Thranos ambled down the staircase, finding the way down easier than the ascension had been, and looked about the common room of the inn. It was still early, and no one else had yet entered the inn, which pleased the dwarf - he was not one for the company of humans.
He glanced about the room, and found a chair that appeared sturdy enough to hold his stout frame, and he walked purposefully to it. He seated himself, and found that it would bear his weight. Thranos smiled slightly, and waited.
"I presume you found the gremlin you sought, sir dwarf?" A voice from the counter asked.
Thranos jumped slightly - he had not noticed the innkeep standing there, as he had been when the dwarf had first entered. "Aye, I found 'im." He nodded.
The innkeep nodded. After a moment, he leaned forward slightly on the counter. "Would you be a pilot, sir dwarf?"
Thranos raised an eyebrow at the human. He was a pilot, true enough, though he did not enjoy offering his services in places where there were no obvious landing spots. All too often had small, backwater towns such as this been filled with people far too eager to leave, and Thranos did not enjoy the ensuing anger when he decided to simply leave. It made coming back that much more awkward.
Today, however, Thranos was in a good mood. His technician seemed to be ready for the tasks ahead, and the dwarf had a good feeling about the meeting with the templar at noon.
He nodded. "Aye, that I be. Why do ye ask?"
The innkeep hesitated. "There is a man seeking passage to the lands of the west. He may be arriving shortly... he has need of the services of a pilot with a good ship."
The lands to the west. Thranos' memory took him back fifteen years... he and Grakyl had just spent the last of their coin on a new propellor, as their secondary had been shot down in the mountains in northern Kahasal, the name of the so-called "lands to the west." They had landed in a port town by the name of Cara'nor, and there had encountered a man by the name of Animus, who sought passage to Koltir. They had given it, of course - they were far too poor to have not done so. Thranos never enjoyed sitting around waiting for a job. Though he was a mercenary as well as pilot, something about doing nothing but waiting for long hours at a time irked him, and he tended to take the first job that came his way.
"Does he have th' coin tae 'ford passage?" The dwarf asked.
The innkeep shrugged. "I know not, sir dwarf. Though he looks wealthy enough. He should be here in a small while, I imagine - he has been seeking passage for the past few days."
Thranos nodded. If Grakyl could complete the repairs quickly enough, perhaps they could have enough coin to purchase supplies rather than rig something together. Grakyl was excellent with repairs, especially rigging things together, though such fixes had a tendency to not last very long. As Thranos recalled, it had been exactly one of those rigged repairs that had caused the secondary prop to fail in the first place...
"Grakyl!" Thranos bellowed. "What be takin' ya so long?"
"I'm comin', I'm comin'." The gremlin's high-pitched voice came from somewhere near the top of the stairs. "Don' be rushin' me."
Grakyl slowly descended, his hand precariously perched on the rail as he came down. He was garbed in the rough dress of a Coldlander - hand-stitched denim pants, with pockets everywhere to hold random bits of machinery as he worked; a rough-woven wool shirt, which had originally been a light brown in color, now tinged black from oil stains; and a finely-crafted leather toolbelt, in which were placed various mechanical tools of varying purpose. His spanner was slung over his shoulder, held in place by a leather strap, and the dark-colored goggles now hid his bright green eyes from view.
"Took ya long 'nough, ya li'l basterd." Thranos chuckled, the sound of gravel in an avalanche.
Grakyl looked at him and tilted his head. "Ha, ha. Funny guy, tha' Thranos." He quickly clambored down the remaining steps with an uncanny agility. "So, wha's th' plan now?"
"Ye're gonna git yer ass out tae th' ship, tha's th' plan, an' ye're gonna git tae work on 'er. Startin' wi' th' Folkorian 'ssemblies." Thranos said with a nod. "An' ye're not gonna rip her up tae git at 'em, aither. I've seen what ye can do when ye try. Ye don' need tae rip 'er up ta git at 'em."
Grakyl sighed. "I s'pose so. Ya want me ta start now, yeah?"
Thranos nodded.
The gremlin sighed again. "Righ'. I'll be ou' there, then." The gremlin headed for the door.
"An' be quick 'bout it, y'hear?" Thranos said without turning. "Might have us a job fer when we leave."
The gremlin's ears perked up, which was an impressive sight. Few races' ears were as large as those of a gremlin, and a gremlin's ears usually rose somewhere in the vicinity of three to four inches.
"A'ight." Grakyl said simply, then walked out the door.
"He recovered rather quickly." The innkeep observed quietly.
Thranos nodded. "Aye. He be small, an' th' smaller ones git over spirits quick." He stroked his beard in thought. "Though a strong drink be soundin' good 'bout now. 'Ow much fer yer best?"
"Don't worry about the cost, Thranos Bluebeard." A voice spoke from the doorway. "It's on me."
The dwarf quickly turned to get a look at the stranger who knew his name, his right hand going for the fastenings of the strap on his chest - the strap that held his rifle in place. His eyes narrowed at the stranger. "Who ye be?"
The figure appeared human, and upon closer inspection (particularly of the ears - the only way Thranos was really able to tell, as the pointedness of elven ears gave away their race rather quickly), he was indeed human ("Too many damn humans 'round 'ere," Thranos thought to himself). He was dressed in robes of a scholar, darkly-colored, but a bastard sword was hung awkwardly on his back.
"Who th' 'ell're you?" Thranos asked darkly. He did not appreciate surprises, and someone appearing out of nowhere with knowledge not just of his given name, but of his clan, did not sit well with him.
The man spreads his arms in greeting. "My name is Tetra. I seek passage to Kahasal, and I understand that you're a pilot."
Thranos nodded. "Aye, ye'd be righ' wi' tha'. How'd ye know me name?"
