Bl00dyChAoS16
August 1st, 2008, 8:47 pm
Their Dark Journeys- Book One
Tyrantitar - The Quest of the Witch (working title)
Proluge
Glambodia was the biggest island in an extrordinary world. Its sister, Oashar, lay across the great ocean which covered most of this world. Two kings ruled independently, trading and prospering, and ruling their two islands, until a civilian of Oashar overthrew Glambodia's king. The newly crowned king of Glambodia gained many followers, for King Zarak focused on wealth, power, and cruelity, yet, many rebelled against him. The senate was on Zarak's side, and approved of most of his doings. Therefore, It was they who approved the king to go to war with his home town.
Oashar's king, King Rodulk, forseen a great war apon the two nations and flew, leaving Oashar, a happy and wealthy island at the time, in need of a leader. Glambodia attacked the unready Lomingdale, a town in Oashar nearest Glambodia. Leading that attack was King Zarak himself. Lomingdale, however, did manage to win that battle, and drove the soldiers, swords and all, off. Zarak's forces have never again managed an attack on Lomingdale after his one loss there. However, Zarak never gave up hope.
At the same time as Zarak attacked, the witches who controlled the air and the Molconox who controlled the deep seas, discovered each other. The Malconox rediscovered how to fly and the witches, how to swim.
And so, this extrordinary world, engulfed in raging wars, was tearing itself apart. For eight long and cruel years, the war went on without a sign of stopping. But King Zarak's forces were dwindling. However, had it not been for beilieving what he was told at such a young age, he would have never found what he always dreamed of meeting.
On the eigth anniversary of Lomingdale's attack, he looked up, into the sky, from a small, wooden boat. The full moon revieled a whitch and her daughter flying North.
---
The oldest whitch looked down, and to her surprise, King Zarak was looking up. But, it wasn't at the moon.
The mother of the daughter told the young whitch, speeding ahead of her, to stop. And they both glidded below the full moon.
King Zarak was looking at her. And she, at him. Had it not been for knowing right from wrong, she would have landed right in front of King Zarak and kissed him, for his eyes, in the light of the glittering moon, looked so beutiful.
And then, like that, her eyes, full of tears, were free again. She knew. And she felt sorry for him. He, whoever, he was. Then she hated him. He the one who almost killed their only hope. But she was to save their hope. But... Why was she so easily seen? That worried her. And, though she did not say anything, senced that her daughter was worried too.
And on they flew, both on brooms, both with red hair, mother and daughter.
"Don't you think they could figure out what we are doing, I mean, that is the evil king." Her daugher had said. They were well on land now, Lomingdale was strait ahead.
"Truthfully, yes. But I am not worried about those humans. I am worried about the boy. And for our sake, I will risk everything for us, as long as the boy is alive." Her mother sped past her daughter. They were near the bridge.
"Mom, what if you, you know, can't do it?"
"Michelle, I will use everything in me to make this work. And with you, I am unstopable." They put their feet on the bridge and landed, getting off of their brooms. Both turned to the side of the bridge where a single path lay ahead of them, and in the distance, trees scattered the area. To the right of the path, a shabby building decayed into the night. A fence around a small playing area. It was the orphanage. And to the left of the path, a cemetary.
The older whitch walked into the cemetary, searching for a grave stone with a certain name... A few short minutes later, Michelle trailing behind, she found the stone.
Tyrantitar Isfold
April 4, 1823- June 2, 1825
Death Awaits F
There was a word missing. The letters after "Awaits" were chisled out. Yet, the smart, old, whitch knew what the stone used to say. It gave her chills even without the completed word. Yet, this was the stone, and she knew how to do it.
She held out her left hand and whispered some short words. From her hand, a green flash of light hit the ground, where she was aiming. Michelle watched as a pile of dirt, in a neat rectangular shape, was placed beside the hole of the same shape. She looked into the hole and quickly retreated, for when she looked through, she saw a small, naked and smelly baby boy.
