, that was what he was taught. Yet, it went the opposite way. he felt more... alive. His wounds had healed from where he had stitched and mended... he removed the wraps and cloth, and had put back what was not bloodied and dirty inside already. His skin was bare again... even his former scarred hand, that use to be wrapped in linen cloth and leather. Now, it was bare like the rest. Honestly, it kept him warm a lot when he felt cold... now, he felt very warm. He didn't know why. There was no heat at all in the Dark Halls... nor any Cold as well. The temperature was very much dry and standard. Almost unnoticeable.

    With a wheezing sigh, he put his hand back onto the wall and crawled... he stilled had to try. He wondered though, how far he was... would it take longer for him to reach the exit, or... or was he closer? He couldn't be really sure. He never explored the Dark Halls completely. he only searched enough of the place to find the tablet, and that took a very long time for him to find. He wondered, though, how long it would take for him to reach the exit this time. he didn't think it would take as long... but he was not sure exactly. He wasn't really certain about anything.

    Keep walking, keep walking. Find the place, find the exit. Staircase to light, the great stairs to air. Find it and run, head back home and never look back. Then, sleep without recourse. Sleep without remorse.

    He kept walking down the wall... feeling the story that was there. The story, however he could read it, was almost hard to comprehend; The writing told of something that he knew was not, and it told of something that was... different than the rest. Instead of a story, it was a poem. Yet, it only took one stroke to read the very small tablet. unlike the rest, it did not have much in anything to write, and it felt like it was missing some more yet again... or at least was not telling everything. Still, the poem was like the rest he has read now, being dark and now fractured:

    Grey hounds reach the break,
    Grey hounds catch the hind;
    Eating all that is to bind,
    The lack of what they were stake.

    The chains held them tight,
    By day and by night, they held;
    The hounds barked with blight,
    Sook only to take what felled.

    Yet none were more sincere in their bind,
    Than the great bane that held them for rind.

    The story was very short, and the tablet ended quickly with only a few paces... his mind thought that the grey hounds were used for some sport, or rather were used to hunt down the life around them. He guessed that they were slaves, but to what they were was unknown. He guessed that they served the gods before, the beings who were known to create many beasts of the world today... yet, he felt that the poem, small it was, seemed too small to fit on the wall. He guessed that perhaps it was missing something, but it seemed to have a form of ending as the rest. Vague and obscure it was... it seemed to be very restrained though. Thoughts of a chain in his mind came to him... he didn't see himself wearing any form of chain around his neck. Still, he continued walking... but the thoughts did not leave him.

    He knew that beasts were known to be created by the Dracon. He was also well aware that they were usually controlled by the Dracon, one way or another. Either way, the beasts were used in a similar fashion the the machines that had existed: To serve. Now that the Dracon are again, however, not much are known to be lead by any Dracon, since they are now gone. All gone. Even worse, the machines and beasts were known to have been lost to the Dracon, before they fell. He also knew that, with the many reasons as to why they had died out, the beasts had been on a rampancy and killed much of the people when they lost control over them. He wondered what his people did. and how their lives were when they served, and after.

    Ideas of the beasts came to mind.. but he knew that he could never change what was made. Again, he was too weak and not powerful enough to fix any of it. If anyone could, he was sure that someone would have done it by now. Still, he knew what he could do was keep moving forward. His body still felt very much alive, more than it had for a while, and he knew that he had a long way ahead of him. So, he continued to walk... he will keep walking until he can not no more. Then, afterwards, he will again. He was good at doing that. Perhaps when he came home, he will be recognized and rewarded with such a task achieved. At least, he would have gotten what was needed done and away.

    One of his side arms grabbed the bag on top, and felt the security that kept the Tablet Replica safe... the Tarp rolled and pinned inside. He knew that, no matter what happens, he needs to take care of the Tarp... only leave it, if death is imminent. For now, and as long as he can... he will fight. He has for the many times he has lived in his life alone, and even the fortress. At least he can do now, is fight in his lonesome once more.

    Kran'I realized that, with all that he walked, he has made better progress than he ever had done before; Walking for how long he had, he had followed the walls and had made a turn three times... before the second turn, he blindly went across the Dark hall he was in with great speeds, making sure to not trigger anything as before. When he made it, he went the same direction as he did before. Crawling on all six of his hands, he usually kept on of them touching the wall to never stray away from it. As well, the writings and symbols on the walls kept his mind occupied as they always had. He found that the same tablets repeated themselves as the rest of the stories he has read in the Tombs. Still, he thought to himself, keep moving for resolution.

    The place around him, he felt, was changing as he went. The winds had finally returned. However, instead of the deathly cold winds he was use to, it was also occupied with strong heat, as if emitted from a fire! But his mouth did not taste any smoke, nor was he choking on any air. Still, the winds were known to circulate themselves around. One moment, heat was felt; Another, cold took its stand. But the winds, unlike before, were weak and durable. At least, he thought, there was something. For the longest time, he barely felt anything in the Halls of Words, and now he was finally accompanied by something he was all too familiar with. He was getting use to the nothingness around him. He wondered how long until the dust and ghosts arrived...

    Getting Close, I feel it. Come closer to the way; Way out all that required. Winds returns, perhaps more shall come too. Big maze, big place. Too big for Me. Way out, close though. At least close to leave. No more strange, go back to peace.

    The Feeble Beast was happy to get closer to where the exit would be... although he did not want to go the storm winds again. They were terrifying, despite how he much encounters he has though. How many months he spent with them. And what? Since he got lost, he spent... three sleeps? Although, he knew that most of his time was searching every inch of wall for his desired tablet, the travel was still long. He wondered, though, how much was written in the Dark Halls. He has encountered more than hundreds for sure, scaling from short to large. He has encountered different ones. Different literature that was important. He wished that he brought his book... but he knew that the parchment would just be easily destroyed. And what was written here, would have filled his pages before even making it half way. Not even close. But... he still wanted to read them all, and pick out which ones were most valuable to him. Many of them were never documented in the Fortress at all. Perhaps, if he ever wants to bring what is written, he will come back. Although with a better lead back and company for sure.

    So much that is written should be kept forever, he thought. It already was, he knew. But he also knew that no one would ever read it and make it out alive... the thought stung him.

    No, No. Exit is probable. Exit is certain. Leave this place, come back with work. Come back if can, if want, and write it all down. Bring lots of books and ink. Feathers too. No more tarp for sure. Too heavy.

    With this remark, he laughed. His mouth's teeth moved back and forth, waving inside and outside of his lips. Sizzling was heard. He tried to never laugh in the Fortress. Not around others, at least. Many were known to call him of a monster, with what he was. He understood that his wheezing and sizzling, his physical features and functionality, were repulsive and sometimes terrifying for some. At least in his lonesome, he was able to do whatever he pleased, without fear of peers. So, with all that was quiet but his hands and the soft winds, he laughed. It echoed across the very large halls, the monstrosity in size of room allowed sound to carry everywhere. he was sure that, if anything was around, they would have heard it. But he knew that the only thing that was with him were the ghosts... he never encountered anything else since he was here. At least now, he can admit that being alone was not so bad... at least he had himself for sure.

    Still... memories of some that he liked were remembered. He missed them so, but all he could remember from the past was how much studies there were. The rest were... obscure. Still, he held onto them fondly. Perhaps, after this, he can show his teacher this world. He was fond of writing, he would like the amount of scholarly there was in this place. Of course, he would have to figure out how to make the storms not blow him away. That was, indeed, the trickier part. The poor man was too old and decayed, and would have easily broken and shattered before they even reached their destination. The thought saddened him. Still, he would have liked this place and what it held. He would have probably told him what was written meant to. He always explained what was confusing to him. A man of his age and experience knew much about the world... Kran'I did not think, however, that he ever came here. He should ask him some time in private.

    Still, this place was dreadful nonetheless. He thought that if someone could see, his travels would be less... blinding. He wondered how much of a good guide he would be, since he barely knows the place completely. He still did not understand what he has traveled threw... there was nothing to guide him but the walls, and even then no direction was direct. In fact, there was no indication of direction at all threw the Dark Halls. It was to an extent, a labyrinth. A maze. he also knew that, with what he has encountered, with the dust and ghosts, that it is a tomb of sorts. For what, he was not sure. But the cries that came with the winds were real, he knew. He wished that there was some explanation as to what had happened here. Or rather, what was happening here, with him in the picture.

    he thought of the hole he had made and almost fell threw. The one with the heated winds that were foreign to this place, where stone was falling down into something that sounded to be endless. He was not sure where they had fallen, but he knew that the ground was gone. However... he never went by the hole afterwards. He did not know if he went by it or passed I completely. His hands never felt the any surface ground that was gone, when he went back to walking along the Halls. He wondered where it had led to though.. he also wondered if there were more platforms that were like that.

    Still, thoughts of triumph were thought in his head. he should have died many times, he thought. The storm had him. He was torn to pieces and it dragged him across the halls with ease. At least he was alive. He mended himself back to health (even when he somehow lost all that was broken), and escaped form the falling flooring. he wondered when he would find something in these halls that would kill him. Unlikely. Not once for the many days he walked, the many times he got himself lost and back tracked, did he ever encounter anything other the storms.


    A hand stepped on a wet surface. Instantly, the Beast moved back, in shock. Water? The Scholar moved to the liquid surface. His hands felt it come clean off of him, although he still felt substance that was there... he didn't feel anything else from it, but he knew that it was not water. Slowly, he came to the liquid and touched it again. Moving the liquid with his hands, realizing that it was pretty thick, yet it was not gooey. As he touched the liquid, he felt that it was creeping under the rest of his hands. He did not understand what it was. It wasn't doing anything... it was moving across the halls at some pace. A growing pace at that. He wondered where it came from...

    Memory seeped in. Memories of making the tablet replica dawned in his mind, and how climbing down the puddle of the black liquid grew in size, as it was suppose to. With a sudden thought that both gave him hope of escape, yet time of limitation, he saw it as the liquid was. The black liquid was growing. It would not be long until it filled all the flooring... it might even start to grow up, perhaps even flood the entire labyrinth! Instantly, his thought process rejected to that. There was a hole in the Dark Halls now, a deep hall from what he heard. It would take time before they were finally filled. Still, he felt that the liquid would be part of this place soon. Two thoughts came to mind:

    For one, the liquid was a sign that he was getting close to where he was... unless the wind had blown the black oil across the Halls of Words. Still, the liquid was an indication that he was in the same place before he was taken, and now he knew that he can escape with better certainty. The second, being that he will have no flooring to walk on anymore; the liquid would be streaming across the halls, and his ears would soon be occupied by rivers. He thought that perhaps he will have to walk on the walls. The thought seemed terrible, since he might have to cross the walls at times in order to make better time, and not go in circles. He thought of the pink crystal in his pocket... his treasure and security. If need be, he knew, he will use it to clear this place out. Take days, maybe, but he will not let it take the work he was holding... it would damage it.he thought about it in long term... he felt that, since the pink crystal seems to not hurt him, and the liquid will continue to grow continuously...

    Slowly, he moved his hand on the pouch. Loosening the String holding it closed, the pouch opened with the crystal inside. Pink light beamed from his bag, as he grabbed the crystal in his palms. Quickly, he began to put it in one of his hands. He felt the warmth from it once more, and he also felt energy to keep going. Holding it with one hand, he quickly began to walk forward, with it pointing at the liquid. As he heard his hands splash across it, he heard the sound of them dying, as the crystal killed it into specs of solid decay.

    The walk in the liquid was becoming annoying in his ears, with the liquid moving with every pace he made. The crystal had killed much of what was in front, but he felt the liquid creep behind him as he went. Most of his hands that were walking were ahead of the liquid, although his hind felt the liquid moving as parts of his palms were touching it. At least he did not hear it constantly, nor feel it. The pink crystal was still in front of him, with his other hand holding onto the wall, making sure to not get lost. At times, he would walk on his five as he held the crystal, and took a second to touch the wall, to make sure he did not stray away. He did not want to make the same mistakes as before. Can't stray from the path, he thought. Otherwise, he may get grabbed by a storm, or fall down a hole. So, he kept on checking the walls... not really reading them, nor paying much mind of it.