The man shrugged. "I am a telepath, among other things."
Thranos nodded sagely. A telepath... psionics. An awkard power. The dwarf knew of it only from his short excursions to Kahasal, the homeland of most of those who professed such abilities. There was no sign that a psionics-user was making use of his abilities, which made them far more dangerous than a wizard with their awkward gestures and disgusting components, or technologists with their clockwork devices and explosive grenades.
"I seek passage to Kahasal." Tetra repeated. "Will you take me there?"
The dwarf considered. They were currently in a small hamlet southwest of Mechanicus, the capital of the Coldlands Territory, the center of technology in the world. Flying to Kahasal would take a good deal of time, and the repairs still had to be made. If they flew to Kahasal, they would then have to begin their flight to the templar's chosen meeting place, with no time to make any additional repairs to the ship.
"I'll hafta see th' color a yer coin." The dwarf said slowly. "I dinnae know if it'll be worth our time tae take ye there."
Tetra nodded. "I see. Unfortunately, I have no coin..."
The dwarf snorted at that.
Tetra raised a hand. "But I can offer this much - a favor. Call upon me in the future, and I will do as you ask, if it is within my power."
Thranos considered. He was not one for performing services for something as ephemeral as a favor. However, the services of a user of psionics could definitely come in handy. Thranos was not nieve enough to believe that technology could solve all problems, and - as a mercenary - a situation in which psionics were needed was bound to come up eventually.
"I'll hafta think 'bout it." Thranos said, after a long pause. "I dinnae know if a favor kin be 'nough fer a trip a that length, ye ken?"
Tetra nodded. "Fair enough. However, I must make haste."
Thranos shrugged. "We're plannin' on headin' out pretty quick, too. So jus' hold on tae yer horses, an' we'll get back tae ye."
Tetra nodded, then seated himself. "I await your answer, then."
Thranos nodded back, then rose and ambled for the door.
---
"Grakyl!" The dwarf yelled as he neared the airship. Various mechanical bits were scattered about the field around the craft, though the gremlin was nowhere to be seen. Thranos knew from experience, however, that that probably meant his companion was deep within the bowels of the ship. "What's yer status?"
"Th' torque on th' Folkorian assembly's at three an' three quarters, but she won't come any higher'n 'at." Grakyl's voice echoed from within the ship. "Main prop's rotatin' at twenty-six an' a half, which is within th' tolerance, er whatever... th' LeyBrossian's shiftin', but she's still tagether. Managed to stick a sixteen-gauge inta th' steerin' column, so she might be a bit rough on th' vertical turns, bu' she'll stay tagether, at least."
Thranos narrowed his eyes at where he surmised the gremlin to be. "I though' ye said th' repairs'd take a good while." He grumbled.
There was a pause. "Yeah, but I cut a few corners... nothin' bad's happened yet 'cause of it, righ'?"
Thranos looked at the ship for a long moment, then nodded. "So we're good tae go, then?"
The gremlin clambored out of the side of the ship, wiping his hands on a rag. His ears were splattered with oil, and his jeans had oil stains in the shape of his hands all over the upper legs. "We're good ta go, yeah. For awhile, at least."
Thranos nodded his approval. "Aight, then. Think she's ready tae fly now?"
The gremlin considered, then nodded. "I s'pose, yeah. Why, what'd ya have in mind?"
"There be a human at th' inn, lookin' fer a ride tae Kahasal." Thranos said. "He's got no coin, an' I dinnae know if she could take it. He's willin' tae offer us a favor, though, in th' future, in exchange fer th' ride."
Grakyl seated himself against the airship, deep in thought. "He wants a free ride? Tha's not like you, Thranos, givin' rides ta people fer free..."
The dwarf shook his head agitatedly. "Nae, I dinnae want ta give 'im a free ride. He said he'd be willin' tae do us a favor in th' future. He's a telepath, an' I think tha' may come in handy one o' these days."
The gremlin looked up at the dwarf, then shrugged. "If ya like. If we're goin' ta Kahasal, though, won't we be cuttin' th' meetin' a bit...?"
The dwarf shrugged. "I'm sure th' templar'll understan' if we're a bit late. And he's a templar - time dinnae make much difference to 'em, eh? We kin make th' run."
Grakyl nodded. "I s'pose, yeah. So ye'll go get th' guy, an' I'll start her up?"
Thranos nodded. "Aye, sounds good tae me."
"Righ'." The gremlin said, then hopped up from his perch as the dwarf ambled away.
---
Tetra was already standing as Thranos entered the inn.
Thranos looked with a glaring eye at the human as Tetra gazed at the dwarf. "I see. I have no belongings other than what you see. We can leave now."
Thranos nodded. "Aye, sounds good. Well, let's git goin', then."
The dwarf exited the inn, glancing over his shoulder to ensure the human was following, then proceeded to his ship.
---
Grakyl clambored out of the airship as the pair approached. Already the three propellors that held the craft aloft were spinning, and a large vent coming from the backside of the ship spewing a considerable amount of darkly-colored air. A stout wooden ladder, stained thick with oil, extended from the deck of the ship.
"Tetra, this'd be Grakyl, th' technician fer me craft." Thranos said as he gestured to the gremlin. "Grakyl, this'd be Tetra, th' passenger we're takin tae Kahasal."
Grakyl nodded. "Nice ta meet ya!"
"Nice to meet you, as well." Tetra said. He then surveyed the ship. "This thing... is capable of flight?"
Thranos narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "Aye, she's a sturdy ship. Bred a dwarven architecture wi' gremlin engineerin'. She's solid an' kin get ya faster tae where ya need tae go'n any other."
