It has come to my attention that people that I don't know are now reading, or at least visiting, my blog. To them I say "Welcome, take some time and read my stories. Then post a comment telling me where you are from, leave a prompt, a sentence that you would like to write into a story, and tell me what you think."
To the rest of you thanks for your comments and prompts, I chose this week to use Elliott's, Mikey's, and Mrs C.'s, keep reading and sharing with me. And now a little clarification, my first post was the Prologue to my book that I am writing, I do not intend to post my entire book on this site, my other posts are totally unrelated.
The story this week is part one of two, and I need some help on the title so leave a title in your comment if you wish.
Thank you,
R. Wesley Nance
The king of Dearst, Sorachael, sat high on his horse peering down at the battle below him through a spyglass. He wanted to be with his men, but his generals strictly forbade him from moving off his hilltop perch. His life, they said, was in extreme danger if he dared venture near enough for his brother's long arm to strike a blow.
Five years before Sorachael and his brother Octolivius lived with their father, Coramthor, while he ruled over Dearst. Octolivius was older and therefore next in line for the throne when Coramthor was killed in his sleep. Every shred of evidence but one portrayed Octolivius as the killer, Octolivius maintained his claim to innocence but fled after his father's funeral with a small guard of his followers.
Sorachael was given the crown and, as much as it pained him, set a hefty price on his brother's head at the advice of his cousin, Iotorth. The reward availed to naught and Octolivius escaped the country. Sorachael proceeded to hunt for his brother in the neighboring kingdoms but as he failed again and again to bring his father's killer to justice he let the matter slide into the realm of forgotten things.
Although the kingdom forgot, Sorachael was always plagued by the seeming betrayal of his brother and his own apparent failures and weaknesses as king. So he sunk deep into the counsels of his advisers, in particular Iotorth. Thus Sorachael ruled a peaceful and contented kingdom for three years, until rumors drifted in with the overseas traders of incoming vengeance.
Vengeance landed in the form of Lord Octolivius backed by King Earast, the father of Lord Octolivius' new bride. Initially they were driven off by a hastily raised, but well rested army detachment of Dearst, but returned by way of different shores and gained a foothold in the forests by the western sea.
Lord Octolivius requested a parley with his brother during the ensuing stalemate but his request was refused at the direction of Iotorth, and King Sorachael renewed his assaults on the forest strongholds. Time and time again Lord Octolivius' parley requests were denied until the two armies issued out for a final test of strength.
And so it was that King Sorachael sat upon his horse longing to be among his men but denied even that small privilege. He looked down upon his army, they were losing this engagement, unable to turn the field to their advantage. It appeared as though the new come vengeance would have its day.
* * *
Lord Octolivius looked across this glorious field at his slow coming victory. A sorrow lay still on his heart, he had not come for this, he had come to talk to his brother. But the deep sown hatred against him could not be rooted out and his own people who had once loved him turned and drove him from their shores.
Lord Octolivius saw a flash from the top of a hill across the plain, it could be no other than his brother who refused even to hear an honest plea of innocence from a forgotten comrade.
After he fled Octolivius made his way to the sea and set out across its vastness with no destination in mind and landed in the realm of King Earast. He found refuge in Earast's court and caught the attention of Earast's eldest daughter. The king was taken by Octolivius' tale of persecution for a crime he did not commit and made Octolivius the sole inheritor to the kingship and gave his eldest daughter to bind the will.
For two years Octolivius lived content but became troubled as time passed. The king gathered a force to protect his son-in-law and accompanied him after finding that Octolivius wished only to speak with his brother. They landed and attempted several times to peacefully seek a parley but eventually discovered that only through force would they gain an audience with Sorachael.
Victory was slow in coming but Octolivius had one more move to make that would seal it.
At once a great chorus rose from the nearby shore, the sirens were singing. Octolivius looked at the moon, "They've started too early!" he shouted to his captains. And it was true, the moon had not yet reached its prime, the song sung too early and without correlation from the moon could cause disastrous effects.
Octolivius could see now that his final blow had turned upon its wielder, his men fell dead on the spot, more than half of them. The rest were shocked and fled, as did he, flying to a small house on the edge of the woods.
For the better part of an hour Octolivius hid in the house before his brother found his hiding place. An incessant pounding on the door continued until the blows to the door finally shivered the door like a rock taken to a window. Sorachael strode into the room and hauled Octolivius to his feet by the collar of his shirt and pressed a pistol between Octolivius' eyes.
"Why did you kill him?" Sorachael asked.
"I did NOTHING to him." Octolivius replied.
"Then why did you come back?" Sorachael asked.
