The Argument

Posted on by stefslines

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It wasn’t a lecture worth having so he’d avoided talking to her all the way home. She had messed up and she knew it. He’d been fuming throughout the long ride and parked in the driveway jolting the handbrake in place. It made a satisfying crunch as the car, not having stopped completely, rocked forward and back a few times. He looked across at her. There were tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “you hate me, don’t you?” She let go a sob and continued, “I disgust you don’t I?”

“Of course you don’t disgust me, you shouldn’t say things like that.”

He hated the way she assumed the worse; her family had planted that seed in her over the years. As confident and smart as she was there was still the sensitive little girl lingering deep inside. He leant over undid his seatbelt and touched her wet cheek. She turned away but he didn’t stop and softly caressed the back of her neck. The sobs began to subside and her head found his thumb and palm, his touch was always soothing and warm.

“Come on,” he said.

They got out the car and met each other in front of it. They didn’t care if the neighbours saw. He kissed her on the lips, it was enough for her to part them and give him her tongue. One hand around her waist he pulled her closer and she pushed her pelvis towards him. He was hard within seconds and began leading her to the door. Keys in his free hand he fumbled around trying to find the lock still kissing her as she plunged a hand down his trousers and grabbed the bulge his dick was creating in his boxers. She was already pulling off her knickers before the door shut.

The bedroom was upstairs and too far away, she wanted him and couldn’t wait. Her hands undid his trousers and pulled them, including his briefs, around his legs making him stumble and fall knocking the telephone off the wall. It crashed to the floor he looked up at her standing over him not looking into his eyes but at his erection. Her tight outfit rode up her smooth thighs as she straddled him lowering herself, moaning as she felt him slide inside and fill her up. This was a better alternative to the argument they could have been having.

She had embarrassed him in front of his folks, nothing too serious and they’d probably laugh about it in a week but, totally her fault and she needed to apologize. This was the best way, riding him the way he liked. He smiled when she lifted her dress further and produced her breasts, in his opinion they were perfect. She knew he loved her body and removed it totally, bra too.

They’d been together long enough now for her to know moving her pelvis in a scooping motion would send him soaring. His eyes focused on her chest which turned her on even more than having him inside her and she squeezed him hard and long barely moving her hips, letting him know he had no control whatsoever.

She was still angry at herself for telling the joke. In her head it sounded funny until she let it out across the dinner table. His brothers had laughed but their wives, his parents and aunt wore the same look of shock and embarrassment. She’d forgotten about the thing that she shouldn’t ever mention, she hadn’t done it on purpose, the joke had simply slipped out and it was purely dumb luck that it had anything to do with the ‘Evans Family Secret’. They’d left shortly after. He’d driven the forty five minutes in silence and she had tried her best to fight back the tears. Sorry wasn’t good enough; the only thing that would get through to him right now was complete domination. They could talk later.

His hands grabbed onto her hips so he could push himself even deeper but she sensed it and clenched harder causing his hands to fall and grab at anything nearby. He could only manage to push against either skirting board to stop himself from exploding inside her. Knowingly she leaned down and let him lick her hungrily. He cupped one of her breasts and played circles with his tongue, with each rotation her pussy clenched around him harder, and harder until she could feel herself climbing to an orgasm. She moved her hips so they circled and scooped almost at the same time, feeling him getting harder as her pussy became doubly moist. It made that sound that caused them both to smile, he looked into her eyes and she looked into his, there was no need to say the words. Instead she ripped open his shirt and dug her fingers into his chest and rode him until he moaned almost as much as she was beginning to. The feeling welled up inside her and she fought like he did to subdue it but their bodies were totally in sync and just as she threw her head back and ground him into submission, he rocked his pelvis and pulled her hips towards him. They shuddered together for what seemed like several minutes both orgasms stretching and draining out of their entire bodies.

Apology accepted.

Rush Hour Crush

Posted on by stefslines

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Monday mornings come a little bit too regularly for me, it’s as though the weekend is in a mad rush to be over and done with and by Sunday night you’re wondering if Saturday appreciated your company. Sunday mornings don’t really exist if you had too much fun the night before and then, here you are again, all too quickly trudging out often in the cold to the train station. That’s how it is for a thirty-something individual like me – ‘thirty-something’ because, telling you my age in light of the fact that I’m single again is a little depressing sometimes.

