For those of you that have thoughtfully asked what I am majoring in, I am majoring in English education. I will take an extra class and get a certificate so that I will be able to teach English as a second language. I am very excited about college, and I would encourage any of you who are interested in obtaining a degree to attend a good, solid Christian college. You will make wonderful friends and definitely push your mind to new lengths that you did not know existed!
And now, having given you my pep sermon (if there is such a thing), let me attend to the business at hand. Having been trapped in the real world of textbooks and lectures so long, I find that writing a little fantasy helps me to get relax. Thus you will see The Daulots word meter on my sidebar. Would you like some snippets? Good!
Black and shining, glinting in the
glower of the gusty torch, the eyes of Slograv of Korvask scanned the heads of
the barbarians before him. He shifted
his weight in the makeshift throne that his men had hastily assembled from boards
torn from the beds of the people that now stood before him.
“Kabiak, I want the names of every
one written down. Choose out the
choicest and bring them before me as my personal servants. We march against Schlezimein tomorrow
morning, and I want them with me to show that king of theirs just what I can
do.” Slograv nodded his handsome head at
his first officer. “Amia simply wasn’t
built to withstand us,” he said with mock dejection. He languidly rose from his throne and pulled
the head of one of the Amians back by her hair.
He held up a bunch of it for his officers to see. “Have you ever seen such short hair on a
woman before this?” he asked with a laugh.
“Barely below the shoulders, it is!”
He stared into her passionless face.
“Well, woman, haven’t you anything to say? We just defeated you! You haven’t a home to call your own any
longer. You are a slave to my wish, and
have you nothing to say to that? Are you
so cold, so barbaric, that you would not even weep for your fallen land?"
~The Daulots
“Sing
a song to speed us on our way, Arda,” said Srlago. He pulled out a small stringed instrument and
began strumming a tune.
“Is that all you can think of?” Arda
groaned.
“It is my favorite,” said Srlago
gravely. “And it is your prettiest. If you are to impress Slograv, you must show
off.”
Arda pulled a black scarf over her
head and cast her eyes down. “I really
don’t want to impress Slograv or anyone.
Music ought not to be used as a weapon.”
Srlago shook his head. “Have you a better plan, Sister?”
Arda shrugged. “Swords and bows have often worked before.”
“So shall they work again, after we
have done our job,” said Srlago. He
reached down and touched a dagger concealed in his boot. “There will be plenty of fighting for your
battle-lust, Sister.”
Arda laughed. “Battle-lust?
I think not. I may be a little
eager to repay the Korvaskians for all the wrongs they have done our people,
but I am not stricken with battle-lust.”
~The Daulots
Timotheus
lifted his head and looked toward the door, his pale brown eyes wide with
anticipation. Soon he would see light!
Whatever
you do, Timotheus, never, never let the Korvaskians break you.
Timotheus recalled those last words
of his father. He had watched the wicked
arrow slice into his father’s chest, watched his father fall to the ground with
a trickle of blood running down his vest.
He had run to his father, cradled him in his arms, been torn away by
soldiers, watched his father die alone.
The Korvaskians had put him into a
horrible dungeon to make him forget, but he could never forget. He had never seen the face of Slograv, but he
was certain that he would recognize it when the fateful day finally came. Surely his face would be unmistakably marked
with evil!
You
know what they did to your mother, to your brother, to your clan.
Timotheus had never forgotten. The image had been preserved so well in the
darkness of ten years that it was forever etched into his memory. The cell door creaked open. Timotheus lifted his eyes to the wonderfully
painful dazzle of the torchlight. It
filled the cell, revealing every nasty corner.
To Timotheus it mattered naught.
There was light to satisfy his craving.
He relished the warmth of the fire on his face.
They
are your enemies, your bane. You will
never be free while they are alive.
~The Daulots
“I
want their names,” said Slograv to Kabiak.
“Now!”
Kabiak sauntered over to the first
of the prisoners. “Name!”
“Sruncl,” said the boy.
“Name!”
“Lonsh.”
“Name!”
Silence.
“I said Name!”
Timotheus turned his soulful eyes
onto Kabiak.
When
an enemy tortures you, you never cry out.
This is a sign of weakness, and an Amian is never weak!
Kabiak brought his hand across
Timotheus’ mouth. “What is your name?”
“That one,” said Triklaus coldly,
“is dumb.”
“Is that so?” said Kabiak, glowering
at Timotheus.
“He’s not spoken in the ten years
since I’ve had him,” said Triklaus with a shrug. “Dumb as an ox!” He laughed loudly at his own joke until he
noticed the king eyeing him with disgust.
“His name is Timotheus,” said Lonsh
quietly.
~The Daulots
Thanks for reading and God Bless!
.jpg)
.jpg)