"All I wanted was to…" Octolivius started before his brother cut him off.
"Was to return and receive the kingdom you stole from our father." finished Sorachael and before his brother could answer Sorachael released his pent up sorrow and anger with the bullet ending his brother's life. He held the body for a moment before letting it fall to the floor and turning to find Iotorth.
"He did nothing, my cousin" Iotorth said, then drew his own pistol and in an instant cast his cousin's lifeless body to the floor with his other cousin.
"I did."
To Be Continued.....
Copyright © 2007-2009 Robert W. A. Nance
All rights reserved
Friday, September 28, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
A Compass To Show The Way
Hello to everyone who reads my blog,
I apologize for not getting this post up in a timely manner, but I had a little Writers Block, it was terrible....
Anyway, I would like to try something new, for those of you who have taken a Comp class with Mrs. C know what this is, it is called prompts. I would like each person who reads this to post a comment, (I fixed it so that anyone can post, just click comment then click other, it will let you post without having a google account) at the end of your comment write a sentence or two that you would like to see me build a story around. Something like: "there was a dusty rose between the pages of the book." or "there stood the towers that all hated and all loved." I would really appreciate this and your comments too.
"A compass to show you along your way." Said a man in the shadows as he pressed something into the hands of a scared little boy, "If you choose to follow, it will lead you to your ultimate destiny."
The man rose and walked out of the dark alley into the street as the scream of men and women rose into the sky along with the sounds of the raging battle. Once in the street the man drew his pistol and fired several shots each direction down the street.
"Go, your way is clear!" he shouted to the little boy, who, needing no other bidding, scampered away down the street and out of the city.
The man watched as the little boy disappeared into the lingering gun smoke before throwing his pistol aside, drawing a sword, and striding towards the center of the battle with a confidence in his step flowing from the knowledge of his fate.
For years afterwards the compass lay safe, guiding its new owner to safety, shelter, and food. Soldiers were a constant threat, although as the boy grew he became strong and powerful, a tough match for any threatening soldier. Needless to say these infrequent run ins with people bent on killing him made the boy distrust people, so he avoided towns and cities as much as he could.
For twelve years the compass bade its time to show the boy to his destiny, and at long last it turned its needle. The boy gathered his things and began his trek to his destiny, although he did not know it.
Three days after setting out the boy reached a city called Parateor. Distrustful of people as always he walked into Parateor with his gun at the ready. After passing through the ruined gates he saw the squalor of the townsfolk who were inexplicably fleeing before him.
Why they should fly from him was beyond the boy, but he put the matter to rest as he entered the building to which the compass was showing him. It was a dimly lit building lined with shelves and littered with scrolls and loose sheets of paper.
"A soldier!" cried the clerk behind the counter at the center of the room as he dove for cover.
"I am no soldier." replied the boy stowing his gun.
"Then who are you?" asked the clerk.
"My name is Markon, of a surname for myself I know nothing." the boy replied.
"Then how did you come to have a gun, as it is that only soldiers of the…. King…. are allowed guns?" asked the clerk slowly beginning to trust Markon.
"Well I stole it from one of the sold…" began Markon before the clerk cut him off.
"Where did you get that?" the clerk asked pointing to the compass hanging from Markon's belt.
"It was given to me several years ago by a man I don't know." Markon said in a cautious voice, "Why?"
The clerk immediately stood up and ran into a back room with out saying a word. Just as Markon was beginning to wonder if he should leave the clerk returned followed by an old man.
"I never thought I would live to see the compass returned to its own land." Said the old man as he stared intently at the beat up black compass at Markon's belt, then his eyes shifted to Markon's face, "And as fine a man as any to carry this item Mr. Souragon."
"Who is Souragon?" Asked Markon.
"You are, my liege." The old man answered.
"And how may I ask do you know this?" asked Markon a look of incredulity on his face.
"King Wirgon Souragon was assassinated many years ago. He was the last good king this country has seen. He was one of the rare survivors of the task of the compass that you carry on your belt. In your eyes resides the same ferocity and desire for righteousness that I saw so many times in his. That is one trait that stays in his bloodline." The old man answered.
If you choose to follow, it will lead you to your ultimate destiny, Markon recalled. That must be it, his destiny was to retake the throne of this kingdom from the kings who had wrought so much evil from it.
"Take care with your thoughts, my liege, noble though they undoubtedly are." The old man said as he sat down, "The compass has become a symbol of the fighters against evil, the one who holds it has fought in some way for the people against some great evil near and far. As I said earlier your Great-Grandfather was one of the lucky few who live, the tasks that the compass leads men to have killed most of them although the ends they were fighting for were accomplished.