Tetra nodded. "Fair enough." He paused, looking intently at Thranos. "I will be in the passenger quarters, then." He boarded the ship with the ease of someone who had done so hundreds of times, and disappeared into the doorway that led to the bowels of the ship.
"Awkwerd." Grakyl said.
Thranos nodded. "Aye, he be readin' our minds. Keep guard a yerself. I dinnae want 'im ta have an advantage, if he plans ta turn on us."
Grakyl nodded, then clambored onto the ship. Thranos followed, though he climbed at a slower rate - the strain on the ladder was considerable given his bulk and the weight of his equipment, and Thranos had no desire to break the ladder. Last time, Grakyl had been forced to tie together three lengths of rope, which were then attached to the main propellor, to pull the dwarf onto the deck ("Prob'ly where th' damage on th' LeyBrossian array came from," the dwarf mused).
Thranos walked slowly to the helm of his ship. Here was where he felt the most alive - at the wheel of an airship, soaring high above the skies. His people were not one to come from their mountainous caves, but when Thranos first saw an airship soaring overhead, he knew he needed to have one. This ship, which he had named the Intepid, had been crafted from a fallen wreck of some unnamed human pilot. The wheel of the ship was his pride and joy.
Crafted of fine marble with wooden spokes and a titanium inlay, the wheel was a masterful piece in and of itself. It handled strain as though it were nothing; Thranos oiled it constantly to ensure that his control over the movements of his ship was complete. The mechanism by which a wheel for a seafaring vessel was adapted to an aerial one was a unique invention of his own, and it was a secret he shared with no one. The Intrepid's uncanny ability to make sharp turns and dives had saved his and the gremlin's lives many times. Often, it was the key to their victory in aerial battles: few ships could match the maneuverability of the Intrepid.
Below the wheel was a single petal, which controlled how much fuel went to the primary propellors - those which provided lift. While the wheel itself could control horizontal movement and falling, only the petal controlled the ship's ability to rise.
Next to the wheel was a small box, equipped with a speaker. Grakyl had installed it, as the gremlin often moved around the ship while in flight - it allowed the two to remain in contact with one another despite the gremlin's absence on the deck. "I s'pose we'll be takin' off now." Thranos spoke into the box.
"Righ'." Came the tinny response. Thranos was always unnerved by the box's effect on the gremlin's voice - it made him nervous about how his own sounded on the other side. Thranos was never really certain exactly how the gremlin heard him, or by what implement in the gremlin's belt, but the dwarf did not care: such mechanical toys were below him. Give him his gun and his ship, and he needed little else.
"Here we go, then." Thranos said, and placed his hands upon the wheel. His right foot hovered above the petal, and with a triumphant smile, the dwarf slammed his foot to the floor.
The bowels of the ship roared, and the propellors screamed; Thranos felt the familiar feeling of being airborne, and though he was only a few mere feet off the ground, he knew that - shortly - they would be in the clouds.
"I though' I tole ya about th' whole floorin' it thing..." Grakyl's irritated voice came from the speaker.
"Well, I dinnae care. It's my ship." Thranos grumbled.
"I s'pose, yeah..." The gremlin's voice trailed off.
Thranos smiled, and reflected upon his day. So far, so good.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thranos and Grakyl, Part I
As an exercise in writing, I have begun writing something of a short story concerning two of the more intriguing personalities in my world, by the names of Thranos and Grakyl. Thranos and Grakyl are mercenaries, who have been encountered by several groups and are usually used as a means of transport.
These will probably be excessively long, though I don't have much time for writing anymore, so the next installment may be written quite awhile after this one. However, I am seeking to improve my writing skills, so hopefully these small installments will do the trick.
-----
A poorly-groomed dwarf trudged through the early morning mist, the propellors of his airship some fifty feet behind him slowing, then gradually coming to a stop. The landing had been rough, but they always were - he was an expert at piloting, but his landings still needed work. His companion, whom he now ventured to wake, was supposed to keep the ship in top condition, but unfortunately the gremlin had recently discovered the wonders of alcohol, and had slipped in his duties. The rifle on the dwarf's back heliographed in the early light, though the pilot took no note of it. What he intended to do this day had little use for firearms, though it did ensure that others understood his station in the world. Treasure-hunter. Mercenary. Taxi.
The dwarf groomed his grey, almost blue, beard, which was beginning to go white with age. He shivered slightly from the cold - the top of his head was completely bald and covered with various scars, which he bore proudly as sign of his experience. He was a Bluebeard, a young clan of dwarves who had broken off from their parent clan over a religious dispute, and though he was a mercenary, he represented his clan proudly. He was garbed in heavy black leather and iron, his gloves clearly those of a pilot, with fingers exposed past the knuckle to allow finer control over various instruments.
He crested a hill, and surveyed the small town before him. He had left his companion here the night before, to gather and prepare the supplies necessary to bring their craft to full repair, then to indulge himself in whatever took his fancy. The dwarf had taken the ship for a test flight, to determine what truly needed repair and what could wait: doing so was always dangerous, but the dwarf had shrugged off the gremlin's minor concern. He had always done it that way, and always would. The gremlin's diagnostic skills were suspect, anyhow, and the dwarf did not trust them as he did the gremlin's skilled hands at fixing what he had found to be broken. Better to find out the hard way - that, at least, would ensure that the gremlin made the repairs.
The dwarf ventured down to the inn, which he recognized from the previous night, andslammed open the door. The innkeep - who had been busily wiping the counter from the previous evening's festivities - looked up suddenly at the abrupt interruption.
"Morning, sir dwarf." The human said with a nod. "My apologies, but the cook has not arrived yet..."
The dwarf shook his head. "No, an' I don' give a damn 'bout yer shit food. There a gremlin here, by th' name a Grakyl?"