    He heard the liquid move like a creek; the water was streaming to where it has not already filled, and it was still growing in size across the labyrinth. Walking across the water, he heard his hands partially clap onto the liquid, with others walking onto the dead, hard liquids from under his feet, as well part of the floor. The crystal cleared it all out, while the rest sidetracked around and consumed behind him. With the thought of the pink crystal... he wondered why the liquid would have died and hardened by it. He guessed that they were possibly alive, or something that was designed to grow and expand on itself. He wondered if they were alive, and that was the reason why the crystal killed it. He thought so at first when he tested the crystal on it. The Dracon were known to create many things, and that included life. But... the crystal was not killing him at all. Rather, it was fueling him. He never wanted to stop moving at all. Yet, the liquid around him was disintegrating... was the crystal designed to be of decay of anything that grew? If that were the case, he thought, then was he still truly alive?... or was there something else he did not entirely understand.

    Kran'I thought about it well in his mind... Still, despite many of the contradictions that he felt between the crystal and its properties... he felt a greater bond with it. As if it were a part of him. He was not sure what bound had tied them. The crystal use to make his body break and bleed, and drained his motor skills whenever he used it. But, since the event with the ghosts... things changed. He was not sure what. He guessed that it was due to the dust in his system. He knew that they were still inside him, still in his blood stream and flesh. But he had crystal dust in his hands before. What was different about this time? He was taken away by the wind, the storm... it was the first time he was taken away. Did something happen while he was out?... he didn't know what to think of it.

    Remember; Find out outside. Find out with master, with teacher. Go study it in the restricted archives. Experiment, look, understand then. Not now. Need to get out. You live, live is good. Time to leave with what we hold. No more thoughts of it. It happened. No more. Don't question, just appreciate. Go, need to go.

    So he kept moving. Across the growing river of oil, he walked with his crystal at front. No more thoughts of it... just go. And he did. He kept walking for most of the time, hearing the liquid died as the crystal made it die. He heard the liquid surround him once more and move behind him, and heard his palms move and step on different things at once. Time went by, and the rhythm stayed the same. He did not pay much attention to anything. His mind was... blank. His ears were ringing with repetition, and with it a beat was born. Hearing the crunches of the dead, the surface of the stone, the liquid growth... the crystal and its emitting power, the death of the oils... in his head, he slowly started to hum. The sounds of his voice matched that of the world; His voice was childish and it sounded as if it was dying to others, but it was his voice nonetheless. The childish hums mixed with the decayed voice he had was all the more company in his mind. It sounded like music to him...

    He hummed with the makeshift rhythm, and the sounds around him matched and followed. They were chaotic at times, as his hands would switch from the dried oils, the solid stone, to the liquid splashes... but the rest was the same. He hummed in different ways, to match his steps, and he went with it. He walked and walked, ignoring everything else around him. He continued to move, and time flew by... he never felt out of breath, he breathed in and out as he went. His hands and arms never tired, and the bag, still present, was ignored but still present on his spines. He felt like he was outside again. There was... difference. He felt like he was moving in the wild, with his hands stepping on the grass, the dirt, that stone, the water. Sounds of movement around him was heard, and he joined in with the crowd. He felt nostalgia and fondness come back to him.

    Time passed... he kept walking, and he kept humming. He didn't know where he was going, but he was going somewhere. At times, he changed the ton; He started to use his hands to clap, while other times he would rub or slap the wall. He was enjoying himself. He caught himself laughing and joyed. It wasn't so bad... this wasn't so bad at all, eh thought in his mind. At least he was occupied and well. His ears were occupied with the many sounds that he was making, and at times the wind even joined. He felt the old and heat come across him, like the smooth breeze with the basking suns above. Of course they were both windy, and the suns were not so... but he felt his flesh keep warm, and felt the cold and heat bask his entire body. The liquid around him moved with the wind, trailing behind him... an idea popped in his mind: What happens if I follow the wind?

    The thought beamed close. This new opportunity was relevant, since the wind seemed to be coming form different sides at times. Now, it felt as though the winds were moving at certain directions. He thought about the cool and heated winds... he wondered if the heat was coming from the hole. If that were so... where was the cold winds coming from? There were no screams of the dead with the warmth... perhaps the cold air was coming from something else, from a different part of the Dark Halls... Yes, that would make travel a bit harder. He knew that the cold winds were not at the exit, as he felt them coming against him once he went in the labyrtinth... when he scaled down the slippery, steep stone staircase down, where most of it was already broken or close to being such.

    The climb down was terrible, he remembered. It was such a long way down, it was higher, or perhaps lower, than the walls ever reach from top to bottom. The walls were smooth and rounded, and the staircase down was... broken. The Feeble Beast remembered the many times he had to throw stones at things in order to know where they were, and jumped... it almost killed him more than once. At times, he almost fell backwards when he jumped a gap. Other times, the staircase portions fell under his feet, and he had to climb up what was broken. He wondered how he will climb up it... some of the jumps were long, and even then he was jumping down the stairs... climb down mostly, but jumping at times. He thought about what he held, and dreaded the idea of missing something completely and falling. He didn't know what it looked like, but he knew that the thing was unstable and broken. It didn't help how there was a giant hole in the center of the cylinder room, with piles of stones that were at the bottom... some of the debris was even covering the bottom of the stairs. He had a hard time finding his way to an opening after reaching the bottom.

    Still, he kept walking... he can a find a way out. It was not impossible to climb up... just a bit harder, perhaps. Still.. he kept walking with a song in his mind, and the halls echoed with everything that was made. He was enjoying himself. No worries as of yet... that can be planned and removed, once he gets there. For now, it was his walk. And his walk alone.

    The Rhythm from the beats had died. The winds still blew, the oil was still around him, and the crystal was still emitting. Yet, he made no sound other than with his hands. He did not get exhausted from the amount of noise he made, he just didn't feel like making any more. Yet he still walked. All of his hands that were not holding the crystal or the wall were still walking... and the liquid felt like it was rising a bit more than it was before. He brought the crystal closer to the ground, where the liquid was coming from... he still had speculation as of it would help or not. The liquid was known to follow behind, and he heard the black liquid splash and merge together, as if a boat was sailing in the waters. He wondered if he should go to the wall... he also wondered why the Dust has done nothing. He used a jar that once held such dust, and it made it never grow. He also put a holding pack loosely beside the pink crystal he had, so that again it never grew. He wondered why the Dusts have done nothing to submerge and subdue... of course, he also wondered where all of the dust had went.

    It all seemed odd to him... he hoped that the liquid would have to spread out before it began to rise up, but apparently his hopes were wrong. The liquid was not as runny as water, although it still was nonetheless. With the amount of space the liquid has taken, he guessed that at times when it could not push around, it went up. He wondered how high the liquid was from where he left it. Still, he needed to focus on something else... otherwise, he may stress himself too much before actually dealing with any rising problems. He needed to focus. So, he kept his hand on the wall this time, and he read in his mind what he saw:

    Tales of a Warlock, filled with the need to consume all that existed, was one of the few Dracon that remained. Many had died, or changed completely. Nonetheless, the Dracon were dying. And he, like others before him, wandered the world to take what he could.He wanted power. He needed power. Otherwise, he knew, he would die with the rest. So, as many before him, he traveled the world, trying to find something to preserve him. Something to keep a part of him alive, so that he many continue to grow in power. Otherwise it was meaningless and pointless.

    He remembered a story of a Titan in the Sands, a creature born of glass and lived in a forgotten city. Travelling Across the Harsh Deserts, he went in with his cloak and many belongings, holding onto his precious staff, a Standard Tool of Light for the Dracon, as he traveled. As beasts came, he struck them. As he did with the machines and Liches that came. It did not matter if they threatened him or not, he destroyed them and took what they held. Most he did not find anything, other than specs of crystals and tools for his own accord. Yet, he continued to travel, unsatisfied with what he found. He could not use what he found, nor did he want to. The Dracon was looking for something that would make him rule.

    Running across the Deserts, fighting the storms that had been brewed by the deceased ruler, the Warlock continued to look in ruins consumed by sand and creatures, looking for any information that he could find. For many days and the uncommon nights, he looked for answers, searching for a way to find the forgotten city. He searched and searched, until he finally found it from an old kingdom under the sand, riddled with roots and toxic life. Reading, he learned the path to the Forgotten City. Riddled with protection by the deceased king, no one was able to reach the city by sky or by surface. The path was only accessible underground. With many closed off, he found on way to reach it with the documents at hand.

    Traveling underground, he used his staff to destroy anything that came at him, while moving with intent and without pause. He did not sleep nor eat for days... the life around him would not allow it. The warlock stayed awake, and did not stop to eat anything. He was afraid of never waking up, as well as the life being too toxic to sustain. After a long travel underground, he came to the surface and arrived. He was scratched, bruised, tired, starving, and his blood was vile. He was near death and almost there. Yet, despite everything, the Warlock continued. He reached the forbidden city: The City of Glass.

    The brown glass was raised over the bricks of sand that was put together, rising high up in the air as towers. Nothing could be seen inside them with clarity, however the bones of before were riddled. The toxic life was also very much present. With all of his strength remaining, he continued on. Consuming all the life around him, he began to reach towards the King's Keep, with parts of is broken and decayed by the deceased himself. Going inside, he climbed up the stairs as the toxic life chased after him. His body grew weaker and weaker by the minute, and he soon was close to the fall.

    But he climbed up, nonetheless. There, he found what he was looking for. He found, sitting by the chair, the piece of the deceased king. However, strength was near gone, and life was nearly there. He realized that he will die, and his death would be the end of all the energy he had put himself through. Anger fueled him, and he was about to finally rest in defeat. However, he saw an opportunity. Before his final breaths had a chance to come, the Warlock used a process to keep himself from the failure. Reaching towards his staff, he had done something that would mean entrapment forever, but it also gave him a chance to begin once more...

    Kran'I felt the stone with his hands, but the literature began to change. The tablet ended once more. Many stories had endings, he thought. Now they have none. Still, the story seemed to be something that was oddly familiar. The deserts and glass city came to his mind when he read it, and it took his time to read into it... after passing the tablet and continuing on, he realized that the Glass City was home to a ruling deity of the Sands, Fr'Faan. The Titan of Glass. The tablet before said that he had resided inside a Forgotten Kingdom, and it was made out of glass too... was the Warlock searching to find the king's immortality in the Forgotten City? If so... was the Great Titan? He never heard of the Dracon finding ways to become such creatures before, and only read that Titans are an old creature of large scales and elements... maybe they were Dracon once as well.

    The thought of it... concerned him. If the Dracon had been known to change to beasts, to the undead, and to the Titans... did all of the Dracon decide to die off by not death, but more so change? The thought seemed a bit strange... thinking about it more, he did not know his own origins at all! Could he be a descendant of the dead gods? It seems that many tried to obtain power... he wondered if such power was the main reason everything is what it is now...

    He thought about the liquid that was around him, how it was endlessly growing. Soon, he felt in his mind, it will begin to take over this place if it was not taken care of... it was a recipe he made from the texts he had read from the Fortress. Following the formulas with constant growth with the plant life they had created, he changed it with the ink he had stored. He thought, with his genius, that it would make an endless, usable supply of ink. Sadly, it was more runny than ink, and the pages began to flood as the oils continued to grow. That, and the substance was known to leak threw fabrics more so that then ink. It was one of his experiments with the old texts. He kept the formula he had made, with the help of his friend, but he did not see it as usable. Still, his friend took the opportunity to use the oil formula, and found a solution to the problem...

