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CaptChekaka

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Untitled - Short Number One
--
The castle’s walls held an eerie feel as I stepped lightly atop the hardened stone path. My goal was simple, my mission perilous. The echoes of the lord’s words rang through my head as I stepped up the stairwell in a rush, heart beating with adrenaline.
Two guards stood among the shadows, the iron of their blades giving a faint reflection in the moonlight. I heard them converse softly around the corner as I stepped out of the entryway, and, leaning carefully around the bend, I could feel a slight breeze.
Instinctively, I drew a single dagger from my pouch and slid into the shadows of the adjacent wall. My abilities rivaled that of mercenaries, while my motives were not similar. The first of the two had but a moment’s notice as my blade sunk into his neck before pushing him aside. The other, in a panicked state, swept at me with his sword, but I parried and, instead, drove the severed tip of my weapon into his chest.
The man fell and my mind quickly moved away from the dying men that lay at my feet and I turned towards the tower high above. Eyes narrowing, I imagined myself lighting the flame atop the structure and serving my prince well, but this solemn dream soon became a hellish nightmare.
Dazed, I could not hear the sounds of crossbows behind me, and only the sharpened tips of their bolts awoke me from those wonderful illusions that plagued my mind. Their savage frame struck my fragile flesh, and I had no choice but to succumb to the vicious attack and fall to my knees. Fallen, I could feel the blood drip from the corner of my mouth as a man stood in front of me, his weapon pressed against my forehead; I could hear a faint laughter as he pulled the trigger.
Darkness.

30-Aug-2008 23:03:05 - Last edited on 31-Aug-2008 20:24:47 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- Truth --
> November 28, 2008

Visions of grandeur cloud my thoughts, blinding me to the truth: my own truth. Everywhere I go I see the ever-present silhouette of her soul, gliding slowly towards me, hand outstretched. I turn, but she appears once more in front of me. One would say she is my good fortune, while I, however, would say she is my shame.
Oh, how the years have passed since that fateful day. Spring to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter, winter to spring – the lasting game of fate which holds our lives intertwined with one another. Still, she watches me. She watches as I sleep; she watches as I pray; she watches as I bathe; she watches as I eat; she always watches.
I was once consumed with myself, the so-called brilliance of my master plan hiding the truth just outside of my reach. It dangled ever so daintily, taunting me with its secrets deep within; but I was not one to be fooled so easily. So, I recruited others to help me – that was when I found her.
Still, she hides from me, but she reveals herself to me. This deadly game of hide and seek which plagues my mind, forcing me to jump towards the shimmering object of greed that lies just a slight distance away... but I never can catch it. I reach; it hovers farther away. I pull away; it comes towards me, teasing me.
The truth of my past, something I may never truly realize or comprehend, sits right in front of me, taunting me.
It is the absolute truth.
It is the truth that guides me.
It is the truth that controls me.
It is the truth that I shall never hold.

30-Aug-2008 23:04:41 - Last edited on 29-Nov-2008 01:43:32 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- The Inferno --
> November 28, 2008

Darkness. Oblivion. Chaos. Desire.
Envision these lying before you, the cursed instruments of pain unable to be stopped, unable to be weakened. Flames dance around you, licking you tender body with their blazing, burning tongues, creating a smell of roasting flesh. This is your resting place; this is your future; this is your home.
Fires ravage the land and a deadly heat encompasses all within its fiery grasp, eliciting shrieks of pain from the very depths of the land - treachery in its cruelest form. The screams of terror are mixed with the terrible atmosphere, forcing a delightful tune of tortured souls to come from the dark.
"My mind is lost to the terror;
My soul corrupt forever.
As I touch the dreaded walls of flame,
I know I am the one to blame.
Doom and anguish are my light,
Forcing feelings of anger and spite;
The cries of many, forged in wall,
Form the fragile, mortal call."
Darkness. Oblivion. Chaos. Desire.
The four tenets of hell, steadfast in their mission, are sealed away within a melodious tomb.
The home of TzTok-Jad.