The innkeep shrugged. "There may be."
The dwarf examined the innkeep's face as carefully as he could from the long distance. Humans were difficult to read for him - shifty creatures, short-lived, and never quite predictable. He had run into many humans in his two-hundred-some years, and had yet to find many he liked. This one's face was as blank as a board.
"Ne'ermind. 'E's here, I know 'e is." The dwarf grumbled. "Ya throw 'im out back, or did 'e manage tae 'ford a room?"
The innkeep raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Your second guess would be correct, sir dwarf."
The dwarf nodded. "Aye, I though' as much. Don' be mindin' th' noise, now, lad. Grakyl likes his ale, an' lately been havin' troubles wi' risin', if ya ken. Which room?"
"The third on the right." The innkeep said simply, then returned to wiping down the bar.
He ambled up the staircase, which proved to be more difficult than navigating his cramped ship. The aircraft had been built with the dwarf's stout frame in mind, while these stairs were built by humans, for humans. Yet another thing that bothered him about the humans: they always thought of themselves before others, never considering the fact that other races may find their ways difficult. Even the elves managed to accomodate dwarves on occasion, keeping their stairs low enough for the sturdy race to climb with little issue in lands where dwarves and elves met more than once in a double-moon.
He found his way to the third door on the right, which he then pounded on with a heavily-leathered fist.
"Grakyl! Grakyl, ya li'l basterd, ya better get'cher ass outta 'at room, er I'm gonna hafta blow th' door off it's hinges!" The dwarf bellowed.
High-pitched groaning came from within. The dwarf nodded - he had the right room.
Pulling his foot back, he kicked the door in with one fluid motion. He had had much experience with kicking down doors - far too many times had he been in situations that demanded such violence. He considered his most recent encounter with doors, and reflected that simply opening it would've been easier: the door had not been locked.
The room itself was simple enough - single bed made of shoddy wood (the dwarf had always preferred stone - perhaps his thoughts regarding the wood was simply a reflection of his peoples' preference for sturdier materials), single dresser made of the same poor material, and a closed window with plain white curtains. Drawn, of course - the gremlins were not a race that performed well in sunlight, and Grakyl was no exception.
The dwarf scanned the room for his companion's personal effects, and spotted the small pack the gremlin always carried, his spanner resting against the wall ("Stupid gremlin," thought the dwarf, "when will he learn tae keep 'is weapon near?"), and his darkly-colored goggles resting on the dresser.
"Grakyl, I said get'cher ass outta bed! Ya got work ta do. Th' damn wheel's all outta whack, an' I cannae land er proper. What do ya propose we tell th' templar, eh? Tha' we had ta cancel th' trip due ta yer sorry hide lyin' aroun'?" He ambled over to the dresser, rudely grasped the goggles, and threw them at the body under the sheets.
The small-framed figure moved and groaned. "Oi, Thranos, why do ya hafta be such an ass?... I'm hung-over, give me, like... five hours, er somethin'..." The gremlin's voice was high-pitched and gravelly, and had managed to acquire a bit of the dwarf's accent - after traveling together for some four decades, the dwarf supposed, it was bound to happen.
"If it were jus' me ya were holdin' up, t'wouldn' be a problem." Thranos observed. "But we got tha' templar ta deal with, ya remember? Th' lad we carted aroun' Kesmong and Caurak, long ago. Wi' th' goblins. He's asked us ta do a favor for 'im, an' I intend tae help him." He kicked the bed roughly with an iron-shod boot. "An' ye're gonna help me, hang-over er no!"
"But I don' wanna work on th' steerin' column." The gremlin whined. "We don' have any eighteen-gauge angle brackets, an' th' LeyBrossian gear array is startin' ta fall apart... I don' wanna hafta disassemble th' prop manifold ta hafta get at th' thing..."
"Enough a yer mechanical claptrap!" Thranos bellowed. "Get'cher ass outta bed!" He briskly grabbed one edge of the bed and swiftly overturned the entire structure, throwing the tiny creature onto the floor, shrouded bedsheets.
Gremlins were a curious creature. They were possessed of large, bat-like ears; small, shifty eyes; and thin, elongated limbs, ending in claw-like hands and feet with unusually dexterous fingers and toes. Their entire frame was almost wire-thin: a gremlin who managed to get his head into a space could easily fit the rest of his body into it, as well. They were covered in a menagerie of scales and fur, usually of dark coloration.
Grakyl was similar to others of his race, covered in black fur and dark grey scales, with unusually bright green eyes. An array of earrings lined his left ear from the side of his face to its elongated tip, and the bright pieces of metal shone brightly in the early morning.
Grakyl wearily rubbed his eyes. "Alrigh', alrigh'. I'll get ta it. What's th' rush fer, anyway?"
"Th' templar, ye know, th' one we helped out in th' mounts a Caurak?" Thranos grumbled. "He's asked fer us ta help 'im out wi' somethin'. Dunno what it is, but I dinnae care, aither. We owe 'im one."
Grakyl yawned, then nodded. "I s'pose. Didja manage ta check th' rotation rate a th' main prop, at least?"
Thranos nodded. "Aye, she's runnin' as she should." He paused, then eyed the gremlin. "Thirteen, aye?"
"Well, goin' by dwarven measures, yeah." The gremlin yawned again, nodding. He stretched, and his tiny frame seemed almost nonexistent for a small moment. "She should be goin' at twenty-seven by Ronkan, wi' angular torque on th' Folkorian assembly at... what's it, two an' a half? Nah, 'at's fer somethin' else, rudder assembly mebbe... um, I think it's s'posed ta be... four an' a quarter, on th' Folkorian on th' main prop."