    The Student carried his box with him across the narrow halls. The stone bricks underneath him were felt by his bare hands, as he walked steadily. Holding onto it with four of his hands, Kran'I had a box hidden under his robe. The Dark Wooded Box was fit to be thick and sturdy, with roots keeping the box locked and firm in place. Holes existed on the roots, with many seemingly looked burnt and decayed. Others had fungal growth starting to sprout on the roots. He held the heavy box tightly in his hands, as he began to walk towards his teacher... he needed him more than he ever did. Otherwise, it was all for naught.

    Finding the door to his teacher, he knocked on D'Ra's Door. He waited patient;y under his robes, and waited. Waiting patiently, he hoped that his teacher was in his room. He usually is in his private area when he was not teaching. Usually Kran'I did not disturb him. Usually waited for him to be out and about, or when he was being taught by his friend. Right now, he felt it was necessary to talk to him in private. Slowly, he heard foot steps come. Seeing the door having its handle grabbed and jerked, the door slightly opened, with no one there. After a while, a face popped out. Oblivious, Kran'I waited for a response. The teacher saw the Child and its robe on.

    "Kran'I, Child... why are thee here? Bah, No matter. Come, thou must have come for some reason." Said the old, calm voice he knew.

    Slowly, the door opened, and the scholar walked slowly pass the doorway, heading inside the private room. The room, he knew, was where his teacher did his own private studies, and it was his own bedroom as well. The Feeble Beast, only coming in here once before, walked steadily with one hand searching for where he remembered the chair. The teacher looked at him as he closed the door.

    "The seat is a little to the left where your hand is, Child."

    The beast turned his hand, and touched the surface of a chair. Slowly, he sat down on the seat, and put his free hand on the surface of a table. He found it too far away. He got off and tugged it closer as he could. It seemed that it was stuck to the floor, though. Not wanted to keep trying an ill attempt, he just went to the table and waited. He heard his teacher move closer to him, hearing his feet move as he did.

    "I trust thou has required my service?"

    Karn'I, following the voice with his ears, turned and said what he could as yes. His teacher understood what most of what Kran'I did with his voice. Although unable to speak Dracon, he was at least able to understand it well. It was harder for the teacher to know what some of his things he said was, but he established at least what 'yes' meant. Moving his Robe, he shifted out the Dark Wooden Box from under it. Curious, the teacher looked at the box. Kran'I lifted it to him, and cracked the roots. Slowly, a portion of the lid opened.

    A beaming light came out from the lid. White light. Slowly, the elder got closer to the box, and took it with his own hands. Kran'I heard him move it to the table, and set it down. He heard the old man sigh, with a raspy voice.

    "Kran'I, what thee holds is not to take lightly. Where has thou gotten such a... thing? Thou should not meddle what is too dangerous."

    Slowly, hearing the words, the Feeble Beast put a hand in his Robe Pocket, and took out a folded sheet. A Parchment with a Seal was there. His fingers felt the mark of the Fortress well on the folded parchment. Readily, he gave the parchment to the old undead, moving the envelop to him. He felt as something was tugging it from his own, and he let go. Listening, he heard the seal pop, and the paper open. He waited patiently. Although he did not see, the old man had faces of worry and a frown was produced. Even his boned jaw could not hide the expression he held.

    "Thou has need of a leave? The Master... thee know better than to let such a student go to their death. Thou know what I taught thee? The world is chaos. Thou know enough. Why now?"

    Kran'I made a gesture of a quill in his hand, writing on an imaginary piece of parchment. His teacher knew what he needed:

    "Behind thee, thine quill and bottle are there. Parchment too. Second Shelf."

    Turning around, the bat went to the shelf, with a hand waiting for something to grasp. It did. His hands moved to the first, and then second shelf. Moving, they found the bottle and quill by each other. His hand moved slowly to the parchment, but it began to spill some on the ground. His hands reacted, and they reached in the air to catch the falling ones. He felt his hands grab onto some, but felt one fall to the ground. Silently, he went and picked it with his hand that kept him standing, and brought the parchment to his other hand that was less bound. He put all but one back, going back and grabbing the oil and quill as well. Walking back, he remembered his steps and made it without reaching, putting them all down on the stone surface. Opening the bottle and dipping the quill, he began to write.

    After he was done with the quill, he moved the parchment and slid it closer to his teacher. The teacher replied that he had it, and he stepped back. D'Ra read it... he didn't know what he was doing, but he did not expect a hand touch his shoulder when it happened. His body tensed, but it then began to calm once again.

    "Kran'I, thou proves what he does not need to many times. Thou belongs here. Thou needs to stay. Thee work is valuable..."

    Instantly, the feeble beast took the parchment again, and wrote. A sound that sizzled left his mouth, as he began to write more on the parchment. He felt that he was filling the paper more than he should. He gave it back to his teacher...

    "I see. Thou seeks death? Death is what thine has for company until taken." His teacher sounded rasp and angry. Quickly, he stepped back, hearing his teacher move from his chair and shift vastly away. He heard the old man where the door should be. "Thou life is too great to lose, yet you willingly want to go and lose it? I thought thou wanted to create, not to sacrifice. I was wrong, thou has needs same as the rest. Very well... I shall help thee with thine quest for ascension. Do not take this lightly, misery will hold thee life till the end once it is done and given. And when the light finally collapses thou into darkness, remember thine teachings of morality... I do hope thine life will live prosperous to, then end."

    Slowly, the poor beast walked to the door, as he heard the old man open it for him with trouble. The hooded creature moved from his near dead friend, as he heard the door close behind him. He wished his teacher did not get sad about what he wanted... but at least he was helping him nonetheless. His mind was boggling with guilt; He felt as though he stabbed his closest friend, mentor, and really only parent he has in his love and respect. Still... he made his statement. Both of them did. He needed to leave, he needed to get what he required. At least D'Ra had accepted helping him. For what he needed help in, he was the only few who knew how to do it. The teachings were older than his mentor, and have not been taught to most students. The only thing he hoped to bring with this, is solution for his progress. He needed to go...

    At least he did not ask from where the box came from.

    The Beast felt the liquid around him get higher than it was... it was almost up to his wrists. It wasn't good. The waters would reach his small body if he did not hurry and find an exit. Slowly, he had tried to move up the moving liquid... but it began to grow faster and faster in speed. His arms felt the weight of it all pushing against his small limbs. The weight of the bag was not helping at all, and he could not put it down. Otherwise, it would have all been soaked and the entire journey would become pointless. He needed to bring the tablet back without it becoming destroyed. The Oil was not helping... He had to move as quick as he can.

    Moving against the current, he felt it begin to increase in its speeds... he found it odd how such a liquid would want to fall with such a pace. He had a hard time moving threw it all... he wished that he could go faster. Wish he did not had to deal with this. At first he loved having the liquid as his company, but not he regretted not cleaning it up. He did not expect to be going threw it all... but that turned around on him. At least the Tarp was covered in the bag well... meant to make sure water did not destory it. However, the oil would seep threw it all regardless, he remembered. He was afraid that it was already too late, and it had seeped threw the bag and into everything. He remembered how he Kran'I cleaned himself after the liquid began to cover his skin... he knew that it was going to happen again, with his hands being covered by it now... while people would see his grey flesh, the black hands would make him seen as multicoloured. Still, at least he learned how to clean it off. He was sure that it would all deplete off his hands once he used the crystal... the black oils died off and crippled from the tarp when he used it to put the symbols and words on the stitched tarp. He did it also to clean his hands, although it was indeed painful and his hands were sore for weeks with cuts and holes...

    He had always had a liking to the crystal. It was always powerful, yes, but once he had it and it was his, he did keep it very well protected. Not many were known to have sources of light anymore, and he was special to get something that was... different. From his teachings, although it was mostly irrelevant to him, every crystal shines differently from what it is designed for. Many chose ones that would emit power that ran the gears and machines, or was a heat source and a bright light. Many were known to create life. Ironically, as the weaver and literature writer he was, he chose to have his to be that of Death. Usually those that chose this colour would rarely used by many Light Users, other than to kill and decay. He didn't feel death or decay form it, when he held it in has palms. It was still the hardest thing he had ever held, but it was indeed still warm and gentle to him. He felt alive with it... he never felt drain anymore. He blamed the dust that was inside him, but he never expected to hold it as long as he did. He knew that many walls ago he should have been dust like the liquid. Yet, he was still here.

    He wondered what he can do with the crystal he held. It contradicted with everything he was taught about the crystal. Now, he wondered if he could use it for something more... he knew that it degraded everything else, because he felt and heard the liquid decay... he wondered if anyone else discovered or became like him. It didn't really matter much if he drowned or died, though. So, he continued walking. He tried to stand up and walk at one point, but his arms were not strong for that. So, he crawled on his hands, with one on the wall, and the other holding the crystal. Slowly, though, he realized that he can't go like this either, unless he wanted to risk getting pushed back. So, he started to crawl on the walls, using the scars and cracks to climb. He felt the writings and symbols as he dug his fingers in them, and when he went far enough up he put the crystal back inside its pouch, using two of his hands to do so while four of them held onto the wall. Once it was put back, he started to keep walking.

    He did so for a long time, as he heard the liquid move by him. He was moving a bit faster than before, but he felt like he could move faster on the ground. He kept walking and walking, and the water he heard was beginning to hit the wall with a greater force.

    Current. Current is coming from the direction. Left. It hits the wall, so there is opening there. Can not go there though... too risky. Trip and fall, work turns to nothing. Keep going where I am, be longer time perhaps. Wish direction was clear. Have to ignore it... keep going, other opening probably, if not dead end. If dead end, then can go back. Go back and against current.

    He sighed. He continued moving... time went by, and he kept moving on the walls. He didn't bother reading what was written, although he recognized what was said with ease. He just wanted to get by as quick as possible. At the pace he was at, it would take longer to read everything that was indeed written. So, he continued. The only thing he heard was some of the winds and waters running... which were becoming quiet as he continued going. At least his hands were not being pushed anymore... although he felt his hands were stale. At least they were not dripping any of the oils... that would have been strange and dangerous...

    His ears shot up when a sound was heard, though. His head jerked. What that sound? he thought. He stopped in his tracks on the wall, and listened... at first he heard nothing. Then it came back again. He heard it to his left... behind him a bit too. Slowly, he turned around and moved his head, pointing his two ear holes from his right side to listen. It grew more. He could here it. Something was moving in the waters? He listened carefully, and his body froze on the walls, with his hands holding onto the stone greater. Something is coming! What be, something is here! Not empty, not empty, not empty. Ghosts, too many. Here to catch. Wandering halls, dead men. Get out... move, go! He didn't.

    The movement began to get closer... closer, closer. The sound of slow walking in the water could be heard coming closer. He listened... he felt the sound not turning away. it was coming straight at him! He didn't know what it was, but he was not moving... but he heard it. Straight at him. He did not hear it turn around, not hear it pass by... it was moving closer to him... Ghosts, Ghosts, Ghosts... Run, run! Go! He still didn't. he stayed in place and was frozen solid. Slowly, he heard the wind becoming colder around him... his spines felt cold. Really cold. It felt like the gust storms again. He heard something else, though... he didn't understand what it was. There was... whispering. Lots of them. They were crying, tearing, mourning... Ghosts, Ghosts! Run, fool! No stay, or die. No stay, or die. Turn around and run! As the voices began to get louder, and the steps began to get closer... he turned around. His heart was pounding madly, he raced on the stones and ran.

    Wind is solid. Ghosts are solid. They are here. The dusts no disappear. They come back as that. They come, they come. Run, Run... Fear sweeped over him, and his entire body was pulsing. After running on the walls a short distance, he heard the walking in the water disappear completely... he did not stop hearing the whispers though. He realized that it was no longer walking in the liquid anymore. In fact, he didn't even hear it move! Run, Run, Run... He wanted to run, he moved and he moved, yet he felt as if he was getting his entire run to be pointless; He felt the winds become stronger behind him. He ran... he didn't know how far he could run... he didn't think he was beating him at all.