"You no doubt believe that your task is to kill the king and take back your Great- Grandfather's crown. I can do no more than confirm that that is what the people of this country need more than anything else now. It is up to you to find the means of doing it. Go now and do what you will do, and pray that what you do is right."
Markon left the old man and walked back out into the street, if he went alone and killed the king the royal guard would kill him and completely nullify the good that had been done. So he decided that he would need an army to draw off the guard.
Raising an army in Parateor was quite easy, as was raising an army in the neighboring towns and villages. In all that time Markon did not consult the compass at all, he finally did on the eve of the battle. It pointed him away from the camp into a large clearing in the woods next to the camp. He sat down and after a while he was joined, not by any man but by a misty figure that resembled Markon.
"I am Wirgon, we come to sit with you and quell your fears as was done for us." it said as it was joined by others like its self.
Markon felt a fleeting desire to ask what his Great-Grandfather meant before the answer came to him. They would sit with him tonight and help him to quell his fears just as the ones who had gone before them had done for them on the eve of their great battles.
They sat there in silence but Markon could hear them telling him that he would either be a hero and live on to rule his people before joining them or would be a hero and join them the next day. At last, as the sun began to lighten the sky, Markon knew his fate and rose to meet it, it was then that one of the misty figures stepped forward.
"A compass I have given you and it lead you to your fate, now take the other part of what is given the compass bearers." it said as it held out a magnificent sword to Markon. He took it and saluted the misty ones before sheathing his sword and striding to the head of his army.
The battle raged from dawn to well into the night. Markon's forces gained entrance to the city at great cost around dusk. Markon entered the city under cover of darkness and made his way through the streets. After a mortar hit near him Markon Sought refuge in a dark alley until the debris stopped falling from a collapsing building.
"A compass to show you along your way." Markon said as he pressed the compass into the hands of a scared little boy who also sought refuge in the dark alley, "If you choose to follow, it will lead you to your ultimate destiny."
Markon rose wondering why he had done what he had just done and walked out of the dark alley into the street as the scream of men and women rose into the sky along with the sounds of the raging battle. Once in the street Markon drew his pistol and fired several shots each direction down the street.
"Go, your way is clear!" he shouted to the little boy, who, needing no other bidding, scampered away down the street and out of the city.
Markon watched as the little boy disappeared into the lingering gun smoke before throwing his pistol aside, drawing the sword, and striding towards the center of the battle with a confidence in his step flowing from the knowledge of his fate.
Copyright © 2007-2009 Robert W. A. Nance
All rights reserved
I apologize for not getting this post up in a timely manner, but I had a little Writers Block, it was terrible....
Anyway, I would like to try something new, for those of you who have taken a Comp class with Mrs. C know what this is, it is called prompts. I would like each person who reads this to post a comment, (I fixed it so that anyone can post, just click comment then click other, it will let you post without having a google account) at the end of your comment write a sentence or two that you would like to see me build a story around. Something like: "there was a dusty rose between the pages of the book." or "there stood the towers that all hated and all loved." I would really appreciate this and your comments too.
Anyway I know you all want to read a story so here is my latest writing: A Compass To Show The Way.
"A compass to show you along your way." Said a man in the shadows as he pressed something into the hands of a scared little boy, "If you choose to follow, it will lead you to your ultimate destiny."
The man rose and walked out of the dark alley into the street as the scream of men and women rose into the sky along with the sounds of the raging battle. Once in the street the man drew his pistol and fired several shots each direction down the street.
"Go, your way is clear!" he shouted to the little boy, who, needing no other bidding, scampered away down the street and out of the city.
The man watched as the little boy disappeared into the lingering gun smoke before throwing his pistol aside, drawing a sword, and striding towards the center of the battle with a confidence in his step flowing from the knowledge of his fate.
For years afterwards the compass lay safe, guiding its new owner to safety, shelter, and food. Soldiers were a constant threat, although as the boy grew he became strong and powerful, a tough match for any threatening soldier. Needless to say these infrequent run ins with people bent on killing him made the boy distrust people, so he avoided towns and cities as much as he could.
For twelve years the compass bade its time to show the boy to his destiny, and at long last it turned its needle. The boy gathered his things and began his trek to his destiny, although he did not know it.
Three days after setting out the boy reached a city called Parateor. Distrustful of people as always he walked into Parateor with his gun at the ready. After passing through the ruined gates he saw the squalor of the townsfolk who were inexplicably fleeing before him.
