Stories......yep stories

              The moonlight radiated through the bars of the wagon, illuminating the boy caged within. The caravan had stopped in the desert for the night and the boy laid on his side shivering. He listened to the creaks and moans of the wagons around him as people went in and out, probably to grab a meal by the fire or head into town for the night. The boy listened, but he also watched. The empty sands before him glimmered in the light of the moon, giving a sheen like that of gold. The boy waited. Waited for sheen to fade, signaling the moon being masked by a cloud. It felt like forever. The boy didn’t count because there was no guarantee, but he waited. Eventually the world grew dark except for the distant flickers of a campfire. The boy moved, carefully as to not rattle the chain on his leg. He crawled his way to the corner of the wagon where broken board was fixed into place. The boy wedged his nails into the board and lifted one wedge up to reveal a ring hidden underneath. The boy held the ring up and stared at it. It was a simple golden band with a single line engraved in it. The boy slid it on his finger and then back off, gloomy about its size. He stared at it for a bit, watching it shine in the moonlight. Then he heard them…….

Blood pounded through his veins, its warmth quickly became unbearable. He trembled, but his fist remained clenched, tightening its grip on the sword. The man rose and began to walk. His entire being trembled as he passed each familiar face. Someone said something. He didn’t him them. He could only hear his heart, beating faster and faster, in his ears. He began to run. Someone grabbed him, he tore loose, never taking his eyes off that in front of him. He ran straight towards the army, his cry piercing their numbers. Arrows punctured his thin armor. He didn’t feel it. He crashed into their shields and tore through before their spears could pierce him. His sword found its way into the neck of the man he crashed into. He tore it out and swung at the closest person. The sword caught their arm, severing it completely. The man yelled again as he twisted the sword and swung again, cutting the armless man down. The man swung recklessly, killing two more before the army surrounded him. He charged again but fell to his knee. His thigh stung and something cold clashed with the heat of his blood. He pulled the spear out and twisted to throw it into the crowd. The man staggered as he stood. He cut down a soldier that charged him and didn’t bother to block as another swung their sword at him. The sword ate into his shoulder. The man grabbed the edge with his free hand, cutting it, and pulled the man towards his own sword, letting it embed itself into his intestines. He let the sword drop with the man, taking his sword instead, he charged again, letting a howl the caused the men to freeze. More arrows flew, piercing pass his armor and into his torso. The man swung. A chill ran through him. The warmth fading as an icy presence invaded his body. He began shivering. He looked up pass the soldiers. The sky seemed gray, lifeless. He fought against the cold. A darkness crept into his vision. He fought it too. He felt numb and cold. The anger was still there. But he was cold. Time stopped to watch the man’s fight with death. Soon, the darkness took him.

Eostril let out a hearty laugh before disengaging from the man. “And good to be back comrade. Do I have a story for you.”

              As quickly as he appeared, he was gone again. Lyra kept moving as if nothing happen, her face stoic behind the fox mask.

“How dare you? You have defeated me, get back here and kill me!”  The foreigner turn and shook his head. “I do not wish to kill you. I have come to this land to learn, not to kill.” The samurai turn himself over, grunting as he pulled himself to his knees. “Then here are two more lessons for you.” The samurai pulled out his tanto and tore it into his gut before the foreigner could stop him.  “Death before dishonor.” The samurai torque the blade to the other side of his gut, letting his intestines spill out. “And don’t forget to wipe your blade...”

              An ashen gray field expanded are far as the eye can see, its only illumination were the stars above. A sand like dust scattered across ground, its origin unknown. The clang and clatter of metal striking against each other could be heard, each strike brought a harsh wind and tremors within the ground. Several times, the ground split open, as it was cut. Time was limitless, the clanging always growing and fading, for this battle has been, and probably will, go on forever.

              The sun shined at the end of the ravine, the river at its bottom glistening the light so that the shadows within appeared to dance. The wind howled between the walls, it cries chilling to the bone. The huge glaciers that formed the walls of the ravine were inching inward daily, a slow attempt to hide the quiet icy valley. Inside one of these walls, clearly incased, was a neatly wrapped box with a ribbon.

              Dry, cracked ground fell from underneath their feet as they sat on the edge of the scorching wasteland.  The two stared at the land across the gap. The lands that were once joined, slowly drifted apart, letting clouds fill in from beneath. “They say a single man did this” one said. “That he crashed into the ground like lightning and it broke to let him through.” The other one sat in silence for a moment. “Where is he now?” they asked. “In the lands below us” what their replied. The other laughed and simply stated, “Yeah, right.”

              The fruit resembled a pear, though it is said people each taste it differently. It was light blue with a smooth texture when it was ripe. Its succulent juices flowed when bitten into, the white flesh concealing the power within. Draconem Malus. The fruit of dragons.

