Chapter one: part 3

“Stop right there!”
The woman's authoritative tone was reflected in her confident and commanding stance . She stood facing the two surprised combatants, her demeanor stern, her long, dark hair pulled back and tightly bound with a length of soft leather. The watching crowd stared, open-mouthed, at her, stunned that a woman could, at once, be so beautiful and yet radiate such power, be possessed of such a commanding presence.
She strode towards the big warrior, a sword, nearly as tall as she was herself, strapped to her almost-bare back, her naked, sensual form barely concealed by the ceremonial garb of the city lord's personal guard. She stopped directly in front of the mammoth man who fought to keep his eyes on her's rather than wandering across the distracting curves of her perfectly-defined body.
“What is the meaning of this?” As she spoke, the watching crowd began to drift away, the show over and the authorities present, this no longer seemed like a good place to be, “You are a champion Yan'buru, a warrior-elite of the Pagoda of Elements,” She spat the last words out as though disgusted that such an honourable title be bestowed upon one such as the man who now stood before her, “You dishonour yourself, you dishonour your temple, you dishonour your lord... You dishonour your city!”
Surprise crossed Yan'Buru's face at the sound of his name.
“Yes Yan'buru,” She emphasized the name, “I know who you are. Unlike some fools I could mention I don't blunder into a situation without knowing who the players are.” She nodded at the old man, who, Yan'buru just noticed, was chuckling.
Turning back to Yan'buru, undaunted by his towering height, she continued her castigation of him, “Have you any idea who this man is? Or do you just habitually assault respected elders without concern for their identities.. Or their titles?”
Something about the emphasis she placed on the word 'titles' concerned the warrior. Who was this old man?
Trying to form a reply, Yan'buru clumsily stumbled over his words while the woman watched, content to let him make a fool of himself for a while longer before interrupting.
“It matters not what you say to me warrior.” her response to his stuttering mumble was short and to the point, brooking no interruption, “Your fate is in this distinguished elder's hands now. Ask him for forgiveness, though lords know you deserve naught but swift punishment.”
Yan'buru swallowed hard, a dry lump forming in his throat, in the city states of the northern continent, “swift punishment” could mean only death and if this woman truly was one of the city lord's personal guards, she would be more than capable of delivering such a punishment, or at least have access to someone who was.
Yan'buru looked down, apologetically, at the still-sniggering old man, he could feel his ire rising at the mere thought of apologising to, what he perceived as, a deluded old fool without honour, dignity or respect. 'Then again,' he thought to himself, 'the lord's guard did mention a title.' He knew that if he had assaulted, not only a repected elder, but a respected elder in possession of a title there could be very serious repercussions.

Untitled

As hope always stands but one step away,
We chase dreams like fools, blinded by the light of the day,
A forest between our grip and the roots,
Buried in dirt, pushing earth loose,
Words make no sense in the chaos or "now",
And only in hindsight have we a grasp of the how,
But it always seems, too little, too late,
As decisions we've made have sealed our fate,
Yet, hope can still burn this mud from our eyes,
If, even just once, we've strenth left to try.

New Beginnings

Step inside, don't be afraid, the game has just begun,
Leave your fears at the door, their time and place have gone,
Shadows in the darkness that no light exists to cast,
Dreams that flicker in your slumber, whispers of the past,
The safety of what went before has now been laid to rest,
Once you step in through that door, you face the endless test,
No more smiles, the laughter fades, into the dimming light,
Demons once left far behind now lead you in this fight,
The darkness that you understood, replaced by unknown black,
The time has come to face your life, there is no turning back...

Walking away

Another fractured image,
Another broken dream,
Another final horror,
Blurred by the smiles between.

Another “end of everything”,
Another shattered hope,
Another tearful, “last goodbye”,
Before I cut the rope.

Another new horizon,
Another tainted shore,
Another way of killing time,
Before I disappear once more..

The Unborn

To love the ones I've murdered,
I've found I cannot do,
I gave the gift of life,
Then passed the knife to you.

While words cannot encompass,
And no action could explain,
I wish I could condemn myself,
And steal from you this pain.

If St. Peter has his pearly gates,
Closed to sins of man,
I know I've damned the two of us,
While our child sleeps in that land.

Small mercy though it seems,
Or, perhaps it's none at all,
At least it's just you and I,
Damned to hell, to fall...

Scars

The silent screams etched on my flesh,
To cry for help I have no breath,
Blood flowing free from me,
The pain to hide the pain unseen...

Chapter one: part 2

The massive warrior stared at the old man, dumbstruck, for a moment.
“Me!?” disbelief clear in his voice as he directed his question at the old fighter, “You expect one such as I to bow to a withered old man like you!?” His trembling voice was rising in tenor, with rage he could barely suppress rumbling like a waking dragon just beneath the words. How had such an insolent fool manage to survive to such an advanced age? He is obviously insane, thought the young bull of a man, his survival assured by the patience of the sympathetic, humouring him and his feeble-minded whims. But I am neither sympathetic, nor patient.