Why they should fly from him was beyond the boy, but he put the matter to rest as he entered the building to which the compass was showing him. It was a dimly lit building lined with shelves and littered with scrolls and loose sheets of paper.
"A soldier!" cried the clerk behind the counter at the center of the room as he dove for cover.
"I am no soldier." replied the boy stowing his gun.
"Then who are you?" asked the clerk.
"My name is Markon, of a surname for myself I know nothing." the boy replied.
"Then how did you come to have a gun, as it is that only soldiers of the…. King…. are allowed guns?" asked the clerk slowly beginning to trust Markon.
"Well I stole it from one of the sold…" began Markon before the clerk cut him off.
"Where did you get that?" the clerk asked pointing to the compass hanging from Markon's belt.
"It was given to me several years ago by a man I don't know." Markon said in a cautious voice, "Why?"
The clerk immediately stood up and ran into a back room with out saying a word. Just as Markon was beginning to wonder if he should leave the clerk returned followed by an old man.
"I never thought I would live to see the compass returned to its own land." Said the old man as he stared intently at the beat up black compass at Markon's belt, then his eyes shifted to Markon's face, "And as fine a man as any to carry this item Mr. Souragon."
"Who is Souragon?" Asked Markon.
"You are, my liege." The old man answered.
"And how may I ask do you know this?" asked Markon a look of incredulity on his face.
"King Wirgon Souragon was assassinated many years ago. He was the last good king this country has seen. He was one of the rare survivors of the task of the compass that you carry on your belt. In your eyes resides the same ferocity and desire for righteousness that I saw so many times in his. That is one trait that stays in his bloodline." The old man answered.
If you choose to follow, it will lead you to your ultimate destiny, Markon recalled. That must be it, his destiny was to retake the throne of this kingdom from the kings who had wrought so much evil from it.
"Take care with your thoughts, my liege, noble though they undoubtedly are." The old man said as he sat down, "The compass has become a symbol of the fighters against evil, the one who holds it has fought in some way for the people against some great evil near and far. As I said earlier your Great-Grandfather was one of the lucky few who live, the tasks that the compass leads men to have killed most of them although the ends they were fighting for were accomplished.
"You no doubt believe that your task is to kill the king and take back your Great- Grandfather's crown. I can do no more than confirm that that is what the people of this country need more than anything else now. It is up to you to find the means of doing it. Go now and do what you will do, and pray that what you do is right."
Markon left the old man and walked back out into the street, if he went alone and killed the king the royal guard would kill him and completely nullify the good that had been done. So he decided that he would need an army to draw off the guard.
Raising an army in Parateor was quite easy, as was raising an army in the neighboring towns and villages. In all that time Markon did not consult the compass at all, he finally did on the eve of the battle. It pointed him away from the camp into a large clearing in the woods next to the camp. He sat down and after a while he was joined, not by any man but by a misty figure that resembled Markon.
"I am Wirgon, we come to sit with you and quell your fears as was done for us." it said as it was joined by others like its self.
Markon felt a fleeting desire to ask what his Great-Grandfather meant before the answer came to him. They would sit with him tonight and help him to quell his fears just as the ones who had gone before them had done for them on the eve of their great battles.
They sat there in silence but Markon could hear them telling him that he would either be a hero and live on to rule his people before joining them or would be a hero and join them the next day. At last, as the sun began to lighten the sky, Markon knew his fate and rose to meet it, it was then that one of the misty figures stepped forward.
"A compass I have given you and it lead you to your fate, now take the other part of what is given the compass bearers." it said as it held out a magnificent sword to Markon. He took it and saluted the misty ones before sheathing his sword and striding to the head of his army.
The battle raged from dawn to well into the night. Markon's forces gained entrance to the city at great cost around dusk. Markon entered the city under cover of darkness and made his way through the streets. After a mortar hit near him Markon Sought refuge in a dark alley until the debris stopped falling from a collapsing building.
"A compass to show you along your way." Markon said as he pressed the compass into the hands of a scared little boy who also sought refuge in the dark alley, "If you choose to follow, it will lead you to your ultimate destiny."
Markon rose wondering why he had done what he had just done and walked out of the dark alley into the street as the scream of men and women rose into the sky along with the sounds of the raging battle. Once in the street Markon drew his pistol and fired several shots each direction down the street.
"Go, your way is clear!" he shouted to the little boy, who, needing no other bidding, scampered away down the street and out of the city.
Markon watched as the little boy disappeared into the lingering gun smoke before throwing his pistol aside, drawing the sword, and striding towards the center of the battle with a confidence in his step flowing from the knowledge of his fate.
Copyright © 2007-2009 Robert W. A. Nance
All rights reserved
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