              The gray stone blocks fell apart. Concealing the screams within the scatter to the road, and then splashing into the water. The building next to it followed suit. Its contents spilling out onto boats docked in the harbor.  Fire spouting out from their tops, smoke signaled to the city there was a disaster. People hollered and stammered away from the commotion, fearing for their safety first. The ground by the soon-to-be ruins shook, then crumbled, bringing the streets themselves into the water. The rest of the buildings followed, piling up as rubble and in the docks.

              Wooden houses filled the town. Some were well built homes that kept warm in the winters, but most were built for the moment. These houses were rickety and small, only fitting 2-3 people at most. Their inhabitants expecting to only live there a month or two, the shacks were only meant to block out rain and wind, not to sustain life through the winter. The buildings were originally made up of leftover planks and sticks, with added mud or clay in an attempt to insulate it during the oncoming cold. Holes could be seen in such buildings, easily letting in mice and pests, looking to hide for the winter. Soon, fires were built and with their warmth, came ashes too. It took a single night to spread. Too rapid to contain, the town disappeared as easily as it was constructed.

              The sun stood high over a single building in the wasteland. A dried up well sat behind it. The ground around it cracked from the constant heating and cooling of the desert around it. Not many could survive the hardships of the desert and few ever come through that way, so the building stood alone. A worn-down sign read “Inn” in faded letters. Upon entry, a counter could be seen, bar stools knocked over and covered with webs and dust. Behind the counter, empty shelves line the wall. On the very top, a single unopened bottle was set. Its contents still fresh and carbonated… “Take one down, pass it around…”

              In the center of the city, the town’s square sat on top of a hill, the land bulging upwards as such that carriages were slowed when going up and cautioned when riding down. People preferably walked through and about the square for it was common meeting place since vendors had a hard time setting up stalls on top the incline. Pieces of art were constructed to fill the emptiness. Statues, graffiti, and paintings for when the sun was out. A black marbled fountain sat in the very middle of the square, pulling water from a deep reservoir. Though no one of that time would realize it, the hill will slowly sink, and the water will eventually run dry. Leaving the fountain without purpose.

              A peculiar shop stood upright on the corner of the road. A rectangular brick building, with a rectangular windows and door. Within the shop were several tables, piled high with trinkets and curiosities as such you must walk around them to see what’s on the next table. Through this method, many have gotten lost within the shop, browsing its wares for hours without taking notice of their path, and oddly enough, no matter where they go path expands out to the same pattern. Whenever it be facing north, south, west or east. Almost ritualistic in my opinion. But not all who enters creates this path, for there must be those who know the direct path, for there is only one, to the merchant. An elderly man with a clean vest despite his constant fiddling with small gizmos and widgets. His silver hair was kept trimmed and tidy. His glasses spotless and had multiple functioning lens for when he worked with the gizmos. He was a kind man with no need to rush. And for those who stop by to visit he always has a hot drink and a “What can I do for you today?”

              A wind blew through the stalls in the street, depositing dust alongside their wares. The many collections of decaying fruit and counterfeit jewelry, each being sold for twice the price necessary. The vendors, in an attempt to shield their goods, braced against the wind. Their weathered faces showed the years they’ve been on the streets. Their buyers faring no better, haggled and argued the prices down, if only for that day. Beggars straggled through, creating the distractions thieves need to get dinner. Loaf of bread here, a rotten apple there. Just enough to stave off hunger, but never enough to be noticed. At least, not until the shops close for the night…

              The civilization was long abandoned. All that remained were the ruins. Collapsed houses and buried statues. Each with a clock that seemly stopped, but something amongst the city still ticked. Tick. Where was it? In each fallen structure, their clock was still intact. But no hand moved. None of the clocked made a sound. Tock. There it was again. The ticking of a clock, but where? Around the statues, throughout the houses, still can’t find it. Nothing stirred. Tick. The cathedral. It came from the cathedral. The once mighty building was only half standing, the majority of its roof gone with the wind. Inside, the pews have long since rotten away and the altar carried away by thieves most likely.  Tick, tock. The ticking was louder now. In fact, it shook the whole building. The floor was dusty, but something moved underneath it. A giant hand ticked away under the glass floor. The ticking began to slow. Someone laughed as the clock stopped. But then it started ticking again. Backwards. Tock, tick.

              A lake, forgotten by man, resided in the mountain’s valley. Its waters deep and blue. Within its warmed waters lies lost ruins of a scared history. The once pristine, white walls were now covered in algae and home to the lake creatures. The columns deteriorated and fallen apart. Its stairs sunk into mud. A stone soldier, with sword and shield, stood before the entrance. And by his side, a stone dog sat, covered in armor and alert to danger.