30-Aug-2008 23:04:46 - Last edited on 29-Nov-2008 01:43:24 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- An Ode To The Hobo --
> November 28, 2008

In the land of the free, the land of the brave,
There is no one better that would rather wave
For a coin, or a buck, or lucky old sock;
His mind always thinking, "Why do things ****?"
A hobo, he be, quite weak, though, and lean;
He only eats food like that of canned beans!
On the corner he sits, leans against the wall,
Tempting the tourists with his unwavering call.
He holds out his can, and motions them well,
And, only so he can be swell,
They give a dollar, a cent, or a shoe,
Some even come from Tim-Buck-Too!
Then night falls on him, and man does he hate
The fact that he cannot re-taste what he ate.
With streets so cold, and air so ***,
Man, he doesn’t even know what to say.
He grabs the old paper, along with his wares,
And shuffles, so slowly, into a tin, with a hare.
But all who shall pass, whether be it night or day,
Know what, if awakened, he shall obviously say.
“Would you mind, kind sir, to spare me some cash?
I apologize if you find this to be rash.”
He sits there all day; he sleeps there all night,
But remember, you all, of the great hobo’s fight.

30-Aug-2008 23:04:51 - Last edited on 29-Nov-2008 01:42:58 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- My Captain --
> November 28, 2008

Beneath the glistening waters, I await.
The years have gone by so very quickly, but I still lay here, beneath the running waves, in an elegant slumber. None have looked upon my face in so very long, as I was engulfed by the sea; its cool breath sweeping over me, through every orifice, and pulling me down to its depths. Still, I sleep as I wait for you to return, my captain.
Dreaming, I think of your promises of age: you will return, you say; you will come back for me. You left me, bleeding from an open wound, as I vanished into a darkened, chilling blue. Though, as I fell, without resistance, into the ocean, I heard your voice call out, “I shall return,” and so I have waited, my captain.
Dust has long since seeped into my binding, forcing me to relinquish any and all power to the vast expanse around me. Creatures of all sizes swim about through the thick darkness, and, yet, I can see them without trouble. They come to me, touch my body, and comfort me as I await you. Their presence reminds me of you, the only one who has truly loved me, and the only one who ever will, my captain.
Can I await another age?
Can I withstand the constant pounding of the water?
Can I live without your touch?
I, your loyal steed, proclaim my answer forth through the dark.
I shall find you again one day.
I shall feel your touch.
I shall hear your breath.
I, for all of time, will wait for you, my captain.

30-Aug-2008 23:04:55 - Last edited on 29-Nov-2008 01:43:05 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- Grace --
> November 28, 2008

A lone flower sits upon the mountainside, its impeccable features gazing down upon the meadow far below. Isolated, it survived off of nothing but the mountain itself, and, in turn, the mountain returns the favor by giving it a home.
This flower is a symbol: a symbol of life. Our lord sits high upon his throne, surviving on nothing but the mountain which we strive to achieve, watching us, studying us, critiquing us. This everlasting gaze protects us from the evils that may lurk far within, but, as always, it is up to us to follow the path set aside.
The forest along the base is like a gateway, and, until we are ready, we will not pass through it. All of our life, we work towards finding our way past the gate, up the mountain, and to the flower that guides us.
Some say it is a myth; it is merely nature showing her good fortune to the world.
Some say it is the living truth; it is proof that he is watching over us.
No matter what you think, though, remember that this flower, whether given to us by nature of our god, is a sign of one's perfect, sacred grace.
The everlasting fortune.
The living truth.
The eternal task.
A flower: the truth of finite love.