Thranos considered the numbers, then shrugged, his armor creaking as he did so. "Aye, sounds 'bout right tae me."
The gremlin looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. He opened his mouth slightly, then shook his head and sighed. "Righ'. I'm guessin' ya'll want me ta double-check it, yeah?"
Thranos nodded. The gremlin gathered his wits quickly, which was good. The templar had wanted to meet them by noon, and though he was native to the caverns of the mountains far to the north, even he could tell time by the sun - and going by that time, they had four hours to get their repairs finished.
The gremlin nodded to himself. "Righ', gotta rip up th' deck, then, an' we gotta check all th' Folkorian assemblies, an' then th' LeyBrossian array, an' calibrate th' props ta make sure they're rotatin' righ'..." He glanced up at the dwarf. "We got th' supplies ta do this, yeah?"
Thranos shrugged. "If not, ye'll make do."
Grakyl shrugged in turn. "I s'pose so. We always do it that way, yeah?"
Thranos nodded.
Grakyl nodded, then rose from the floor. "Now git th' hell outta 'ere, so I kin get dressed! Don' wanna be standin' aroun' 'ere all day, yeah? We got work ta do!"
Thranos chuckled to himself, a rumbling sound similar to that of an avalanche, then stepped outside, pulling the broken door shut behind him. It was looking to be a fine day so far. Hopefully the remainder would be as equally entertaining.
These will probably be excessively long, though I don't have much time for writing anymore, so the next installment may be written quite awhile after this one. However, I am seeking to improve my writing skills, so hopefully these small installments will do the trick.
-----
A poorly-groomed dwarf trudged through the early morning mist, the propellors of his airship some fifty feet behind him slowing, then gradually coming to a stop. The landing had been rough, but they always were - he was an expert at piloting, but his landings still needed work. His companion, whom he now ventured to wake, was supposed to keep the ship in top condition, but unfortunately the gremlin had recently discovered the wonders of alcohol, and had slipped in his duties. The rifle on the dwarf's back heliographed in the early light, though the pilot took no note of it. What he intended to do this day had little use for firearms, though it did ensure that others understood his station in the world. Treasure-hunter. Mercenary. Taxi.
The dwarf groomed his grey, almost blue, beard, which was beginning to go white with age. He shivered slightly from the cold - the top of his head was completely bald and covered with various scars, which he bore proudly as sign of his experience. He was a Bluebeard, a young clan of dwarves who had broken off from their parent clan over a religious dispute, and though he was a mercenary, he represented his clan proudly. He was garbed in heavy black leather and iron, his gloves clearly those of a pilot, with fingers exposed past the knuckle to allow finer control over various instruments.
He crested a hill, and surveyed the small town before him. He had left his companion here the night before, to gather and prepare the supplies necessary to bring their craft to full repair, then to indulge himself in whatever took his fancy. The dwarf had taken the ship for a test flight, to determine what truly needed repair and what could wait: doing so was always dangerous, but the dwarf had shrugged off the gremlin's minor concern. He had always done it that way, and always would. The gremlin's diagnostic skills were suspect, anyhow, and the dwarf did not trust them as he did the gremlin's skilled hands at fixing what he had found to be broken. Better to find out the hard way - that, at least, would ensure that the gremlin made the repairs.
The dwarf ventured down to the inn, which he recognized from the previous night, andslammed open the door. The innkeep - who had been busily wiping the counter from the previous evening's festivities - looked up suddenly at the abrupt interruption.
"Morning, sir dwarf." The human said with a nod. "My apologies, but the cook has not arrived yet..."
The dwarf shook his head. "No, an' I don' give a damn 'bout yer shit food. There a gremlin here, by th' name a Grakyl?"
The innkeep shrugged. "There may be."
The dwarf examined the innkeep's face as carefully as he could from the long distance. Humans were difficult to read for him - shifty creatures, short-lived, and never quite predictable. He had run into many humans in his two-hundred-some years, and had yet to find many he liked. This one's face was as blank as a board.
"Ne'ermind. 'E's here, I know 'e is." The dwarf grumbled. "Ya throw 'im out back, or did 'e manage tae 'ford a room?"
The innkeep raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Your second guess would be correct, sir dwarf."
The dwarf nodded. "Aye, I though' as much. Don' be mindin' th' noise, now, lad. Grakyl likes his ale, an' lately been havin' troubles wi' risin', if ya ken. Which room?"
"The third on the right." The innkeep said simply, then returned to wiping down the bar.
He ambled up the staircase, which proved to be more difficult than navigating his cramped ship. The aircraft had been built with the dwarf's stout frame in mind, while these stairs were built by humans, for humans. Yet another thing that bothered him about the humans: they always thought of themselves before others, never considering the fact that other races may find their ways difficult. Even the elves managed to accomodate dwarves on occasion, keeping their stairs low enough for the sturdy race to climb with little issue in lands where dwarves and elves met more than once in a double-moon.
He found his way to the third door on the right, which he then pounded on with a heavily-leathered fist.
"Grakyl! Grakyl, ya li'l basterd, ya better get'cher ass outta 'at room, er I'm gonna hafta blow th' door off it's hinges!" The dwarf bellowed.
High-pitched groaning came from within. The dwarf nodded - he had the right room.
Pulling his foot back, he kicked the door in with one fluid motion. He had had much experience with kicking down doors - far too many times had he been in situations that demanded such violence. He considered his most recent encounter with doors, and reflected that simply opening it would've been easier: the door had not been locked.
The room itself was simple enough - single bed made of shoddy wood (the dwarf had always preferred stone - perhaps his thoughts regarding the wood was simply a reflection of his peoples' preference for sturdier materials), single dresser made of the same poor material, and a closed window with plain white curtains. Drawn, of course - the gremlins were not a race that performed well in sunlight, and Grakyl was no exception.