Should I try and lower your mood with a blow-by-blow of my Monday morning routine? Nah, I’m guessing if you’re a girl like me it’s pretty much the same when you factor out anything additional like waking up early to workout, or packing lunch consisting of leftovers from last night. The end result is always the same, you’re looking presentable, smelling great and if you’re lucky you didn’t have to wash your hair and walk out in the cold with damp follicles.

As bad as Monday mornings can be I break up the monotony by reading people and not the paper until I have good reason to. Case-and-point, the packed train I’m on right now with the plethora of sour faces, some reeling from mistakenly staying out too late on the Lord’s day and others just sour because smiles don’t really kick-in until 12.30pm. But, there not all angry … you can see the people who are deep in thought, mentally going through their to-do lists and not-to-do lists, or the commuters who read the text message your typing, your paper, or the story on your Kindle rudely over your shoulder. It’s always the same expression with them, until they’re either caught out or noticed by another individual who despises the intrusion and silently defends the oblivious victim with a look containing a thousand tiny insults.

This morning, my train isn’t so busy and I can read my Metro in relative peace. I never begin with the front or back, always page 14 sometimes 13 or 15 if there’s important news on the front page. It’s the best way to start a Monday morning with a little bit of ‘crushing’ on your fellow commuter. I’ve been planning to send more than a few emails to Metro Talk over the years but never follow through. I always wonder if the guy in the fitted suit and brown briefcase, or the model-looking-chiselled-chin guy on the 8.49am to Cannon Street would notice me; the athletic brunette with warm eyes (as I’ve been told on more than several failed dates), or would they even read the paper that day to see my published email to know it was me. It’s all a bit hit-and-miss! I doubt many a love story has begun from the humble pages of the Metro but, a hopeless romantic like me still believes.

It’s 8.59am and Lewisham Station is a memory. I avoid making eye contact with ‘hunky blue jacket and Timberland boots’ who gets on at St John’s by whipping out my Kindle and reading a few more chapters of a Belinda Jones novel. She has a way of transporting me from my carriage to somewhere warmer, tranquil and ultimately; different. If I could be fiction I’d jump at the chance.

With London Bridge approaching I ready myself to alight the train and look up only to find ‘hunky blue jacket’ is looking directly at me. It lasts for less than two seconds but it’s enough for me to shyly avert my gaze to the platform outside. I dare myself to look again but years of practice in the art of avoiding embarrassment keeps me focused on not getting into a situation where I might actually find a twinkle of happiness. I head for the Northern Line and regret missing an opportunity like I always do. Vicious cycles are vicious for a reason.

Sitting on the not so crowded tube I beat myself up some more, unfold my Metro and magically open it on page 14. I sit there wondering how awesome and crazy it would be to send an email but I am what I am, a coward.

No you’re not!

‘Yes I am!’ I say in reply to the very tiny voice that always tries to make me feel better.

Just do it, it’s not difficult, it’s an email and chances are he won’t even see it – what have you got to lose?

I can’t think of a suitable reply for the voice of reason so I take my eyes of the page; look left along to the end of the carriage and, there he is, not looking back but, there.

You’re in aren’t you? Reason asks excitedly.

‘Okay, you win, but I don’t see him holding a Metro so it’s probably a waste of time, but you’re right, what do I have to lose.’ Thankfully my lips don’t move during these heart to hearts we often have.

When I surface after changing lines at Caledonian Road I fire off an email to crush@metro.co.uk and tell myself it’s one of thousands of emails they get and won’t even stand a chance of getting published. I may as well have emailed them embarrassing photos of me as a kid in my thick lenses circa ‘oily skin’ 1995.