    Run in the waters, let current help you. Run in oils, let it help push you. Don't fall, let it help. Go faster, run faster. Walls bad, need to escape. Can do it, can live. Go!

    He didn't want do die... he didn't want it to catch him. He began to run down the walls to the liquid. he heard the water run the direction he was heading, but he heard the voices even more. Terrified, he jumped into the water and ran. He almost tripped many times, but the adrenaline made him run of all six of his hands without falling, allowing the water to help push him forward, as if running down a hill. As he heard the voices become to distance a little, it did not stop him. Joy filled his terrified heart a little, but all he wanted to do was run as fast s he can. He needed to go, he needed to escape. Go, go, go!

    Chosen Undead
    Chosen Undead

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:10 am

    Venture of Shade, Section 5:
    "Young One? Does thou have it?"

    The hooded beast shook his head to the new friend. The soft, gentle voice put its hand on his shoulder. "Good. That should help thee on your journey..."

    He began to move silently, moving its hand to the beasts. Slowly, it held tightly as the beast was drawn. Never hearing the footsteps of the stranger, the beast was drawn threw the halls. At first, he remembered these halls, seeing as how he was coming from the entrance to the courtyard. As he continued along in the fortress, he felt as though he was going to the restricted archives. They could not go inside without supervision, as the entrance to it was locked. He felt them stop right in front of the door, as he remembered going in and out of the place constantly. He did not think that they would enter, until he heard the lock being turned, and the door began to open. Without asking or being worried, the beast followed the soft handed being threw the door by the hand, briefly stopping as the person shut the door and locked it again. The continued to walk threw the place, until he felt that they were going down stairs... stairs? There were stairs in the archives?

    He followed, as the child was drawn down the many stone steps, feeling webs and dust touching his hands as he walked. Worried, he began to moan... sounding like a a cat and a dolphin at low pitch.

    "Do not worry, young one. Thou shall be safe. Trust me on that."

    The beast scurried closer as to not trip by being dragged. Soon enough, they reached the bottom of the staircase, and he was lead once more down the halls... he felt cool winds from the outside here, and heard things that were too small scurry on the ground. he must be somewhere that most do not go, he thought to himself. After making a few turns, they stopped. Time passed shortly, as Kran'I heard stone shift. Then, something was lifting up, like the stone door to the courtyard. When it was almost up, the stranger tugged his hand, and they continued on. Once inside, his friend stopped.

    "Sit on the roots, child. I would like to show thee enlightenment on where thou shall go."

    As he was told, the feeble bat sat on the roots, and put his hands on what he felt to be the common stone table. He waited, and immediatly after getting adjusted felt something being put down on the table. It sounded like leather.

    "Go to the thirtieth page... read from there."

    The Beast did what he was told. He opened the book, and turned the parchment to page thirty... using his fingers to count the number of pages. Reaching the page, he made the book go flat, and started reading. As he read the book with his hands, the stranger spoke beside him:

    "The book contains details of what was lost long ago... a priestess once made a vial that allowed a creature to turn crystal. When in crystallization, thine would forever emit themself as a representative entity, selected from the crystals that are within a being and held when they become crystallized. The priestess was successful in this process, however when thee became such an entity, thou was later killed by the king, that sook only for thine power. The Dracon that followed the Priestess fought the King's Minions of Machines, while they destroyed all that was detailed. Thus, the way the priestess made it was lost.

    "The details were not removed, however... as with all legend and myth, creation and destruction were detailed by the Seers: Dracon who had made themself linked to all that were outside, reading and writing every detail of events. They owned a Tomb, known as the Dark Halls of Words. It was a grave of what now rested, and that was the Dracon that forever disappeared. The place is known to be filled with ghosts of the unsettled... carved into the walls they were left on.

    "But they wrote what they saw. Every detail, every story, every even... written on the walls. They wrote it by time an condition, with pillars and walls filled with detail... its halls are massive, and require flight or climb to read it all... which thou are an expert in, no?"

    The creature wheezed in approval, and shook his head. The friend put its hand on his shoulder once more:

    "The Tombs are dangerous, Kran'I... none ever make it out, as the ghosts take them when they get lost. They are dangerous and angry. Thou has not done them no harm, but they seek blood nonetheless. Child... thou must realize that the journey there will be ease. The journey back will be harder. Much harder. The creatures in the Tomb will not let thee leave without approval. They shall see no approval.

    Thou must be strong for thine own life. You need to replicate what was written about the event... about the priestess and her crystal vials... thou must take it and bring it back. Then, thine purpose is complete, and wish of the heart may be granted. Does thou still see the challenge well? Death is indeed probable..."

    The Feeble Bat already had thought about it. He needed to do it for what he desired. Once obtained, he will be able to do what he could to finally have what he wanted. Once he did... he would be content. He could live here and never leave as long as he cared to. He just wanted what he desired. The beast stopped reading the writing, which filled his head about the place of journey. He closed the book, and pushed it aside. Slowly, he turned his head, and once again accepted.

    Kran'I was at his room, sitting on his bed with no contempt but his last invention here. It was all that he could really do now... he was already set, his pack was set, his tools were made... the vial and crystal were put away, the herbs, dried fruits and meats were stuffed inside... the leather and such were all set and ready, all inside his pack. Even his walking staff, crafted by one of the students in the school, was there beside the bag. He was all set and ready to go... it didn't take long for others in the school to find out that he was departing. Of course, he also made assurance that he would come back when he can. Some were reluctant to believe that, although they did not know where he was really going. That was between him and another.

    On the root bed with his tools of weaving. Using a sharp knife, thread, a needle and a small strap of silk, he began to intertwine the flowers that he had; The outer layer had the flowers were still fresh and smooth, as his hands felt the pebbles and roots... he made sure that they were all even and ordered, and the stems were intertwined and then tied. He had the broken flowers that he made with the crystal on the stone top beside him, along with some more threads and a long line of linen. He wanted to make something that was different. He always loved the courtyard outside, feeling the ground about him when he walked. He remembered accidentally walking into the flowers the second time he was out, in which two students laughed, and the Gravekeeper was apparently furious with the blind bat. Still, he loved the feeling of them along with the snow. It was weird to find them both together, but the large pebbles were soft and nice. He can see why the Gravekeeper was angry about walking into them. He didn't think he broke any though... until a moment ago. Still, he didn't want to destroy them per say. Rather, he wanted to make something he never made before.

    He began to string the roots and stems of the flowers to make the halo solid, to make it stay fit and strong... however, interruption came with a knock on the door. Wondering who it was, he began to bring what he made and his tools towards the stone top near him, and put it down. He put a cloth over it to hide what he was making, as he threw a robe on and went to the door. As he opened it, he did not expect what he found behind it... well, never knew what it was, until it came with its voice:

    "Thou has robes that make thee darkening. Ironic, since most would say thou is on an enlightening trail of it."

    The voice was unfamiliar to the feeble beast... he didn't know who this person was; The voice of the person seemed to very old, and sounded raspy as the Gravekeeper... although a bit more calmer and less aggressive. Not knowing how to respond or even interact with the person, he made a sound of confusion... exhaling toxic noises while shimmering with his teeth and tongue... the stranger in front of him did nothing for a while, as the two stood their in silence. He was about to close the door on him, when he felt a hand go onto the door.

    "Thou possess something that is a bit too bright for thine trail to enlightenment, little beast; seen thee have a box that glows a bit too bright for thine taste and style..."

    Slowly, he felt the door being opened forcefully. He moved all of his hands and body into keeping the door closed. The being in front of him wanted his box! He couldn't let him have it. He would hurt himself... and more importantly it was his. If the crystal was taken, the school would be in more danger that it already was; if he tried to hold it, he would hurt if not destroy himself, in which the Gravekeeper would kill him. To him, he had to close it. He needed to keep it closed. If he tried to take it, it would be the end of him for sure. Still, he felt that what he held back was stronger than him... he especially felt it when the door swung open. Immediately, he felt something hard hit him in the head, in which case he fell down. He felt a foot step on his chest, as he wheezed in pain. His head felt like he ran into a wall too hard... which he had done from time to time.

    He heard the Lich behind him rummaging threw his room. He was looking threw his storage compartments, and was also looking under his bed... he didn't say that the crystal was in the bag pouch already, and he guessed that he was looking for a place where a larger compartment for a box would be. He heard things being thrown onto the stone floor, as he moved his hands on the ground. He needed to get up, before he got to it... he had an idea to delay the time.

    Instantly, he started to move towards underneath his bed, and reached his hand towards it. He moaned in pain a little in disguise, however he felt another foot hit his arm, and then hit his head. He almost fell unconscious from the blows. His head felt mushed. He heard the person rummaging underneath his bed now, though... he was happy that he was looking there instead. He would find it there. Instantly, he heard the person start to cheer in glee, as he found what he was looking for:

    "Thou Box has now been repossessed, beast. Among the many things thou has, thee shall not have what is mine. Enjoy thine trip."

    He felt spite filling in his head, when he felt another kick on his head. He passed out from it, and fell into the dark...

    He felt them fall, as he put his hands inside them. They felt different than snow, but before they were much more painful... they both burned though, although now it seemed to be a different stimulation. Reaching inside, he felt them land into his palm, and fill up. They landed lightly on his palm, although they were still felt like ice... large chunks of ice shrunk, anyways. Still, he felt them pile up. As he felt them pile up enough, he slowly closed his hands, and felt the pebbles stay firm inside. He didn't want them to blow away, although the wind was kind enough to only do it once before.

    Slowly, after he felt that all his hands but one were full, he began to reach towards his pouch where he stored his crystal all the time. Slowly, he began to open the string, and put one hand inside. He felt the pebbles of pink fall inside, and heard them reach the bottom of the hard fabric pouch. He was happy that they did not tear, as he felt like they tore at him many times before... although that was a different time, and the last time was because of the hard winds. Still, he was happy that he was doing this. When he could, he would fix his attire to always keep the pink on him.

    Yes, Yes. Put them in slots of roots, in storage of vials. Keep the twinkle, keep them on. From each finger, hand, and palm. To the head and neck, to the chest and back. Riddle in energy, all times. No more tiredness. Just more work, more time.

    He felt all the dust begin to been clean from his hand. Once he felt it all gone and out, he lifted his hand and brought another closed hand inside. Slowly, he began to fill it more up to. After that, he did it a third time. The third time after, he checked with his hands to see if he had enough room for the crystal when he could not hold it. It felt like it was enough. With delight, he began to fill it more with two handfuls. Slowly, he closed the bag, and picked up the crystal from the floor again. Feeling as though it was enough, he held the crystal by one hand and lifted the bag with his others, wrapping and strapping onto his back. As he began to walk more, he felt the energy to walk once more, and so he did. He was so happy with his collection, he wondered what it would be like if he wore them on him.

    Be all over robe I shall make. All inside for me and only me to feel. Inside hand wraps too, neck and hood. All inside me. Make crystal into staff, keep it hand to use for things no need to hold. Maybe make amulets and rings with pink light too. Someone help see what I make, make sure everything is clear to see. Own light, own treasure. No one take, everyone see. Touch and wear, and they hurt. No take or get hurt. Possessions mine, just mine.

    He laughed. His voice cheered with the sickening sounds one more. He was going to enjoy himself, the Feeble Beast. he wondered what the long term effects would be like. Probably be good, he suspected; His teacher would enlighten him for sure. If not, then he could find some other use for them. They hurt a lot when it hit someone. Perhaps he can use it to hunt down the birds that kept pecking at him we he jumped for more food and feathers off the cliff; He had help with the meat from the chef that was there, despite his lack of it due to being undead. Still, he had his food always prepared for him, as the chef was delighted to... the feathers were all used for his weaving and quills. Apparently, the feather hairs were useful for making into clothes and other things of his liking...

    he hadn't reached a wall yet, but he had a feeling that he would find that or a pillar soon enough. Slowly, he kept walking with face pace. Not because he was in a hurry of any sorts, but because he felt like he needed to move faster. So he did. He kept going and going, moving his two walking hands as he went forward. Hopefully, there will be some wall that he can use for direction. For now, just keep walking forward. He had been for a while, and he was sure that if he wanted to he could find a wall beside him. Take a while to find still, since the halls took a long time to reach from one side to another in the corridors. Still, he knew that he was in one... or at least he thought he would be, since he never remembered going into anywhere that was extremely wide open... except for the pillar sections, of course.