The dwarf scanned the room for his companion's personal effects, and spotted the small pack the gremlin always carried, his spanner resting against the wall ("Stupid gremlin," thought the dwarf, "when will he learn tae keep 'is weapon near?"), and his darkly-colored goggles resting on the dresser.
"Grakyl, I said get'cher ass outta bed! Ya got work ta do. Th' damn wheel's all outta whack, an' I cannae land er proper. What do ya propose we tell th' templar, eh? Tha' we had ta cancel th' trip due ta yer sorry hide lyin' aroun'?" He ambled over to the dresser, rudely grasped the goggles, and threw them at the body under the sheets.
The small-framed figure moved and groaned. "Oi, Thranos, why do ya hafta be such an ass?... I'm hung-over, give me, like... five hours, er somethin'..." The gremlin's voice was high-pitched and gravelly, and had managed to acquire a bit of the dwarf's accent - after traveling together for some four decades, the dwarf supposed, it was bound to happen.
"If it were jus' me ya were holdin' up, t'wouldn' be a problem." Thranos observed. "But we got tha' templar ta deal with, ya remember? Th' lad we carted aroun' Kesmong and Caurak, long ago. Wi' th' goblins. He's asked us ta do a favor for 'im, an' I intend tae help him." He kicked the bed roughly with an iron-shod boot. "An' ye're gonna help me, hang-over er no!"
"But I don' wanna work on th' steerin' column." The gremlin whined. "We don' have any eighteen-gauge angle brackets, an' th' LeyBrossian gear array is startin' ta fall apart... I don' wanna hafta disassemble th' prop manifold ta hafta get at th' thing..."
"Enough a yer mechanical claptrap!" Thranos bellowed. "Get'cher ass outta bed!" He briskly grabbed one edge of the bed and swiftly overturned the entire structure, throwing the tiny creature onto the floor, shrouded bedsheets.
Gremlins were a curious creature. They were possessed of large, bat-like ears; small, shifty eyes; and thin, elongated limbs, ending in claw-like hands and feet with unusually dexterous fingers and toes. Their entire frame was almost wire-thin: a gremlin who managed to get his head into a space could easily fit the rest of his body into it, as well. They were covered in a menagerie of scales and fur, usually of dark coloration.
Grakyl was similar to others of his race, covered in black fur and dark grey scales, with unusually bright green eyes. An array of earrings lined his left ear from the side of his face to its elongated tip, and the bright pieces of metal shone brightly in the early morning.
Grakyl wearily rubbed his eyes. "Alrigh', alrigh'. I'll get ta it. What's th' rush fer, anyway?"
"Th' templar, ye know, th' one we helped out in th' mounts a Caurak?" Thranos grumbled. "He's asked fer us ta help 'im out wi' somethin'. Dunno what it is, but I dinnae care, aither. We owe 'im one."
Grakyl yawned, then nodded. "I s'pose. Didja manage ta check th' rotation rate a th' main prop, at least?"
Thranos nodded. "Aye, she's runnin' as she should." He paused, then eyed the gremlin. "Thirteen, aye?"
"Well, goin' by dwarven measures, yeah." The gremlin yawned again, nodding. He stretched, and his tiny frame seemed almost nonexistent for a small moment. "She should be goin' at twenty-seven by Ronkan, wi' angular torque on th' Folkorian assembly at... what's it, two an' a half? Nah, 'at's fer somethin' else, rudder assembly mebbe... um, I think it's s'posed ta be... four an' a quarter, on th' Folkorian on th' main prop."
Thranos considered the numbers, then shrugged, his armor creaking as he did so. "Aye, sounds 'bout right tae me."
The gremlin looked up at him, narrowing his eyes. He opened his mouth slightly, then shook his head and sighed. "Righ'. I'm guessin' ya'll want me ta double-check it, yeah?"
Thranos nodded. The gremlin gathered his wits quickly, which was good. The templar had wanted to meet them by noon, and though he was native to the caverns of the mountains far to the north, even he could tell time by the sun - and going by that time, they had four hours to get their repairs finished.
The gremlin nodded to himself. "Righ', gotta rip up th' deck, then, an' we gotta check all th' Folkorian assemblies, an' then th' LeyBrossian array, an' calibrate th' props ta make sure they're rotatin' righ'..." He glanced up at the dwarf. "We got th' supplies ta do this, yeah?"
Thranos shrugged. "If not, ye'll make do."
Grakyl shrugged in turn. "I s'pose so. We always do it that way, yeah?"
Thranos nodded.
Grakyl nodded, then rose from the floor. "Now git th' hell outta 'ere, so I kin get dressed! Don' wanna be standin' aroun' 'ere all day, yeah? We got work ta do!"
Thranos chuckled to himself, a rumbling sound similar to that of an avalanche, then stepped outside, pulling the broken door shut behind him. It was looking to be a fine day so far. Hopefully the remainder would be as equally entertaining.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Thirteen
Blood courses through my veins:
Ancient memories of a distant reverie
Thoughts borne of lions' manes.
Flashing blades and cries of ends
Armor donned one last time to honor
Oaths sworn on a knee that bends.
Echoes throughout the misty ages
Of what was once and may be again
With the cracking turn of pages.
Virtues of those who rode and smote
Those who followed the deeds of seven
As the poets of their works wrote.
Though now their deeds are all but dead
Their names and desires lost to the winds;
All have retired to an earthen bed.
Here alone does one dare make a stand:
To challenge the time, to return to the age
Of when men of honor walked the land.
To stand against the test of time,
To stand true in the face of seven;
To stand with the names of eld
Who have long since died in heaven.
