Happy Weekend!

Indeed, I am happy, for the weekend has finally arrived.  Midterm tests are over, and I only have to sweat it out until the grades come out on Monday!
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!