    So he kept walking... he would find it eventually. Just like he had found this place before... and how he had traveled before... and how he had done so everywhere else he was at. He was good at traveling, he though. He was blind, and he knew he would have a bad sense in finding it without the help of the texts before. Still, he remembered how to get back as well. There, he will find his friend, and they would go home. That was the plan, he knew. That was always the plan. He just hoped that the stranger did not change their mind.

    He felt himself walking limply out the door, as he had a parchment in one hand, and a quiil/ink bottle in another. He had been resting on the floor for hours, and he tasted his own blood from the blows he had received. Slowly, he walked threw the halls, waiting for someone to respond. He didn't find anyone; he had been walking for a while now. Still, he needed someones help. Someone he could trust, at least...

    His ears were a bit of a ring, and he could barely hear himself breath and cough at times. Still, he could still hear, although he didn't know if he was hurt or not. Still, he needed to find someone, otherwise they might come back again for it...

    He heard something. It sounded loud, but his ears were still ringing, and he could not tell what it was. He turned to listen to whatever the voice came from; the voice sounded raspy. Slowly, he began to find himself walk back, as he heard the voice coming closer. He was too late. He was coming back to get what he found absent. He was going to kill him! He found his limbs shifting back and away from the voice, but he heard steps coming closer to him. His hands tripped, and he felt himself falling onto the floor; this was the end...

    A hand caught him in mid-flight. His back felt like it was being held from the ground. Confusion came over him, and he felt a hand lightly slap the cheek of the beast. Slowly, his ears were beginning to collect themselves, as he heard the voice come clearer than before.

    "Aye, Aye... Ya there, boy? Ya with thee?"

    Slowly, he could hear a familiar voice... the Gravekeeper. He is usually out in the courtyard or underground... he must have saw the trail from there. He tried to look for help. There was no responses from anyone, though. He moved his limbs, trying to get up.

    "Easy, easy... ya got hit pretty hard there. Ya need ta relax. Come on, to ya teacher. Thine would help with this."

    Slowly, he felt like he was being picked up from the ground, as he felt the stuff fall from his hands. With a gruff, he heard the bottle of ink move on the marble floor, and then lifted higher in the air. He felt the movement of the bigger, cloaked man. His arms felt three times thicker than his for sure. He just laid limb... he felt tired and broken. It didn't last long, as he heard a wooden door open.

    "D'Ra? D'Ra, ya need ta help. Ya beast got a beatin'"

    "What?" The Old Creature said, as the poor beast was lower onto the soft roots of the old man. "What happened? Does thou know?"

    "Nay. But, saw someone come out with box that I dread to see; the box that beast had. Knocked em out and saw it was empty."

    "Is this true? Kran'I, did they take the crystal?"

    Kran'I wheezed painfully in a reply. The old man sighed. "Go keep the Child's door shut and locked. Make sure none enter without thine say. Understood?"

    After a short pause, the beast heard the footsteps of the Gravekeeper walk away on the stone floor. Kran'I moaned in pain; he felt his head was cracked or something. "Thou are good. Rest, rest... sleep easy. Will be better in no time." Slowly, he felt the world fall limb on him, as he felt less and less energy in moving. He felt a hand feeling his body, as well as smooth fabric resting on his forehead... that was all he remembered, though. It was a while, until he finally woke up... but insurance that he would be okay, as well as the crystal, made him at ease.

    The Creature sewed as he went. The string going threw then small roots and stems, tying them together and twisting them to stay closed and tight. The stems were known to have split, and some were known to have holes and cracks. The needle took advantage of them, and used threads and strings to go threw them. Sometimes, he made the roots of other plants wrap around the stems of another. Still, the stems and roots were not as important as the pebbles... broken and torn as they were, they felt like they were burst and split... the scent and feel of them were different than the others now. Less strong, but it also had its smell to expand outwards, more than the others... he felt like he was almost done...

    His bandage head covered what was left of the damage. His ribs were fine, but his head took a heavy beating. Herbs and Medicine were given to him, in order to get better. The Gravekeeper was on duty to keep a close eye on it; a student of his own was guarding the door. The Gravekeeper had duties to attend to, but the student of his was his own. Kran'I didn't know who he was, but he was always in front of his door, to make sure that nothing happened to it. He didn't even know what happened to the other one... but he knew that the people within the fortress dealt with him severely. They were never kind when it comes to those that tried to hurt one another in their own home. Still, he wondered what caused the undead to seek for his crystal... he probably did not know what it was anyways. Otherwise, he might have left it alone or thrown it away somewhere... or die trying to use it.

    Still, it was over now... he was safe until he left, and even then he was going to be escorted down the mountain, since he remembered it being a very long climb to begin with... He tried to remember everything that he read the day he went down with the soft skinned stranger... he still didn't know what the name of the stranger was. Still, he felt that he could trust what he was told from the silent one. It felt strange how he could never here the footsteps of the feet, though. This task was going to be a dark one... at least he didn't have to see like the rest.

    Slowly, he felt the second, smaller halo become complete; the roots and stems were all tied, and the flowers were all evenly placed and set. His hands kept at it. He didn't know how long he was gone for, but at least he still maintained his skills, and did not lose anything in his brain that was worth it... well, he didn't know exactly if he lost anything or not. There were still plenty of bombs and bruises on his skull, and he was moving about a few nights ago. He has been in his room, continuing his work. He was happy that the stranger did not do anything but remove the fabric covering it... although he realized that the dried fruits were new partially destroyed from the rummaging. At least the rest for fine and well.

    Finishing up the touch, he grabbed the first halo with one of his hands, and put the second inside the first. When he felt it snug and tight, he grabbed his thread and began to work what he can; he moved the strings threw the cracks of the roots, up and around, down and under the stems... he went across the entire thing, making sure that it was all tied. He started to feel the two halo merge together and become closer than before, as the circle in the inside was growing and the outer rim was shrinking. He felt like he was almost done...

    "What are thou threading, Child?"

    The sound was not expected, and Kran'i felt his neck jerk towards where he heard it. If it wasn't for the voice, he might have grabbed the spear that was given to him and tried to lung at him. Still, he was still his friend nonetheless. D'Ra entered the room, with the door closing. He didn't remember hearing it open at all. He felt his hands lift a little to show his handiwork, but immediately go back towards his lower arms rest, working on the last rotation around the halo with the needle and thread.

    "Is thine crown of flowers almost done? Never knew thee had a skill of a herbalist. Might be thou can become a blacksmith, and thread with thine forge of fabrics."

    He ignored him, and the feeble beast felt the halo tighten enough round; the ripped flowers were in the empty spaces where the normal flowers were. There were cracks still, but he felt with his hands the outer rim holding the normal flowers popping out, with the top having the split pebbles that were reaching halfway to the normal ones. The halo was almost complete, the scholar just needed to work more on it with the linen line...

    "Thou has been delayed to leave, with the casualty of greed. Thine skills seems to have not deterred from the damage received. Life of thee is always good to see in health..."

    Kran'I was wraping the long linen line around the remaining cracks that the flowers did not cover. Going under them, he wrapped around the roots and stems, leaving the flowers behind. Most of the pebbles and the flower covered over the linen line, but now the black inked linen was wrapping around; the black reflected along with the purple and blue flowers, while the split ones were showing off the green. The white and green on the split, broken flowers were very much showing on the pebbles. The roots of green turned brown, along with the white roots and now the black linen, made the flowers pop out more so. He didn't see what it looked like, but he liked to think that the linen that he always soaked in ink, as with everything else, was going well with the dark roots that are said to exist for the plants. He didn't know about the new colour of the broken flowers, though. It felt different in his hands to be sure; lighter and softer. Even if he did almost kill them with the crystal... He felt the linen wrap around the crown all the way, in which case he did it a second time on the rest of the cracks missing. After he went around in a second circle, he got the knife and cut it. Grabbing the needle and thread, he sown the linen onto itself at where it was cut on both its sides, tying it together in a tight grip around the now made halo.

    "Kran'I? Why thou make a crown now?... does thou see some strength in it?"

    The student looked up towards his teacher. The elder saw the bruises on the skull of the beast, seeing the specs of dried blood and the large wrap around his head, covering the rest. The tan wraps were already having splats in them again. He needed a change of them once more. Still, he was not satisfied with the answer that Kran'I gave him...

    "Does thou make a crown not for thyself? Then it must be for something or someone that thee never introduced. Is it so?"

    He gave the same answer.

    "Hm... thou are a strange one. However, thou are also a bright one... must be thee works are made for something, as with everything thou has done. Hope for thine journey being secure and whole is what is there; Thou are a good student that deserves more here. Preference for thou to return is certain."

    The armed beast moved from the rest of his bed, and went towards the box that he had of all of his collections. Only his book remained inside, as well as some ink, black quills, and some folded and waxed parchments. Slowly, he rested the crown inside the box, and sealed it away. It would dry inside, but nothing would eat it here. He would put it somewhere safe soon, with the help of someone here.

    "thou is not communicative... does thine health good?"

    Response came, and the voice changed. "Hm. Thou seems to be straightforward and dark of information. Motivations of thine is not settled nor known. Wish to know what goes threw the mind of thee, but forcing thou to speak it is unsettling..." Kran'I felt a hand touch his shoulder, as he lifted the box and put it onto the root bed. "Come back when thou are done your journey. The teachings of the world are not yet done... there is much to learn, from what thou have not already done."

    With that, he heard the old man's steps move away, with his hand leaving his shoulder. hearing the door close behind him, the Feeble Beast took the knife, and began to start working on his last works here...

    The Dark Halls of Words; Home of forgotten words and ghosts of agony. He was happy that he was intent in leaving. He had been walking for whatever length he was walking, and he was still intent on walking more. The more he went, he knew, the better chance he would of leaving. He had already passed enough chandeliers to know that he had walked a very long walk... but he still did not find a wall. So, with all he could, he kept walking. He never stopped.

    The crystal was by his side. The impulse of it was becoming dull, but maybe it was because he had it so long that it was natural to him. Still, the energy did not diminish from his touch. He didn't want to let go. It felt good in his hands... maybe he can find a way out with it. He heard of crystals usually being used for powers of light... he wondered what kind it would be to use the pink crystal. He read the texts of it, but usually energy would have the same cause as it would with it not being used; deconstruct and destroy anything that comes near it. It was once told that no light could defy it, as it absorbed and destroyed it... the pink's light was an aura that would never change, as no light could defy it. If that were true... he wondered if there could be any light source other than the crystals and dust in the halls. They were told to be endlessly dark, with no light other than what can emit and absorb would take the dark away with light. Still... he wondered if he did choose a crystal to emit a light like the said stars, then would it still emit. He would never know, even if he did use it.

    He kept walking and walking... he expected to find something at least... this place seemed to be empty. He wondered if he went to his side, he would find something... so he did. Immediately, he began to his right... then he felt cold. The wind was beginning to move more around him. He felt the urge to cover himself or run. His body was entirely warm, and the cold did not help him with this... then his ears were starting to ring.

    He felt them ache and become sore. He could feel them ring with the loudest tension, and he felt his hands reach towards his head. Covering them, he felt his entire head was about to explode. He didn't know what it was that gave him so much pain all of the sudden, but his body could feel the wind growing stronger and faster towards him. He wished that he could do something, but his head was aching in pain... it was scratching in his skull, wanting to claw its way out and break. he hated the feeling... He hated it more that the wind was growing and growing, and his entire body felt like it was about to freeze. His crystal was barely being held by his remaining hand.