To be such a man, to be such a knight,
With one's only goal: to uphold the light
For a world that has sunk deep into night
To defend the weak with honor-born might
And for those desperate few, fight
For what can only be called right.
To be such a knight.
Ancient memories of a distant reverie
Thoughts borne of lions' manes.
Flashing blades and cries of ends
Armor donned one last time to honor
Oaths sworn on a knee that bends.
Echoes throughout the misty ages
Of what was once and may be again
With the cracking turn of pages.
Virtues of those who rode and smote
Those who followed the deeds of seven
As the poets of their works wrote.
Though now their deeds are all but dead
Their names and desires lost to the winds;
All have retired to an earthen bed.
Here alone does one dare make a stand:
To challenge the time, to return to the age
Of when men of honor walked the land.
To stand against the test of time,
To stand true in the face of seven;
To stand with the names of eld
Who have long since died in heaven.
To be such a man, to be such a knight,
With one's only goal: to uphold the light
For a world that has sunk deep into night
To defend the weak with honor-born might
And for those desperate few, fight
For what can only be called right.
To be such a knight.
Damned
My mind is screaming
My soul is bleeding
I cannot flee this pain
Left alone in dark rooms
Darkness in my mind looms
Threatening to consume me
Hopelessness fills my mind
I only seek peace to find
To ease my sufferings
All things end in apathy undying
My dreams in the darkness lying
Ne'er to surface again
Anger grows within, a flaring spark
Not enough to fight the tides of dark
That wash away all hope
Yesterday is forever gone
Echoes of the past at dawn
Bring tears to my eyes
Tomorrow will surely never come
Just a simple lie, taken from
Foolish hopes of day
The true name of eternity is today
And in that eternity I find my punishment.
My soul is bleeding
I cannot flee this pain
Left alone in dark rooms
Darkness in my mind looms
Threatening to consume me
Hopelessness fills my mind
I only seek peace to find
To ease my sufferings
All things end in apathy undying
My dreams in the darkness lying
Ne'er to surface again
Anger grows within, a flaring spark
Not enough to fight the tides of dark
That wash away all hope
Yesterday is forever gone
Echoes of the past at dawn
Bring tears to my eyes
Tomorrow will surely never come
Just a simple lie, taken from
Foolish hopes of day
The true name of eternity is today
And in that eternity I find my punishment.
Untitled
Lost and alone in the darkness unending
Wanders a small boy, searching unrelenting
Within his hand he holds a cross
Bearing his name, a reminder of his greatest loss:
Innocence.
In the forest journies a woman of words
Who has given up all hope in the world
Within her mind lies a tiny voice
Bearing her name, a reminder of her choice:
Muse.
Upon the ocean sojourns a darkened soul
Who carries the weight of the world's tolls
Within his heart he bears a great weight
Bearing his name, whose desire goes without sate:
Destiny.
Towards the tower falls an aged man
Who hears only the song of Gan
Within his soul he carries a sending
Bearing his name, a reminder of the ending:
Redemption.
On the shores of the beginning of life
Is the one who began all strife
Within her darkness lies the meaning of it all
Bearing her name, to whom all men will fall:
Love.
In the mirror that bears no reflection
Lies the answer to unvoiced inflections
Within its emptiness waits the question
Bearing its name, for which there can be no response:
Death.
Wanders a small boy, searching unrelenting
Within his hand he holds a cross
Bearing his name, a reminder of his greatest loss:
Innocence.
In the forest journies a woman of words
Who has given up all hope in the world
Within her mind lies a tiny voice
Bearing her name, a reminder of her choice:
Muse.
Upon the ocean sojourns a darkened soul
Who carries the weight of the world's tolls
Within his heart he bears a great weight
Bearing his name, whose desire goes without sate:
Destiny.
Towards the tower falls an aged man
Who hears only the song of Gan
Within his soul he carries a sending
Bearing his name, a reminder of the ending:
Redemption.
On the shores of the beginning of life
Is the one who began all strife
Within her darkness lies the meaning of it all
Bearing her name, to whom all men will fall:
Love.
In the mirror that bears no reflection
Lies the answer to unvoiced inflections
Within its emptiness waits the question
Bearing its name, for which there can be no response:
Death.
Circles
circles, circles everywhere
but not a star in sight
i journey here, i wander there
still i seek to have the light
but my soul is black with sin
damned am i to eternal night
hope and love are both long dead
drifting like a broken kite
once i thought to battle the end
but now its pointless to fight
the dying of light at dusk
all my life is but a blight
the star is forgotten, fading, dying
but can i go gently into the night?
all the dreams, all the hopes
could it be that they might
live once again on wings of day
and end this living hell in flight?
circles, circles everywhere
but not a star in sight
lightning flashes before my eyes
a dark beckoning, to meet the end
and so, hence i go: to greet the maker:
with broken gun and shattered blade;
with dying rhyme and blackened soul;
with lost hope and withered love;
with all that i was and have become;
i go to meet the end.
i look into the mirror and die.
but not a star in sight
i journey here, i wander there
still i seek to have the light
but my soul is black with sin
damned am i to eternal night
hope and love are both long dead
drifting like a broken kite
once i thought to battle the end
but now its pointless to fight
the dying of light at dusk
all my life is but a blight
the star is forgotten, fading, dying
but can i go gently into the night?
all the dreams, all the hopes
could it be that they might
live once again on wings of day
and end this living hell in flight?
circles, circles everywhere
but not a star in sight
lightning flashes before my eyes
a dark beckoning, to meet the end
and so, hence i go: to greet the maker:
with broken gun and shattered blade;
with dying rhyme and blackened soul;
with lost hope and withered love;
with all that i was and have become;
i go to meet the end.
i look into the mirror and die.