“I had thought to show you mercy old one, but you have forced my hand, dishounoring me in the presence of a street full of witnesses,” his mammoth, thick-fingered hand dropped to the haft of the katana hanging at his waist as he spat the words directly into the face of the old man, “your actions have left room for nothing but swift retribution.” Gripping the weapon firmly, he began drawing it, blade down, savouring the whisper of steel on cloth as the weapon was slowly slid from it's sheath.
The old man had barely moved, his body still held the tense stance of a trained fighter ready for combat, the still rigidity of his posture belieing the fragile appearance of his age. He faced his would-be executioner without fear, without any apparent concern it seemed.
The sword now was free of it's cloth scabbard, the giant man, holding it so that the blade ran along the length of the back of his arm, lifted his hand high, the muscles of his thick arm bulging as he tensed them, preparing for the finishing blow, the strike that would mercifully end this demented old man's lunacy, allowing his obviously ill mind to at last find rest.
Time seemed to pause in that moment, some in the crowd looked away from the grisly sight they felt sure would come, others could not bring themselves to turn their eyes from the scene, a morbid fascination gripping them tightly, they watched on.
All present could feel the ripple of power in the air as the young champion drew on his experience as a warrior of the Pagoda of elements to pull to him the strength of the elemental forces pervading the very substance of the world around him. He grinned sadistically, confidence and pride swelling his already massive chest at the rush of power suddenly growing within his body. He knew that to draw on his Kabal'cha simply to dispose of a weak creature such as this was not necessary, but he felt the raw display of his power would suitably impress the watching audience. He'd always been one to please the people.
The current of the Kabal'cha was like that of a great river flowing towards, and into, the warrior, filling him with a mighty strength and unshakable confidence, he gloried in the rush of it, but something was wrong. Just beneath the flow of power he pulled into himself there was something akin to an undercurrent, a matching flow of power, but moving in a different direction, moving towards....
The old man!?
Yes, there was no mistaking it now that he had identified the second flow, the old man could also draw on Kabal'cha it seemed.

Chapter one: Old dog

The old man stepped quietly forward, facing the hulking, young brute with a calm unmatched by the watching crowd. Leaning forward on his cane, he turned his wrinkled brow up to acknowledge his towering opponent, in his eyes was a gentle discipline that none could fathom. He smiled without humour, his cheeky grin a mocking reflection of the confident swagger wielded by the muscled goliath. He spoke but one word and, soft though it was, it echoed down the street, bouncing between the walls of the shop fronts lining the avenue.
“Come.”
Surprise crossed the face of the warrior facing him, followed swiftly by a moment of failing confidence and finally the grimace of rage.
“You dare!?”
The big mans words, though roared in the face of the wizened dwarf, weren't audible to those at the back of the crowd, sounding merely like the muffled cry of an angry herd beast. The crowd watched with growing anticipation, but a sense of unease. If the old man were concerned by the obvious disadvantage at which he stood, he didn't show it. He merely stood facing the screaming giant, his face cracked in a thousand places by the small smile he sported. He coughed, a small clearing-of-the-throat, and once again met the warrior's stare before speaking again.
“I dare.”
The great man stood, straight-backed, to his full height, staring angrily down his nose at the diminutive figure who dared defy his obvious superiority. All who watched could feel the tension radiating from him in hot waves. He was hesitant, he could squash this fly without strain, but where would be the glory in such a victory? This little man was more than twice his age and less than half his stature. How would the gods and ancients look upon such an act?
The old man chuckled into his chest at the giants hesitation, his white, wispy hair falling forward, covering an eye as he looked back up to shake his head at the colossus. Smiling again, the old man turned his back and began walking slowly back into the crowd.

This the warrior could not permit, the insolence! Old man or not, no one turns their back on a challenge issued against a champion of the Pagoda of Elements. The man grunted and reached his scarred hand out to grab the old man's shoulder, but the little elder was quicker than he looked, spinning on his heel he knocked the bigger man's hand aside with the knob of his cane. The surprise had barely begun to show in the face of the warrior when the old man dropped the tip of his cane to the floor, using the length of polished wood to vault his body up and around, his foot slamming into the stomach of the giant, doubling him over and knocking the breath from his lungs.
Dropping back to his feet the old man adopted a fighting stance, legs spread and arms held up, cane gripped firmly, waiting for the inevitable retaliation. The giant was clutching his stomach, still bent over half, coughing and choking he spoke through gritted teeth.
“That will cost you old man!” struggling, he stood again, to his full height, “A lucky strike is all that was, I wasn't going to hurt an old man like you, just make you bow in apology. Such an action could still save you, if you're quick about it.”
Not moving from his fighting stance, certainly not bowing to the larger man, the old one merely shook his head and again spoke but one word.
“You”

For Anna and For Robyn...

Where beauty once dwelled but a scar now remains,
Battered and bloody from the world and its pains,
What have we done to defile this innocence so?
Would we have stopped if someone had known?
Why did the world,so caulousely kill her inside,
Laughingly spit on her tears and leave her to die?
Why did we do nothing to save her from this rape?
Why now do we care when all is too late?
When the feathers were torn from her angelic wings,
When her beauty was savagely beaten with sins,
When she cried out for help, reached out for love,
When she asked what she'd done, why she wasn't enough
When her eyes flowed in streams and her blood was like tears,
Where were we all to cradle her in her fears?
We cut her down, we silenced her song,
She was yet too young to know where she went wrong