    Slowly, he began to hear something from the back of his head... something he was scared of. Someone was talking to him. Or at least, somethings were talking to him. He could hear them! The ringing was beginning to grow stronger, and the voices continued to get louder and louder... he could barely hear them, but now he was starting to understand. His brain felt like he was going to explode soon...

    Stay too long in dark, see...

    ...Take away, come to me

    ...No need, no need. Run as you can.

    ...No, fight and fight. Fight till blood remains.

    Seek logic in what thou do. Thine life is prec-

    Run, Fool! Hahaha! Run, or ya melt with us!

    ...Fight us... fight us...

    Climb the walls, no look back! Climb the walls, break ya ba-

    Stand up and fight, feeble beas-

    Thou must find sanctuary in one's mind...

    ...Run! Run! Run!

    ...No need to fight... give in to dark.

    ...Thou must seek refuge. Thou must survive.

    Continue ya walking, fool! Thine journey will be faulty!

    Take up thine arms, and break i-

    Stand... Stand...

    His head felt like bursting. The voices were beginning to get louder and louder. He could barely make sense of them. They were incoherent, they were scattered and rambled. Each one wanted to say something else form him, while another asked to do another. Slowly, he felt the wind pushing at him from his side... so he did what he could do.

    Feeling his arm that was holding the crystal lift, his other hands grabbed onto it and pointed at its direction. He didn't know what he was doing, but he remembered that the crystals consumed anything that touched it. So, he pointed at its direction. He couldn't stand or function right with his head having so many things in mind...

    Hah, noble beast! Stick it at-

    Thou must understand the problems of thine action...

    ...Fool! Fool! Put it away, put it away!

    ...Must stand. Stand and run. Run away, fast!

    ... a creature of dark can not be taken by a leech of li-

    Stab it! Stab it with the hard rock. Make the creature feel the piercing of...

    ...Climb the walls! Break ya spine! Better off that being taken away, foo-

    Thou must hold onto thyself. It is the only way...

    ...Fight it, thine cowardly weaklin'. Thou can find some cour-

    Life is precious... keep it strong, and safe...

    Kill it! Kill him! Kill them all! Take it in! It is ours!

    He felt the wind pushing at him. Holding onto the crystal, he lifted his bottom legs from the ground. His head was not functioning anymore. He couldn't even think, it was too clustered and scratched... he felt his hands moving against the wind. The crystal was pointing forward. The voices in his head told encouraged him, yet gave him discouragement as well... all the voices were scrambled and his mind was not at ease... slowly, he began to stick the pink crystal forward. He heard it emit stronger, and faster... he felt the pebbles of dust hit his flesh, making deep scars and scratches on them. He was getting torn.

    Soon, as he kept going, he heard something familiar and grim come over his ears. Nullifying the scratches and the many voices talking to him, he heard the screams of agony begin to arise around him. As he blindly moved forward, he felt his limbs begin to get scratched and torn. He didn't know what would happen, as he felt his body begin to heat up. Soon, it felt as if the cold was beginning to freeze all around him... the screams increased, and the wind felt like it was being... pushed back. He kept going nonetheless. If he was already close to it. He might as well see if one of them will finally break...

    He felt the crystal begin to pulse around him... even stronger than before. He felt warm all around, as the cold winds were trying to push at him. However, he never felt it. he never felt any wind his him, although he heard it in front of him... and surrounding him too. He didn't know what he was doing, but he kept going nonetheless. He heard the pink crystal, big as it was, pulsing threw his hands harder than it did before... he even felt it digging into him, which was a first since he could hold it without starting to break down... his hands were holding onto it harder than he ever did though, and the very hard glass was cutting threw his hands. He didn't know what he was doing, but he kept at the ghosts screams...

    The ghost could be heard... it seemed to still shrieking with the many voices at him. His mind felt better than he was; he felt the energy of the crystal beginning to fuel him after the amount he dealt with from the ghost's arrival. He was happy he could think clearly, and he felt himself coming back the more he went forward. he felt stronger for some reason... he couldn't feel the pulse of the crystal before, but he felt better than he was before. He felt like he could take whatever was coming after him. He felt his hands bleeding... he remembered his hands getting better before hand. He wondered why he wasn't now... then again, he guessed the energy was going towards whatever was stopping the screams of the ghost, as well as the wind storm, from reaching him all the way. He heard the screams, but they were easily dealt with and somewhat nullified from the warm winds that were blowing at whatever was in front of him now... even the dust seemed to be missing...

    He felt himself get closer, as they competed towards some sort of center point. He didn't know what he was doing exactly, but he felt like the crystal was doing its own thing... he didn't understand what he was even doing. At least he found a way to fight the ghost, somehow... but he didn't hear any relent from the ghost. Of course, it always sounded like it was screaming in pain and suffering... it didn't really tell him if he was doing anything really. But the force around him, he could feel it surround him. He felt his own, or at least the crystal, aiming towards the ghosts. The warm wind around him was the same feeling as he felt inside him. He didn't know why... but he felt like he needed to keep pushing. He wanted to. He felt... good.

    The trouble, was that he could feel the pressure beginning to increase as he went forward... the two sides of the winds, as well as the constant screaming form the ghost, was fighting towards the central point they were aiming at... probably just a small portion of the dark hall's open space. The Feeble Beast could feel it getting closer and closer... It almost sounded like it was right in front of him. What shocked him the most, was when he felt the crystal being dragged out of his hands. he held tightly around it, but it was fighting for it... he moved his hands closer to the tip that was pointing towards the ghosts... that was when he felt something strange... he felt a hand.

    The hand... it felt old. wrinkled. decayed. He felt the bones of a carcass, as well as bits and pieces of flesh remaining onto it. Kran'I felt it trying to tug it away from it... it felt strong as it tried to tug it away from his four arms. The hand was pulsing, and it was bleeding more as he tried to take it away from the skeletal hand that was holding onto it. The scream was getting louder and louder, as it tried to take it away. He felt the two winds compress into the point where almost the crystal was... He felt the grasp of the crystal starting to loosen, as the blood was making his hands slip.

    No! Crystal is Mine! Only Mine! Shall not be anyone else's, anything else's. Mine, all mine! It's mine... you won't take it away from me.

    He felt his teeth starting to rattle with fury, as the dying child's voice started to emit form his voice. He felt angry, he felt furious. He didn't want to loose this, it was his. Only his! He would not take this away from him, nothing will. He will have it as long as he lived! So he screamed in rage. He felt one of his hands grab onto the skeletal hand, as he started to scream louder and louder. His ears were close to ringing from his own voice. He felt the wind start to change... he felt himself push forward.

    The pulse of warm wind was starting to pulse towards the ghost seemingly undead in front of him. He started to feel his hand begin to crunch onto the skeletal hand, but he did not pull back... he held tightly at the creature that had been chasing him since he came here. The rage inside of him began to scream louder and louder... his entire body felt like it was boiling. Soon... he felt the screams begin to fade... and the wind was beginning to fade too. The skeletal hand was trying to tug away, but the wind was beginning to blow extremely hard. Soon, though... he felt the skeletal hand let lose from the grasp; He felt his body fall onto the ground, along with the hand that he was holding onto. He started to stop screaming, as he felt himself hit the marble and limestone floor... he felt the pressure everywhere disappear.

    He was exhausted. he felt his entire breath huffing and puffing, as he felt all of him feeling like it was on fire. He was still holding onto the crystal. It was fine. He still felt the pulses from it, and he felt energetic. However, his voice seemed to be sore from the screaming... as he started to move his hands but one away from the crystal, he felt his hands feeling better. His fingers were rubbing the scratches and cuts form holding the crystal... they were feeling fine. In fact, he felt like there were barely any at all. He felt his cuts going back into himself. As he relaxed, he moved the crystal, and... heard something hit the floor.

    His mind became curious... the hand! It was the hand of the ghost that chased after him. His hands were blindly searching on the marble, as he leaned forward. As he continued to look for it, his hands took a while to find, until he found something that was not stone. Grabbing it, he picked it up. The hand of the ghost... he was an undead Lich all along. he was afraid of something that was near alive, and destructible. At first he was fascinated how such a creature could use the pink crystals... then he laughed at how it died. He fought against a light user, a Lich that haunted the tombs for so long... it was in documents that lasted for centuries on end. The Lich was an undead, a being from the old gods. Now... he felt it to be humorous.

    He didn't know what was with him, but he felt his entire body fill with warmth, and he began to laugh and smile more and more. His mind was at ease. He was finally alone, and what was with him will not be a problem for him anymore. He continued to laugh as hard as his chest could allow him, lying on the floors.

    Chosen Undead
    Chosen Undead

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:11 am

    Venture of Shade, Section 6:
    He felt his entire body calm down... the laughing was cooling down, and he felt his chest was getting a bit sore from the amount of laughing he was doing... but the soreness was feeling better after a short time. His hands were holding onto the crystal now... and one was holding onto the hand. He was practically hugging the crystal though. He was falling in love with it. The extremely hard crystal was being held onto his chest, while he felt one of his hands rubbing the broken off one from the Lich. He felt that there was silk wraps that kept the skeletal joints from falling off, and he also felt some decayed flesh. As the sound of the crystal's emitting was heard clearly, he felt the hand that he was holding moving... he was curious now. How was this man? It sounded like there was more than one...

    He felt like he should not be holding this; he felt like it was suppose to be put back or thrown away. He felt wrong holding it... it wasn't his. Thinking about it more... he didn't know where he heard the Lich fall. He also wondered why he never heard it moving in the first place before hand too... that was until he heard it moving in the liquid he had left behind. He was somewhat glad that he had left the liquid there. He wondered though... he wanted to know what happened to it. It was something new to him. He never heard in texts that anyone used the power of pink crystals, and now he and who ever the ghost was, was using it. The Scholar wanted to know why he resided here, and why he was making sure none came. He felt his hands getting up from the floor. The weight of the bag on his bag was feeling a bit loose... maybe one of the straps had fallen off from the winds. He felt his chest for the straps, and he felt that one of them had been stretched. He held it tightly, along with the hand and crystal. Soon, he continued to walk, looking for the body.

    Must be there; Was in front. Flew back and away. Go there. Be there, perhaps. Find out what was screaming. Finish this. Put hand away. No need for more.

    He continued to walk towards the direction where he felt the wind blow towards. He wanted to find it; His curiosity wanted an answer. As he continued forward, he walked for what felt like an eternity. It was a long walk forward... of course, he felt like it was a long walk anyways for the amount of time he was trying to look for an exit... he wanted answers

    So much pain. So much voices. So much agony and power. Crystals... he used them. Warmth came to; Cold came from. Must be something. Not know, perhaps dead. Perhaps evil, or different. Perhaps different power. Perhaps he wanted mine. Not sure. Not sure. But find out? Yes. yes, find out.

    As he went forward, he wondered what it would be like, discovering what the undead would be.. perhaps he can find some answers towards the powers he held now. Maybe he can get an explanation to what the crystal truly was... or maybe he will get something else. he wasn't sure. But one thing was for sure; he would not be a problem anymore.

    Thou know what thee are, child? Special. Thou were always special. Thou created since thou set foot in the place of knowledge, the place of hidden war... thou has made so much for the people here, with little regard. Thou are strong, despite frailty. Thou are fast, despite being timid. Thou are indeed the good choice from all. Thine soul is good, Kran'I. do not forget that thou came from something good. The journey of the dark shall be treacherous. Thou holds light that consumes light. It will be thine light, now. Thou chose it alone. Hope for thee is strong... Hope for what thou does is strong. Return is wanted... More than from I; others do too. Now, thou goes on a journey for what I ask. When thou comes back, wish shall be granted. I hope thine wish is worth thee life thou risks.