Troubling Science: (Part 3 – Still In Summer Clothes)

Posted on by stefslines

Sourced from: paindatabase.com

The Central Nervous System is an amazing and wondrous biological device that scientists have studied and tried to recreate with differing levels of failure and success.
It works via neurons that send signals to other cells as electrochemical waves. These waves scurry along fibres that are very thin called, axons; and this causes chemicals called neurotransmitters to be set free at various junctions called, synapses.
Neurons coordinate physical actions within humans and animals, transmitting signals to different parts of the body. One such signal, one of the many that travel faster than a thought told my hand to move to up where a set of other synaptic signals were telling me I’d been hit very hard on the back of my head. I had to wait for the next inevitable sensation of pain, but to my surprise I could only feel a dull throbbing which, as I focused on some more, subsided very quickly.

Though there wasn’t as much pain as I’d expected; a feeling of nausea swept over me followed by a weird notion that I was going to be okay … it was just a matter of time.
Taking stock of my senses I had neglected to soak up my surroundings. My body was righting itself without my help; that much I knew.
I began to sit up, first on my elbows, then hands, until at ninety degrees I could see the room clearer. The ceiling was neglected, dirty and in great need of painting. The walls told the same sad story and from the look of the floor, there hadn’t been much emphasis put on housekeeping. I was facing one of the four depressing walls when I heard a faint noise directly behind me, like someone was moving and stopped. Turing quickly on the narrow massage-like table I was resting on, my eyes met two girls standing at the mouth of the room. Both were probably no more than fifteen years old, and identical from head to toe with one immediate difference. Both had on summer clothes regardless of the rain pouring down outside and both were looking at me, and that’s where the differences began.

Though their eyes were the same shape, colour and depth, one looked totally innocent whilst the other had a weathered, distrusting look about her. I surmised quickly that she must have hit me, and it was her I saw before losing consciousness.

When I regained consciousness and the stars cleared I found myself looking, studying, questioning, but not uttering a word. Both girls were with me, staring at me with as inquisitive a look as I had. The silence began to grow deeper, thicker and pungent with the absence of sound as each second passed. The rain outside was the only sign that this wasn’t some kind of silent movie. As though she knew it was coming, the one that unnerved me spoke.

“Yes, it was me that hit you. My sister thought I hit you way too hard, but I knew you could take it, any softer and I wouldn’t have floored you.” She said, as though it was a means to an end.

I took it all in. Her nonchalant tone, the way her eyes scanned me for a reaction and the embarrassment on her twin’s face.

So far the last few hours I’d been awake before getting knocked out, as well as the conversation I was debating having now, were shaping up to be the weirdest in my life.

How had I run so far, so fast? Why did it seem like I have a higher than usual tolerance for pain? And why my mind was racing, putting together ways to bolt out of the room even if it meant crashing through a wall. It certainly felt like I could do it.

“That’s right, you probably could,” She said giving her sister a nudge, “that’s how we felt several years ago.”

Wait?! Was she reading my mind?

“No, I saw you looking at the wall as if it were an option, not an obstacle.”

 Now I was confused and it showed. The one that had done the talking sighed, backed out the room and walked off to her right. The other stayed looking at me as if I needed a hug, maybe even a shoulder to cry on. I didn’t trust her but something about her made me feel like I should.

I slid off the table to my feet and stood in the middle of the room. Floor boards creaked underneath the dirty carpet and a damp smell met my nose. I knew I was still in the same part of town, at the house I’d stood outside using an awning for shelter against the rain, I just didn’t know why and what for.

“I’m sorry about my sister,” she apologised, “it’s been a while since we’ve had company.”

“You live here alone, the two of you?” I asked finally.

“No, this is just the place where people like you come to, if you ever get out of that place, that is.”

“I thought it was a hospital. What is it really?”

“Come,” she said beckoning me out the room. “Let’s go downstairs to the kitchen and talk, it’s nicer down there and you should be somewhere comfortable. Some of what I will tell you may be difficult to digest.”