"Mary, I-" They both stopped what they were doing. Michelle had spoken her mother's name. To the great witches, it was rude to speak the name of your parents, and polite to call them by "mom" or "dad". "Mom, I am sorry. Really, I am used to saying everyone's first name and-"
"Michelle, I am an old witch, for goodness sake. I do not care who or what you call me. Now, we have more important buisness to attend to." Mary stood over the hole and took the baby boy, Tyrantitar, out. "You cover that hole up."
Michelle held out her left hand, much like her mother had done minutes before, and whispered, short and steady words, at the still-neat-square-dirt-pile. The dirt was lifted into the air, however, no jet of light was ejected from Michelle's hand, and was placed in the square hole, where the boy had come out of. It was placed exactly as they found it.
While Michelle had done this, Mary, the older witch, held out her left hand and, in her mind, thought of this young boy growing up. A green jet of light quickly formed at the palm of her hand, and, she moved her hands this way and that. The little boy, once two, then three, five, and now, eight was standing before Mary. He did not move or talk, but he was alive. He also had clothes on.
Mary quickly made a small note and string and attatched it to the boy's kneck. She walked the boy over to the orphanage and knocked on the door. The porch light turned on a few seconds later. Mary snapped her fingers.
Michelle and Mary were glidding over the small village now, brooms under them. They were speeding North again. Mary looked at Michelle, and knew they were both glad they succeded. She looked up to the moon and smiled.
---
The wooden boat rocked as King Zarak stood up. He was leading a small group of armed soldiers into a remote area where they could easily attack Lomingdale. It was a surprise attack, as he needed to capture that wealthy town, and was more than ashamed he lost that first battle.
He looked up at the full moon over head, but saw, to his amazment, two witches flying North. And for a long minute, his eyes were locked on the most beutiful eyes in the world. But they moved onward.
And he didn't.
"Go back." He said calmly to the other three boats following him. They carried four soldiers each, and his was the only one with two, him and a guard from his castle.
The men in these boats were shocked, but followed the king's orders anyway, rowing so they could turn around.
"It cannot be true." He said, sadly, yet with a sign of fear.
Lomingdale was and never will be his now, for he knew the prophosy of the Malconox.
The eigth anniversary of the first attack was now the first anniversary of King Zarak's fear. And he was never fearfull.
---
From then onward, five and a half years, the fighting ceased to excist.
But their wars were far from over.
Chapter One
His Unloayal Gaurd
Glambodia. It had one castle, which was made of a brick, and held by cement. This castle stood atop of a hill over looking the poor town Jianovia. It wasn't the poorest town in Glambodia though, there were much more poorer towns, cities, and villiges. Infact, Jianovia was actually a wealthy town in the eyes of King Zarak, who rested in that castle, along with his many gaurds.
The castle had a courtyard, where bushes grew and little rabbits dug their deep burrows. Birds chirpped in the cool, morning breeze. It wasn't a fancy casstle, just a square building. The kings chamber was burried deep under the castle, partly to protect the king from intruters. The chamber was a huge room. Old and rugged doors sat in front of the kings throne, which was a golden chair surrounded by red drapes. It was up five steps, a red carpet running nealty down these steps and ended near the door. To the left of the throne, small wooden doors, not as old and not as tall (but a human, of course could walk under), was open, King Zarak pacing up and down this small room. This room had a large meeting table in it. Next to the door, a guard stood.
"John, call in the castle's messenger." King Zarak commanded.
John, the standing guard bowed and shuffled out of the room.
King Zarak came to a hault near a window that was right infront of the meeting table. Something was on his mind. He put his hand around a wooden chair and pulled it out from underneath the wooden table, sitting down it it. He was a middle aged man with short brown hair under his golden crown. He had a short neat beard and mustash and eyes that were baby blue. He wore, at that time, a pice of armor on his shoulders. It was a copper like color, but steal. He also wore black pants and shoes.
The messenger entered through the wooden doores. He was, too a middle aged man, though older than the king himself. He wore a black and red robe held at the waist with a rope.
The man bowed apon entry, and King Zarak gestered him to sit at the other end of the table, oposite him. "Good day." The messenger said.