    - Your Friend

    His hands felt the texts reading in his fingers. He felt it on the stone table, as he took it out of the wooden box he had. He wanted to say goodbye, but he did not know where the Stranger ever was. He felt comfort from it, at least. He decided that he could not stay here. Slowly, he began to fold the parchment again, placing it inside the box. Closing and locking the box that stored most of what he used during his time as a student... he was ready to leave it all behind. At least for now, he was ready.

    He felt himself put on the large bag over his body. He many weights over his body. He was going to have to crawl, if he did not have the spear. At least he did; He felt like he was walking on an outstretched staff on the ground now. He felt his hands holding onto it, as it helped lift his body and move. he left everything else behind, except for the spear and the bag. He didn't need it. Not even his favored, prideful robe. He could wear it when he got back... he didn't know what he was going to face, but he knew that it was only a deterrent for travel. He will come back. He knew deep inside that he will return.

    Resting a written parchment on top of the lid, he wanted to make sure that, when they did come to check on him, that they would see what he had written. The former student also had a parchment that he was going to give to his new doorman that the Gravekeeper kept at his door... for his safety. He was getting ready to leave everything. He was not going to say good bye... he realized that he didn't want to. It was never going to truly be a good bye; He was coming back. His head was finally better now, and he felt his mind sober and fine. But, he did not want to say good bye. Still, he wanted to find his guide down the mountain. he will come back to the fortress. When he comes back, he will be different, he knew. Still, he wanted to come back. He needed to come back. This was his home. He was leaving it, yes... but it was his home. It was where he had made everything. Where he became a name. Where he made new relationships. When he was part of something.

    Slowly, he left the parchment on the box. Carrying everything, including the parchment for the door man, he was beginning to leave. This was it. Now it was time to go... but he was coming back. He needed to come back. He was not done here.

    Not yet, at least...

    The small, Feeble Creature kept moving forward, with the crystal and skeletal hand in his grasp. Going towards the direction where he thought the Ghost Lich would be, he kept walking, hoping to stumble upon it at some point. However, he did not remember hearing any sounds of it hitting anything... of course he could not really hear anything but his own scream and the winds. Still, he would have guessed that it would have blown forward, towards the direction he thought it would be. Either way... he did not know where else to go anyways, other than wander and hope for a way out.

    Continuing to walk with his hands, he felt the stones under his feet turn to glass; shards of the pink crystals, the dust that the ghost had used, was all on his feet now. He must have blown back with the opposing force. It must be close by. Quickly, he began to move his arms faster, hoping to find the body somewhere. His ears perked up, as he heard crystals move under his feet as well as farther ahead. He felt the glass piercing his hands, but he didn't pay attention much of it. Thoughts of anger towards it grew more and more...

    Memories of the ghosts screams haunting his times he was climbing; the amount of times he had to cling onto the walls in order to keep himself from blowing back what he thought was a gust storm... the amount of times he had to listen to the screams from the far distance, and then come back with all its fury at him. The amount of times he had to put up with it for the months he was here... and then the oily river, when he finally discovered that it wasn't a wind of haunting... it was something else. Now he knew what it was. Or at least, an idea; It was another Lich. Another undead. Lost in time, and guarding this place as its own...

    His ears perked, as he heard something moving the dust. Quickly, he began to get closer and closer to the sound. He was getting close to something, he could feel it. He felt it in his grasp. He wanted answers; He wanted a way out; He wanted revenge. Either way... he was going to get something. One way or another. So he kept walking to the moving dust, kept walking towards it as he could hear his crystals own emitting, the hand's movement as he ran, and the dust he was sliding and stepping on with his palms. His ears were directed to the sound of moving dust that was made by it, and he kept running towards what he would expect to be a moving corpse.

    His ears... as he got closer, he could hear something whispering. His mind went straight towards the voices he heard earlier. They talked to him... individually at the same time. It sounded as if there were... different people. And now, he could hear a conversation or something far away. As he got closer, the whispers in his head were beginning to grow, but where it came from other than his mind was uncertain:

    ...Get up, corpse! Weak Beast bring ya down with ya own shiny light? Ye are a-

    Ow, Ow, that musta hurt, jester; Might wanna get up, yeh?

    ...Thou was powerful indeed. Thy strength has beaten thine own... must not-

    Come! Come! Beast is comin'! Kill it!

    ...It is coming towards us. What shall we do?

    Fight! Fight! Fight to th-

    Listen to thine own reason; Fight will cause dispatchment of us. Might be reason to-

    Get up at least, ya fool; Fall on thine head, and miss a hand. Now ya a tramp with no brain!

    ...Stick it at em; It is puny and skinny! Stick em, Stick em to combat!

    Slowly, the Beast stopped on his tracks. Kran'I was almost touching where the sound of moving crystals was heard. Slowly, he could hear the dust shifting... he was stepping almost onto an entire pile of it with his hands. He felt them sink into his feet, and the pain was stinging his hands. Still, he just... stood there. He could here its whispers in its head... as if he was hearing the same conversations. But they were not coming from the moving body. It was as if it was coming from his own head! The thought of it was... unnerving. He wondered if the Lich made those voices, took them from the deceased... or if he was shattered and broken. Or... something. He wasn't sure. But the voices, they all sounded different: One sounded like it was near mad, another sounded like a gruff stud; One sounded as if it was intellectual and thoughtful, and another was an insane killer. He heard other whispers too... he could even hear some crying... some screaming... he could hear them all in his head. And they were talking to them. Both Kran'I before, and... this.

    Slowly, he heard it starting to climb up. It was struggling. He thought about it... he could kill it right now. The scholar had the advantage; the crystal was at hand and it would break and go threw the dead creature. He could trip and attack its weak skeletal structure with his own bare hands... he can even trip it and leave it be. He thought of the many times it had been chasing him. Yet, he wondered, in his mind, why it had not... killed him. It could have plenty of times, even when he didn't know what it was. It could have easily went straight at him, and blown so much dust that there would be nothing left. He could have died from the storm that did take him. So why not? Many people who ventured here had died... so why not him? Why was he different? Did he want Kran'I to break, to begin to make voices of his own? The use of crystals like he did? To study the place and learn? To let him suffer until nothing was left but insanity and agony? Why...

    Suddenly, he heard the skeletal thing in front of him stop moving. The voices were gone... he didn't hear anything, but the dust moving around them. Yet, he didn't feel it moving around him at all. He didn't know what it was doing, but his hands moved for him; he felt the pink crystal in his hands move towards the direction of the Lich... the Ghost of the Dark Halls...

    What are thee?

    Kran'I thought in his mind. He just stood there... he didn't know what to expect for a response... but he could talk to him... the voices. he could hear them talking to him. He wondered if he could talk to them, too. Still... he felt his body stiffen, ready to lung at where he expected it to be... he felt himself ready to defend himself again. His breath wheezed, and his teeth were pointing outwards at the undead... he did not expect a response like this:

    Thine life is gone; Thou life exists. Yet, I are thee in many ways

    The Beast didn't expect that. It was cold... steady... smooth. It did not seem dead in his mind, but it sounded as if it was... vibrating or repeating itself. Like a small echo. Still... he felt himself readjust his standing arms, feeling the crystal dust dig into his palms...

    Me? How like? Different, not Dracon... Not undead.

    Thou does not need to be Dracon and Deceased to be alike. Thine essence is more so relational in similarity than structure of form, for sure. Yet, thou holds also power that is rare indeed to hold without decay.

    The beast, Kran'I, felt his hands lower from pointing the crystal at him. He felt his fingers rubbing it, feeling the energy surging threw his fingers, feeling the sheer hardness that was the glass... the hardest thing he had ever felt in his life, able to cut even stone with ease...

    Thou wonders the power of the light? The crystal of life and death is certain to be used by many as a tool to destroy, yet none could hold in their hands without the breaking process. Thine hands shown naught, as has mine.

    Like dead man? No. No hunt others; Search for tablet. Leave and go home. All wanted. Not to take life, not to bring death. Only wanted table-

    A tablet thou had been sent to receive, by thine friend? Tis not humorous that thou says so, when thou seeks to wish the leeching...

    He felt his breath growl in disgust... the angry, dying child in his throat was moaning, and his teeth were shaking in and out of his gums. He wanted to hurt him. He was listening to his mind all along! He was listening and observing and messing with him... he was listening to him... He wanted his mind to be his own. He didn't want this creature to go into his mind, and know him...

    Thou has a problem of trespassing, yet thou has trespassed into thy home of Words, Home of all that is shrouded. Thine thoughts are mine, as thou has made the domain into thee grasp of desire.

    Why not kill? Get over with? Remove and dispose? No trace of trespassers, none of searching no more. Removed me, and no more... why not?

    Like I say; Thou are like mine own life. Punishment was necessary, as much as following. If death came, no more of us would exist; only I.

    ...What want?

    He heard the dust moving closer towards him. Or perhaps, he heard something moving closer to him. Yet, he didn't hear any steps at all. He felt the air around him grow cooler, and the warmth inside him was in jeopardy.

    Thou want out? give thine hand to me, and my own. Then, I shall guide thee to the steps... and thou shall not return. If thou do, I shall break thou's life to nothing.

    He felt his hands lifting, both the one holding the skeletal hand, and the pink crystal. He pointed them both at the telepathic Lich. He was not going to negotiate like that... not when he had opportunity.

    Bring to stairs, then hand. Lead me, silent feet. Give hand, deal can be broken. If take back, will give. If not, will break...

    He felt his hands become tougher around the bones of the skeletal hand. He felt it in his grasp, as the Lich could be heard moaning something frosty... It sounded like it was ready to scream. However, it only lasted for a short time, and it stopped. It started to move on the dust.

    Thou are a treacherous creature, indeed. I hope thine path will be better of than mine, for we shall become mirrors, if thine attitude continuous to be the same.

    Suddenly... he felt a hand touch the crystal he was holding... he felt something grasp onto it, at least. His hands held tightly, making sure that the Lich would not try to take it away from him. Suddenly, a noise of screams emitted, and the world around him began to grow cold and the many screams were heard. All of the sudden, his body began to fly... he felt the wind push him somewhere, but he did not know what. However, he still felt a hand holding onto the crystal, both his and the undead. As the Feeble Beast flew, the corpse followed, as the sound of the dust and cold winds could be heard moving somewhere...

    The sound of the two hitting a pile of dust on the ground was heard. Crunches of bone from the undead, as well as the sound of flesh puncturing more of the glass, was heard. He felt his bottoms of his hands covered in blood. That, and the shards he was standing on. As the two landed, he felt the hand of the undead tug at the crystal. At first he did not know where he was going, but he felt his legs move with the dust, as he was being pulled forward by the hand of the undead, as well as the pink lights he was standing on. The screams from before could be heard still... it was aching his head, however the crystal he was holding made his head feel clear and warm again. Although, the cold winds could still be felt, his body felt like it was covered by a heated shield now. Yet, he was being pushed and led by the Lich nonetheless.

    The ride... it was deafening, with both the screams and the gust storm emitted by it. Yet, it was not as bad as he remembered it being. Rather, it was good... he never felt any pain from the trip, and the movement with the dust was not painful at all... that was until he landed with them on the hard floors again. Now he was being moved by them, as if sliding on ice... although he did not remember the ice being so sharp. Still, the large crystal in his handmade it feel better, and his new draw of the pink light made the wounds heal faster than most things. So, he was okay... he wondered if he could become immune to pain. If he had enough pain received, and he had a crystal that allowed him to heal... would his body adapt to it, and become immune to the feeling? He barely felt as much pain as he did before with crystals... although that was a different case of adaption.

    Suddenly, he felt the dust stop moving, and the tugging of the crystal was gone. For a moment, he did nothing...

    Come. the stairs are in front of thee..

