John Krauss I was actully writing while listening to "Call of the kami the audio version." the kami must of helped with my writing. ^.-What a lovely compliment. I am glad that it was such a pleasure to listen to. I am very glad that you enjoyed your prize from the drawing.
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
The
guest quarters were fit for royalty.
The
bed was a construction of pure mastery.
The
four corners were pillars of ivory that strangled their way into
one another. At the top was a grand canopy of linens. The sheets
were sewn of the finest silks and were plentiful in the wake of
the extreme cold that had gripped the lands. Xeno lay surrounded
in the sheets, his body writhing in a nightmare. His arms flailed
and his head shook from side to side.
Muttering,
it was the incoherent rambling of sleep.
The
remainder of room was darkness, except the dwindling flame at the
side of the bed encased within the iron-cased lamp. The cold winds
manipulated the fire like a dancer as the warrior slept.
The
door to the chambers opened slightly.
Shadows
of the hall merged with that of the room. The figure that
accompanied the shadow slithered, as if without form.
Xeno
remained undisturbed.
His
mind was still trapped in whatever nightmarish world gripped it.
As the shadow neared, the gaunt, featureless face of an imp moved
close to the bed. Its wicked fingers gripped a ragged, curved
blade.
Xeno
mumbled in his sleep as the creature crept close. Its pale, sickly
features curved into a grin of malevolence as it hovered above
Xeno. Drawing the thin edge above its head, the imp prepared to
plunge the blade into the slumbering warrior’s chest.
The
moon shone behind the listless clouds that drifted by lazily. As
the imp brought the blade above its head, the metal glinted in the
moonlight and flashed across Xeno’s face, waking him in an
instant. The imp screeched and slammed the blade down. It was too
late. Xeno rolled and drew his blade from the table at the
bedside.
“What
in the name of Exodus?” roared Xeno as he brandished the blade.
The imp thrashed about the bed linens, spitting and growling like
the feral creature of the night that it was. The creature stopped
upon hearing Xeno’s voice and cocked its head to the side. Its
eyes glazed as it watched the warrior standing there.
“Kill––the––warrior
Xeno,” gargled the beast as it leapt from the bed. Approaching
Xeno, it slashed at the air with its savage edge. It moved like a
beast upon four legs as it rushed toward the warrior.
Xeno
swung his blade from the ground into the air with a deep arc,
tearing the creature in two as it leapt. It squealed as it crashed
back into the bed and convulsed momentarily, until it moved no
more.
The
blood pooled on the sheets.
Xeno
sighed and moved toward the bed.
The
half-light of the moon provided the only visibility; the torch had
long since burned down to embers. Moments passed and Xeno felt the
pressure of the solitude and silence of the massive castle and the
halls that lined it.
The
door burst open, revealing light from deeper within the recesses
of the edifice. Hooded, shadowed figures emerged, their motions
hurried and confused.
Xeno
strapped his sheath along his back once again and pulled the
straps tight, the leather groaning as it gripped against his back
and along his chest. He pulled his cloak and wool shirt from the
side table as Verifal approached, flanked by Gaition and three
faceless guardians of Me’lein.
“Master
Xeno, what happened?” queried the sleepy king as he surveyed the
room.
The
imp lay in blood.
Xeno
sat in light of the moon.
He
smirked and placed the blades into their hidden sheaths around his
waist. He sighed at king. “That is a question I hoped you would
answer,” replied Xeno as he pushed past Verifal and into the
hallway just outside his room.
The
corridor stretched far into the darkness. People had gathered
because of the commotion. They ambled about like cattle in a
pasture, waiting for a command, a reason.
“What
are you saying?” began the king.
“I’m
not saying anything,” interrupted Xeno as he leaned back into
the room and glared at Gaition as he passed. The attendant lowered
his head as he met the hateful gaze of the traveling warrior.
Xeno
made his way across the room to the opposite end, his head peering
out the stone window, looking to the darkened forest below.
Shaking his head, he watched as the guards crossed paths and
circled around the corner once again. “How many guards are
posted along the outer wall?”
“Seven.
Two at the gates and five roaming along the wall,” replied
Uthen.
“And
inside the castle?”
“At
least ten or twelve more depending on the hour of the night,”
replied Uthen once again as he leaned against the wall.
“What
are you driving at, Master Warrior?” queried Verifal
suspiciously. His regal robes were pulled tight around his frame,
combating the biting cold of the night.
“Unless
you are in the practice of keeping forest imps within the castle
walls,” began Xeno. Turning with an accusing finger, he
continued. “If that is not the case, then an imp with about as
much intelligence as a stone wall managed to sneak past almost
twenty guards and into my room without even the slightest bit of
notice.”
“Are
you saying that someone let it in?” queried Uthen trying to
follow Xeno’s train of logic.
Xeno
shrugged and looked from the king to Uthen, to the cowering
Gaition. “It knew my name. It spoke it before I put an end to
its life,” finished Xeno with a sigh.
“It
spoke your name? You must be mistaken,” burst out Gaition. It
was the first time he had spoken since coming upon the scene.
“You
doubt my word,” returned Xeno, his anger seething. It seemed to
rise from his person.
“No,
it is not that. It is merely….” stammered Gaition, backing
away from the angst and venom in Xeno’s words. Uthen glowered at
Gaition, and then looked to the astonishment on Verifal’s face.
Verifal
could feel the mounting tension and stepped forward quickly. “This
cannot be decided here tonight. We will convene in the morning and
discuss this further. Let us leave it until then.”
“Will
that be alright, Master Xeno?” queried Uthen, turning toward the
hunter.
“Fine,
in the morning I leave for the north. I leave these matters to
your court.” Xeno turned away from the congregation and looked
out the stone window, out into the darkness that held both secrets
and truths.
Verifal
motioned for the guards to leave and he followed them, flanked by
Uthen and Gaition’s shrouded figure. Leaving Xeno to the
solitude and soiled sheets, he would see no more sleep that night.
 |
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
Teresa Garcia (or Teresa Amehana Garcia / Amehana Arashi) is a rural Northern California mountain woman. Art supplies are at premium in a house of artists. She has health, intermittent mobility, and nerve pain issues which she pushes through as well as possible, in order to complete her tasks. With a busy autistic son she does not always have enough time for her own projects, and her work projects often eclipse her own personal projects.