"No, it isn't." The king sharply said. "I recieved word from a high ranking messenger, that you wanted to be promoted to the same rank as he."
The messenger became nervous at once. "Well, you see -"
"I don't care what I see, brother!" King Zarak yelled. "You have done nothing to deserve that rank, and you will stay as a low ranked messenger for as long as I am king, do you here me?"
The messenger nodded. For a few long minutes, the room was silent, untill the king spoke. "Do you remember our first attack on Oashar?"
"Not well." The king's brother stuttered.
"When we got to Lomingdale, there was the family of the young boy we killed, speaking to the boy's mother. The people they were speaking to held a child. When we were near the house, they saw us and left." The king recalled.
"Yes, now I remember. But why are you telling me this?"
"Paul, I am almost certain we killed the wrong boy."
Paul was stunned. How could that have happened?
"And..." The king trailed off. "I am pretty sure whoever we killed is alive again. Only, this time, he is far more dangerous."
"But, how could this be? How do you know?"
"I told you! Those damn wiches! And now, we have two against us."
"Well, you wanted it to look like we were defeated, and that is working well. We could go there and capture the boy using him as our threat when the time is rigt." Paul stated confidently.
"That is not a bad idea Paul. However, I have got to go to Cranburry and check the status of our fleet. I told you this last week, you are in charge. And if I here about your rank again I will banish you."
Just wanted some opinions.... Its not the final version, just ... part of it. The end of Chapter One (the exerpt) HAS to be redone. It gives away waaay too much information that I want to be bugging everyone for at least through the middle of the book.
I also was thinking of doing a Harry Potter spin off. It isn't going to be fan fic, it will have plots for seven years. I was even thinking of a surprise!
I know there are many online books and everything, but J.K. Rowling never said that we couldn't puplish our own HP SPINOFF.
Its just, I see it as like an opportunity to improve my writing with many characters J.K. Rowling has already come up with, and then publish my own. I mean, if she does have a problem (and I am talking IF I EVER DO IT), I can easily like partner with her or something.
^
Lol I just laughed... I don't think I can ever do it!
Tyrantitar - The Quest of the Witch (working title)
Proluge
Glambodia was the biggest island in an extrordinary world. Its sister, Oashar, lay across the great ocean which covered most of this world. Two kings ruled independently, trading and prospering, and ruling their two islands, until a civilian of Oashar overthrew Glambodia's king. The newly crowned king of Glambodia gained many followers, for King Zarak focused on wealth, power, and cruelity, yet, many rebelled against him. The senate was on Zarak's side, and approved of most of his doings. Therefore, It was they who approved the king to go to war with his home town.
Oashar's king, King Rodulk, forseen a great war apon the two nations and flew, leaving Oashar, a happy and wealthy island at the time, in need of a leader. Glambodia attacked the unready Lomingdale, a town in Oashar nearest Glambodia. Leading that attack was King Zarak himself. Lomingdale, however, did manage to win that battle, and drove the soldiers, swords and all, off. Zarak's forces have never again managed an attack on Lomingdale after his one loss there. However, Zarak never gave up hope.
At the same time as Zarak attacked, the witches who controlled the air and the Molconox who controlled the deep seas, discovered each other. The Malconox rediscovered how to fly and the witches, how to swim.
And so, this extrordinary world, engulfed in raging wars, was tearing itself apart. For eight long and cruel years, the war went on without a sign of stopping. But King Zarak's forces were dwindling. However, had it not been for beilieving what he was told at such a young age, he would have never found what he always dreamed of meeting.
On the eigth anniversary of Lomingdale's attack, he looked up, into the sky, from a small, wooden boat. The full moon revieled a whitch and her daughter flying North.
---
The oldest whitch looked down, and to her surprise, King Zarak was looking up. But, it wasn't at the moon.
The mother of the daughter told the young whitch, speeding ahead of her, to stop. And they both glidded below the full moon.
King Zarak was looking at her. And she, at him. Had it not been for knowing right from wrong, she would have landed right in front of King Zarak and kissed him, for his eyes, in the light of the glittering moon, looked so beutiful.