    Hesitant at first, he slowly started to walk towards the direction the undead was. The undead moved his skeletal hand that he had left from Kran'I's crystal, as he began to walk past him (without his knowing). Slowly, making sure it was not a trap, he began to walk forward and forward... until one of his fingers hit something. At first, he thought it might be a wall... that was until he move his hand up, and onto a platform that was a bit higher. He tried it again, and found that there was more... the steps! They were here... somewhere in the Dark halls, but it was here. Now, he could leave..

    The hand, first.

    The beast turned around. hearing the movement of the crystals, he walked down one step, and then moved his hand up. After a while of waiting in the air, he felt a hand grabbed onto the one he was holding. Letting go, he felt a cold wind briefly reach his skin, and he felt a chill. He did not like the feeling still, despite how long he had to deal with that... Despite it all, he felt like the scholar should be thankful for it, that he was brought here instead of being forced to look for it aimlessly...

    Thank You, Lich

    Thine thanks is unnecessary; Do not return, and it will be forever be seen as a fair deal. If thou returns, I shall make sure thou will never leave. Is that clear enough for thine eagerness to understand?

    ...Yes. How can I talk? How can understand me?

    The powers of light we bother share is meant to absorb... it can absorb more than life; It is designed to absorb every portion of light, and its creations. We were created by light, in different ways... thou may understand one day. Not today. For now, thou shall continue with life, and follow path like every being on our world. I shall be watching... and the halls shall forever grow with creatures like thee.

    Not character; Not hero, Not villian. Just small beast.

    Even beasts have tales to be part of. Or has thou ignored all that thou has read? thou are a creature of ascension and descension, like all others written and text. The question remains, how time will tell which path is taken most of... although thou must leave here. This place is not mean for thee. Just I. Go... the place will need cleaning from thou mess has left.

    Slowly, the beast was hesitant at first... but slowly, he felt his body turn around. He didn't care; he was close to leaving. He didn't know if he wanted to be written in stone, but he was glad to finally see the world. This place was dark and he felt lost here. With these stairs, the path was clear to him. It would take a while for him to climb, but he would get out. He will return home. He will leave with the tablet, the crystal, and himself. Kran'I could leave the undead alone... he can find out about the world other ways. There were always ways to find information around the world. For now, though... the scholar had only own destination he wanted to go to. That was home.

    So he climbed the steps, feeling his body feel warmer and warmer... the crystal sounded as if it was the desert heated by the stars... he didn't care. The sound of his hands walking up the stairs was too much; he felt the energy to run. Walking on five of his hands, he began to crawl and slither up, reaching towards the exit he left behind. He felt all he was with for the time he was in their disappear. This was it... he was going home. The journey was going to be long... but at least he was going home.

    So he kept running up... he wanted to laugh again.

    He felt the pulse inside him, as he started to feel stone shift; Climbing up with most of his arms, the bag was shaking madly back and forth, while the crystal was still in his clutches. he never tired at all during his climb. However, he felt the stone shift underneath him... the same feeling as he had before. Feeling the warm air around him, he hurried... faster and faster up the stairs. Nothing was going to stop him, nothing. He was going to reach the top...

    The loose bricks of stone shifted under his grasp; He remembered feeling the loose stone when he descended. The same stone that was from the spiral case... the broken one. It never crossed his mind, though. He was getting out of the dark, lonely, haunted, blinding Halls of Words. He was leaving. He was sure of that, one way or another. As he kept climbing up the staircase, he could hear the stones shift and fall behind him... some were so heavy, that they did not even budge when he moved them. Yet, he still kept going... until the barrier arrived.

    Kran'I slowed down, stopping as he could feel his hands moving pointlessly up a steep, smooth stone slab. This was it; this was the entrance. He needed to remember how he got threw... it was a giant brick of slab, created from the ruin that was the spiral case... after so much of it had fallen to the center, much of it had slide down to the sides. That included the entrance. He needed to crawl threw the holes and gaps. For him, it was easy. For the bag, though... he needed to put the crystal away... he needed to take off his bag too. This was going to be hard to do. Still, he was going to do it nonetheless.

    Taking off his bag, he unthreaded the holding of the pink dust pouch. Slowly, he put the large crystal inside it, and he heard the emitting of the many crystals coming from the bag and the large one he held. They were now together. The beast was missing it already... but he can have it when he got out, he thought. Slowly, he closed it back up, and grabbed the bag with his hind hands... he needed to crawl threw the cracks and holes of the ruins with his four front hands. His other ones would make sure the bag did not go anywhere. It was safe.

    Slowly, he felt his hands grab onto pieces of stone. Using the large bag for support, he used it to jump on top of a large slab that he could not reach; He lifted himself down a bit in order to grab the bag with his hands. He did... he started to pull himself up, as he felt the bag being lifted. Once it was with him, he started...

    Climbing threw the many cracks, he could feel the heavy stones piled on top of each other. For once, he felt glad that he was so scrawny and small. He continued to climb, as he went threw. The feeling of the warm breeze on his flesh was refreshing. He could feel the warmth around him, as the stone started to let specs of rock and pebbles fall. It wasn't going to fall on him today... not today. He climbed and climbed, trying to find whatever hole or breka that he could threw the pile of stone. His bag was close by, being held with his back hands. He sometimes hit the surface of the stone with the bag, but he knew it was fine. If the stone did not hurt it in the Dark Halls, it wasn't going to start now. Slowly, he began to climb up and up, using the stone around him to climb higher... and higher... Until he felt the wind escape from him, and he felt a new form of heat on his skin.

    The suns. Or at least one of them. judging from the heat, he guessed that it was the red sun that was out today. It was mildly cooler than the white sun, which gave him always an urge to dive into something cold. He was greeted and happy to be in the presence of the red sun... he just stood there, loving every bit of warmth that he felt. He was feeling content. He was out... that was all he wanted to feel. He felt the world around him, the outside world. No more dwelling in ancient ruins, he was done with that. For now, paradise awaited for him; home awaited for him. So he continued on... to the harder part, at least.

    Climbing down the hill, he went to the sides to try to find some form of staircase. The spiral staircase, he remembered, was still good at the bottom portions. The problem was when he was going to go higher. He felt himself put the bag back onto his back... for now. It would be better if all his hands were available. Strapping it back on, he circled around the spiral staircase in a clockwise fashion; the staircase went the same direction up as it did clockwise. So he circled and circled... around the rim of the cylinder field. Until, finally, his body felt itself ascending upwards. he found it. As he started to climb, he thought to himself, as he ascended slower than before:

    Find hole; Hole of staircase. Big jump, big lung. Throw bag over, after find other end. Find other end with debris. Then, throw bag... then, jump. Climb rest the way up be fine. Fine...

    As he climbed higher and higher, he could feel where the steps were missing: Where the stone had been slanted and broken, with the collision of other stone, as well as age. He also had to walk past some debris of slabs and boulders that were one the staircase. Maybe he should flood it. Perhaps if he flooded it, no one will ever dare reach towards the Dark Halls again. He thought not. They will find a way, as I did. Anyone determined enough to will... they just have to know how. So he ignored that idea. Soon, this place will die, and the staircase will be gone. It will crumble, and the entrance will be piled over. Soon... after long days have passed, this place will die down. There will be nothing left. So he climbed... he was ready to never come back. He was done here. He got what he wanted, and more. Much more than he expected...

    So he climbed, higher and higher... until his hands started to stop in mid-air, and fall threw. His other four hands clutched onto the stone staircase, as he felt himself pulling back. He found the missing part of the staircase. He wasn't surprised, though. He was expecting it. It was the only thing that he feared. The rest of the jumps would be easy. The one here, though... harder. With ease, he put the bag down. He needed to find out how far it was again... he needed to jump, he knew. He tried to find a way to climb over before, but no avail. It was perfectly rounded and flawless still. No cracks here on the wall, at least at this part. Setting the bag aside, his hands searched for anything lose on the ground... That wasn't hard. His hands were staring to pile a pile of stones that were of different weights, although he preferred those that were throw able, yet he could hear where they landed. That was the most important part. As he felt the pile increase and increased... he was ready.

    He picked up a stone, and threw it. It kept falling down the gap, and reached the bottom. Too short. He threw it longer, and he heard the stone his a wall in front of it. he kept throwing as best as he can with the stones... with one hand. He was going to throw the bag with all four if he had to. The stones were more than half as heavy, so he felt he could easily throw the bag with four of his hands. That wasn;t going to be the hard part, he thought. He began to throw stones, until finally, he felt it hit a wall; It hit the gaping staircase's head, and then fall down into the bottom, skiding down the bottom staircase underneath him. It was a far drop though. Still, he found it. He let go of the other stones, as they reached towards the bigger asset.

    Grabbing onto the bag, he made sure that all the pouches and sacks were closed. They were. Tightening them by tugging a second time, he grabbed it by four of his arms, and went to the edge. Grabbing the bag, he began to turn around... and around... he felt his body twirl on the spot, as the bag was lifting higher and higher in the air... as he felt the momentom reach its limits, he threw it. He heard the bag hit the side wall once far away, and then he heard it bounce and hit the other end hard. He was afraid for a moment that it would roll off, but he heard it get stuck on the debris on the other end. He was happy with that... now it was his turn... the part he dreaded them most. Moving away from the ledge, he made sure that nothing was in his way... he was going to make a run for it.

    After he cleared the rocks and pebbles up the staircase, he began climb down a bit form the gap. Reaching twenty steps away, he turned around... his mind was trying to remember how he threw his bag. He did. Off the wall, then the slope. That was where he needed to go. He remembered how he threw it, he remembered the right gap he needed to jump, the right edge of it. He needed to do this right. Otherwise, he was going to fall. Hard. It was too high for him to. Taking a deep breath, his intoxicating sounds of wheezing were heard. Slowly, the fingers began to fold... his hands were resting easy...

    Then he bolted.

    He felt his entire body pulse towards the one direction he needed to go. Soon, he felt it climb up fast. Fifteen Steps. Ten Steps. Five. Two... His hands all reached the ledge. At first, he moved his forward arms at the edge, and grabbed hold... his mid arms were near it, and his hind arms at the back. As he moved the hind arms to where his fronts were, his front arms pushed off of the ledge, and reached forward... as his hind legs reached the edge as well. As he felt his hind legs push behind him... he realized something.

    He did it wrong; His body was not going fast enough. As he felt his heart stop, he felt his body start going forward and high... but his hands never touched the wall, until he started to descend. He tried to push off from it, but it was hopeless. He felt the fingers touch the very bottom of the gaped staircase that was now above him... and then he felt himself fall. As he felt his body fall, he felt the cool winds start to arise under him. The warmth was now gone, as he felt a chill on his spines. Ready for the end, he let go of everything he had, as his body braced for impact... His head began to feel itself aching and scratching, as he heard himself scream...

    To be Continued

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 4:12 am

    Six Sections have been made by one full story. This was 69 pages long in my word documents, probably 68 if you copied and pasted each section as they are (instead of giving the 5 spaces as I do when a scene is over). Over 5000 words each, some sections reaching almost 10,000. Enjoy. Comment and plus, if you like. Talk and debate about the literature, so on and so forth.


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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 11:19 am

    I am glad someone or two has happy
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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by skarekrow13 on Thu Dec 06, 2012 11:24 am

    big grin

    Still need to catch up with your other stories. Glad this is in one spot for new readers.

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Thu Dec 06, 2012 12:48 pm

    Almost finished one of them... Did I have a third? Yes, and fifth...

    Ya, I will post them in new threads. Similar to this. One may exceed the size of this, if I don't finish it... So much for short stories.

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

    Post by User on Wed Dec 12, 2012 2:45 am

    I will bump this, to not forget. Think meed to remove some more work from my list of stories... And I know I am more than half done one. I guess.

    Stories... Might edit to allow, instead of chapters, page, literal group breaks, and maybe even line breaks (like shakespeare books) for these short stories... Instead of chapters. Maybe.

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    Re: A Tale, In The Land of Dracon - Venture of Shade

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