30-Aug-2008 23:06:17 - Last edited on 04-Jan-2009 18:52:37 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- The Eve of Wintumber --
December 8, 2008
Winter had come to the land of Gielinor; its wrath, corrupted by the icy winds, was merciless, while its ferocity was not to be underestimated. Blizzards long ravaged the countryside, their deathly chills destroying all life within and their strength, powered by the northern lands, was devastating.
Jonathan Isirute, a long time farmer of the northern lands, was decimated. His crops were buried beneath the heavy snow; he had too little to sell, too little to forge a profit with; and his family was contemplating moving farther south to Lumbridge, or Draynor, to try and start anew – away from this icy cesspool of death.
It was the 24th of Wintumber and Jonathan had just finished packing away the last of his things. Selling his animals would have been a vain attempt; instead, he chose the easier, and more beneficial, route: slaughtering them and using it all for food along the way.
Jonathan’* long, brown beard had long since been whitened by the cold, while his hair began to fade from his brow; it gave him the appearance of an aged scholar. His family, before him, left for the cities deep below, for the wind and rain and sleet and snow became too strong for the weaker members. It was for the best.
“About six,” he muttered, loading the last of his meat onto a wagon. He paused and walked up to the front of his home, which had been built with his own hands, and felt the weakened wood with his palm, bringing memories of his greater past back to his mind; he had built this place; he had fashioned it out of nothing; he had created it; it, and him, were one.
Looking up at his light-red abode, he grabbed a small key from within his pocket, colored gold. He fingered it timidly in his hand before walking around the wooden frame and touching the doorway lightly, bringing more memories to his attention.

30-Aug-2008 23:06:26 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2008 06:35:06 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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He remembered the first steps of his children; he remembered his wedding; he remembered the death of his own parents. Everything he had ever known had happened in this one place, and he was now leaving it – for another.
Turning his head, his brown eyes fell upon the wagon and he whispered, in a low voice, “All things have to change, I suppose.” He then set the key in front of the door, pulled his blue coat in close over his slim, gray-tinted shirt, and stepped away from the building.
Jonathan’s horses whimpered from the cold as the snow began to fall harder now, causing him to hurry to his cart. He grabbed a hat off of the back and tilted it over his eyes, allowing a couple of tears to fall from his eyes and drip down onto his shirt. Wiping his eyes, he spoke softly: “It is time.”
He pulled away from his home, onto the dirt path, and looked forward into the rising sun that started to block out the cold.
-- End. --

30-Aug-2008 23:06:31 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2008 06:36:06 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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-- Eventide --
December 22, 2008
Sunlight, long having beaten down on the canopy, had begun to reside; its force weakening; its purpose falling short. There, shades of gray worked their way through the sky, blanketing the last few strands of glory from reaching the tightly-wound leaves that guarded the plain far below it; however, as the sun grew red, the moon prepared for its rebirth upon the world.
Twilight pressed forth; its waves protruding from the very depths of life itself. And there on the horizon, where shadow and light intertwined, stood night’s guardian. She looked over the world, her eyes studying the beasts of the land – the whole of it. From watching, she learned, she discovered, she plotted. Then, in the midst of this eternal battle, she breathed, and warmth was shattered; she whispered, and all beings halted; her eyes opened, and the sun bled from her gaze.
Streaks of color fell through the sky, mixing together to forge a bath of agony. The sun’s life-giving sight dimmed and night’s guardian stuck again: the sun fell deeper into the horizon, unable to save itself. Pink and red – mixed by the heavens * shot across the sky, holding back the blackness that came forth from the nightly figure.
As the sun fell prostrate to the growing strength of darkness, Hemera herself appeared in anger. She struck out against the darkness, but to no avail: Nyx shunned her; she pushed her down upon the weakened sun, to her fate, her destiny. However, she faltered, allowing Hemera to escape her deadly grasp and retreat with the sun, to live to fight another day.
Rays of light descended into the horizon, the earth.
Nyx stood on high; Hemera watched from below.
All was silenced as the world was shrouded in darkness.
Nightfall.

30-Aug-2008 23:09:15 - Last edited on 23-Dec-2008 01:18:09 by CaptChekaka

CaptChekaka

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Reserved.
- Chek

30-Aug-2008 23:09:20

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