And then, like that, her eyes, full of tears, were free again. She knew. And she felt sorry for him. He, whoever, he was. Then she hated him. He the one who almost killed their only hope. But she was to save their hope. But... Why was she so easily seen? That worried her. And, though she did not say anything, senced that her daughter was worried too.
And on they flew, both on brooms, both with red hair, mother and daughter.
"Don't you think they could figure out what we are doing, I mean, that is the evil king." Her daugher had said. They were well on land now, Lomingdale was strait ahead.
"Truthfully, yes. But I am not worried about those humans. I am worried about the boy. And for our sake, I will risk everything for us, as long as the boy is alive." Her mother sped past her daughter. They were near the bridge.
"Mom, what if you, you know, can't do it?"
"Michelle, I will use everything in me to make this work. And with you, I am unstopable." They put their feet on the bridge and landed, getting off of their brooms. Both turned to the side of the bridge where a single path lay ahead of them, and in the distance, trees scattered the area. To the right of the path, a shabby building decayed into the night. A fence around a small playing area. It was the orphanage. And to the left of the path, a cemetary.
The older whitch walked into the cemetary, searching for a grave stone with a certain name... A few short minutes later, Michelle trailing behind, she found the stone.
Tyrantitar Isfold
April 4, 1823- June 2, 1825
Death Awaits F
There was a word missing. The letters after "Awaits" were chisled out. Yet, the smart, old, whitch knew what the stone used to say. It gave her chills even without the completed word. Yet, this was the stone, and she knew how to do it.
She held out her left hand and whispered some short words. From her hand, a green flash of light hit the ground, where she was aiming. Michelle watched as a pile of dirt, in a neat rectangular shape, was placed beside the hole of the same shape. She looked into the hole and quickly retreated, for when she looked through, she saw a small, naked and smelly baby boy.
"Mary, I-" They both stopped what they were doing. Michelle had spoken her mother's name. To the great witches, it was rude to speak the name of your parents, and polite to call them by "mom" or "dad". "Mom, I am sorry. Really, I am used to saying everyone's first name and-"
"Michelle, I am an old witch, for goodness sake. I do not care who or what you call me. Now, we have more important buisness to attend to." Mary stood over the hole and took the baby boy, Tyrantitar, out. "You cover that hole up."
Michelle held out her left hand, much like her mother had done minutes before, and whispered, short and steady words, at the still-neat-square-dirt-pile. The dirt was lifted into the air, however, no jet of light was ejected from Michelle's hand, and was placed in the square hole, where the boy had come out of. It was placed exactly as they found it.
While Michelle had done this, Mary, the older witch, held out her left hand and, in her mind, thought of this young boy growing up. A green jet of light quickly formed at the palm of her hand, and, she moved her hands this way and that. The little boy, once two, then three, five, and now, eight was standing before Mary. He did not move or talk, but he was alive. He also had clothes on.
Mary quickly made a small note and string and attatched it to the boy's kneck. She walked the boy over to the orphanage and knocked on the door. The porch light turned on a few seconds later. Mary snapped her fingers.
Michelle and Mary were glidding over the small village now, brooms under them. They were speeding North again. Mary looked at Michelle, and knew they were both glad they succeded. She looked up to the moon and smiled.
---
The wooden boat rocked as King Zarak stood up. He was leading a small group of armed soldiers into a remote area where they could easily attack Lomingdale. It was a surprise attack, as he needed to capture that wealthy town, and was more than ashamed he lost that first battle.
He looked up at the full moon over head, but saw, to his amazment, two witches flying North. And for a long minute, his eyes were locked on the most beutiful eyes in the world. But they moved onward.
And he didn't.
"Go back." He said calmly to the other three boats following him. They carried four soldiers each, and his was the only one with two, him and a guard from his castle.
The men in these boats were shocked, but followed the king's orders anyway, rowing so they could turn around.
"It cannot be true." He said, sadly, yet with a sign of fear.
Lomingdale was and never will be his now, for he knew the prophosy of the Malconox.