Hopeless
I look back at my shattered past;
Why were these things not meant to last?
A picture, a poem, a piece of mind
Now sinking deep below the brine
That is the depths.
All the things I've loved and shared
All the people for whom I've cared
Pass before my hopeful eyes
Dying slowly with every lie
I tell myself.
Now the dreams are dead, dying
In their bed they are lying, crying
Never to rise or come again
For they have never been
Real.
And I go to join them, in the dark
For all these things are but a lark
My hopeless hope dies at night
Never to see the morning light
That will ne'er come beside.
Why were these things not meant to last?
A picture, a poem, a piece of mind
Now sinking deep below the brine
That is the depths.
All the things I've loved and shared
All the people for whom I've cared
Pass before my hopeful eyes
Dying slowly with every lie
I tell myself.
Now the dreams are dead, dying
In their bed they are lying, crying
Never to rise or come again
For they have never been
Real.
And I go to join them, in the dark
For all these things are but a lark
My hopeless hope dies at night
Never to see the morning light
That will ne'er come beside.
Reflection
I look into the eyes of death
And as I take my final breath
I realize his name is mine.
All this time I've feared the end
The final turn, the last bend
And now the time is here.
I always knew my life was short
But now I can offer no retort
As I slowly die.
There was a time when I would fight,
But now I only seek the night
Of black eternity.
I look into my own eyes,
reflected by the mirror;
And now my soul cries.
I never thought it would come to this,
But now I see the truth:
I hate myself and want to die.
And as I take my final breath
I realize his name is mine.
All this time I've feared the end
The final turn, the last bend
And now the time is here.
I always knew my life was short
But now I can offer no retort
As I slowly die.
There was a time when I would fight,
But now I only seek the night
Of black eternity.
I look into my own eyes,
reflected by the mirror;
And now my soul cries.
I never thought it would come to this,
But now I see the truth:
I hate myself and want to die.
The Tale of the Darksoul
Beneath where the dark god sleeps
Darkness hides the thing he seeks
Scorching earth and blazing fire
There he finds stars on a pyre
Wielding the dark blade of death and hate
He hunts for the dark god lying in wait
Soulless and empty, a shell of a man
He kills for the sake of that for which he stands
Fighting the rage within his breast
He battles his foes with all his best
Hope has fled him, the star is gone
Nothing save hate yet drives him on
Slashing and slicing, cleaving and felling
He spills his foes - the damned
Further into the darkness deep'ning
'flection of his soul, atrophying
Upon an altar in the heart of night
Waits the dark god, smiling in spite
Alone they stand, dark facing dark
God against man - true dark to true dark
Lifting the dark blade high in his hand
His challenge he voices, echoes 'cross the land
The dark god just nods, and sounds a knell
The soulless one charges, a bat out of hell
Darkness surrounds them, a sphere of evil purest
Blade clashes 'gainst blade putting each to the test
Flames surround both, fuelled by hate
The dark god beckons, summons forth bait
The soulless one screams, and slashes 'cross far
The dark god surprised - as is the true star
Thus he killed hate and love in one stroke
And all was lost: his search, his hope.
Darkness hides the thing he seeks
Scorching earth and blazing fire
There he finds stars on a pyre
Wielding the dark blade of death and hate
He hunts for the dark god lying in wait
Soulless and empty, a shell of a man
He kills for the sake of that for which he stands
Fighting the rage within his breast
He battles his foes with all his best
Hope has fled him, the star is gone
Nothing save hate yet drives him on
Slashing and slicing, cleaving and felling
He spills his foes - the damned
Further into the darkness deep'ning
'flection of his soul, atrophying
Upon an altar in the heart of night
Waits the dark god, smiling in spite
Alone they stand, dark facing dark
God against man - true dark to true dark
Lifting the dark blade high in his hand
His challenge he voices, echoes 'cross the land
The dark god just nods, and sounds a knell
The soulless one charges, a bat out of hell
Darkness surrounds them, a sphere of evil purest
Blade clashes 'gainst blade putting each to the test
Flames surround both, fuelled by hate
The dark god beckons, summons forth bait
The soulless one screams, and slashes 'cross far
The dark god surprised - as is the true star
Thus he killed hate and love in one stroke
And all was lost: his search, his hope.
Introduction
Alright. As a writer, I write. If you read my blog, then you are aware that I have been in the process of writing a book over the past few months. However, that is not the extent of my work.
My attention span and lack of confidence in my ability both conspire against me, but I do manage to eke out a piece every now and then - primarily poetry. Keep in mind that most of these earlier pieces were written during my highschool years and therefore are a bit... emo, so to speak, and rather dark.
This blog will consist of the pieces that I have finished, and will be updated from time to time, but don't count on consistent additions.
As for the name of this blog, Asilent Lucidity, it is something of a contrast to the title of my usual blog. While "asilent" is not necessarily a word, the prefix "a-" indicates that the word is the opposite of its root, "silent," implying that this blog is a lack of silence, which I think fits nicely.
But anyway, now I'll actually get to posting some of my works.
It is what it is.
My attention span and lack of confidence in my ability both conspire against me, but I do manage to eke out a piece every now and then - primarily poetry. Keep in mind that most of these earlier pieces were written during my highschool years and therefore are a bit... emo, so to speak, and rather dark.
This blog will consist of the pieces that I have finished, and will be updated from time to time, but don't count on consistent additions.
As for the name of this blog, Asilent Lucidity, it is something of a contrast to the title of my usual blog. While "asilent" is not necessarily a word, the prefix "a-" indicates that the word is the opposite of its root, "silent," implying that this blog is a lack of silence, which I think fits nicely.
But anyway, now I'll actually get to posting some of my works.
It is what it is.
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