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.

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.

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