The eigth anniversary of the first attack was now the first anniversary of King Zarak's fear. And he was never fearfull.
---
From then onward, five and a half years, the fighting ceased to excist.
But their wars were far from over.
Chapter One
His Unloayal Gaurd
Glambodia. It had one castle, which was made of a brick, and held by cement. This castle stood atop of a hill over looking the poor town Jianovia. It wasn't the poorest town in Glambodia though, there were much more poorer towns, cities, and villiges. Infact, Jianovia was actually a wealthy town in the eyes of King Zarak, who rested in that castle, along with his many gaurds.
The castle had a courtyard, where bushes grew and little rabbits dug their deep burrows. Birds chirpped in the cool, morning breeze. It wasn't a fancy casstle, just a square building. The kings chamber was burried deep under the castle, partly to protect the king from intruters. The chamber was a huge room. Old and rugged doors sat in front of the kings throne, which was a golden chair surrounded by red drapes. It was up five steps, a red carpet running nealty down these steps and ended near the door. To the left of the throne, small wooden doors, not as old and not as tall (but a human, of course could walk under), was open, King Zarak pacing up and down this small room. This room had a large meeting table in it. Next to the door, a guard stood.
"John, call in the castle's messenger." King Zarak commanded.
John, the standing guard bowed and shuffled out of the room.
King Zarak came to a hault near a window that was right infront of the meeting table. Something was on his mind. He put his hand around a wooden chair and pulled it out from underneath the wooden table, sitting down it it. He was a middle aged man with short brown hair under his golden crown. He had a short neat beard and mustash and eyes that were baby blue. He wore, at that time, a pice of armor on his shoulders. It was a copper like color, but steal. He also wore black pants and shoes.
The messenger entered through the wooden doores. He was, too a middle aged man, though older than the king himself. He wore a black and red robe held at the waist with a rope.
The man bowed apon entry, and King Zarak gestered him to sit at the other end of the table, oposite him. "Good day." The messenger said.
"No, it isn't." The king sharply said. "I recieved word from a high ranking messenger, that you wanted to be promoted to the same rank as he."
The messenger became nervous at once. "Well, you see -"
"I don't care what I see, brother!" King Zarak yelled. "You have done nothing to deserve that rank, and you will stay as a low ranked messenger for as long as I am king, do you here me?"
The messenger nodded. For a few long minutes, the room was silent, untill the king spoke. "Do you remember our first attack on Oashar?"
"Not well." The king's brother stuttered.
"When we got to Lomingdale, there was the family of the young boy we killed, speaking to the boy's mother. The people they were speaking to held a child. When we were near the house, they saw us and left." The king recalled.
"Yes, now I remember. But why are you telling me this?"
"Paul, I am almost certain we killed the wrong boy."
Paul was stunned. How could that have happened?
"And..." The king trailed off. "I am pretty sure whoever we killed is alive again. Only, this time, he is far more dangerous."
"But, how could this be? How do you know?"
"I told you! Those damn wiches! And now, we have two against us."
"Well, you wanted it to look like we were defeated, and that is working well. We could go there and capture the boy using him as our threat when the time is rigt." Paul stated confidently.
"That is not a bad idea Paul. However, I have got to go to Cranburry and check the status of our fleet. I told you this last week, you are in charge. And if I here about your rank again I will banish you."
Just wanted some opinions.... Its not the final version, just ... part of it. The end of Chapter One (the exerpt) HAS to be redone. It gives away waaay too much information that I want to be bugging everyone for at least through the middle of the book.
I also was thinking of doing a Harry Potter spin off. It isn't going to be fan fic, it will have plots for seven years. I was even thinking of a surprise!
I know there are many online books and everything, but J.K. Rowling never said that we couldn't puplish our own HP SPINOFF.
Its just, I see it as like an opportunity to improve my writing with many characters J.K. Rowling has already come up with, and then publish my own. I mean, if she does have a problem (and I am talking IF I EVER DO IT), I can easily like partner with her or something.
^
Lol I just laughed... I don't think I can ever do it!