Troubling Science (Part 2: Come In Out Of The Rain)

Posted on by stefslines
Miracles?! What the hell was the doctor talking about? I listened for as long as I could, interrupting whenever he strayed off the point, getting over excited, spitting out scientific terminology that my brain couldn’t handle. The female doctor grew more and more concerned as the layman’s expression on my face gradually turned to one of complete shock. She could see what he was telling me was beginning to sink in, I couldn’t fathom what I was hearing, and I was even less equipped to deal with knowing that I was no longer ‘normal’. It was round about the moment when he alluded to needing more tests for some kind of cryogenic procedure to preserve potentially damaged tissue which caused me freak out. The speed at which I leapt off the bed and dove straight past the two of them through the double doors was, inhuman. My body felt revived, new, and at the same time alien and somehow not totally under my control.
I burst out into a long brightly lit hallway that went on for quite a distance unlike any conventional hospital hallway that I’d ever seen. Behind me both doctors were scrambling for the doors and as they came through, I dug my bare feet into the floor, cracking a tile or two – I think – and sprinted off as fast as I could. It was like a jet taking off. A gust of wind kicked up, filling my ears and confused me momentarily because there weren’t any windows to be seen, and after a moment I discovered I was running fast enough to create a kind of slipstream. Posters and papers that were pinned to walls ripped themselves from their places, open doors slammed shut as I sped past. I looked back to see a whirlwind of paper and dust in my wake. I had run for only a few seconds and covered the entire length of the hallway, the two doctors; somewhere in the distance moving forwards but not getting any closer.
It seemed as though I was the only patient they had, and they were the only doctors present. The place was deserted like a doomsday aftermath, without the apocalyptic mess and chaos that went with it. I’d stopped at a wall with a hallway to either side, both dimly lit. Only one seemed to lead to daylight that illuminated the rectangular shape of a closed door. I didn’t waste any time making a decision.
A dull overcast canvas greeted me as I nearly yanked the steel reinforced exit off its hinges accidentally. I was running on adrenalin mostly, or at least that’s what I assumed. Rain pelted the street, cars roared past spraying water left and right and I gulped down the scenery like a person dying of thirst. I had come out under what looked like a railway bridge. There was no indication that there was a hospital in the vicinity. I turned to see a massive wall behind me and only the door I’d come through – what the hell! In either direction were miles and miles of motorway and no indication of where here was. My body felt like it was working independently of my brain and I began moving slowly at first then faster and faster until I was keeping pace with cars hurtling along the road. Regaining a little control, I found the nearest bank leading off the tarmac and ran up a grassy hill, up and over, until I was in a field. I wanted to stop but something carried me forward, my legs pounding the earth so hard and fast that I tore a track into the earth. Minutes later I was standing in a town I barely recognised, possibly a place I’d driven through once or twice before and never committed to memory, but I was here and I felt a strong attachment to the place in spite of myself. How many miles I’d come wasn’t clear, yet I wasn’t tired either.
People were walking up and down a busy street full of cafes, restaurants and bistros. Those without umbrellas huddled under awnings, and in an attempt to blend in, I did the same. I was the only person under a pink canvas outside what appeared to be someone’s front door hidden between all the shops and businesses. In my red jumpsuit I felt about as different as anyone could feel. Everyone seemed to be dressed for the weather except for me. But I was different. The doctor had said it himself; his colleague had worn a troubled look that I found hard to wipe from my mind. I could see her face as clear as if she were right in front of me. She’d brought me in with the paramedics after the accident. Shouldn’t I be dead? Or at the very least, feel like I should be? I just felt, strange … better … altered.
As I looked down at myself, at my hands, I barely registered a muffled sound behind me which must have been a door opening. Before I was given the opportunity to turn around, two very strong hands gripped my shoulders and pulled me into the doorway spinning me around. The speed jogged my vision and it didn’t settle before something hard hit me square in the temple. As I began to fall over, slipping out of consciousness, my vision cleared for a split second and I saw what I thought was a little girl.

Troubling Science

Posted on by stefslines

Sourced via: indieink.org

Paramedics and other emergency services rushed to the scene, finding the twisted metal of my car, the school bus, and the 18 wheeler that had caused all the chaos.
Police units had already shut down a large section of the motorway causing other motorists to crawl past, looking on in shock as fire-fighters chased away the flames coming from a burst fuel line.
I learned that I was the first and the last person being worked on in the back of an ambulance once my broken body had been cut out of the wreckage. Nearby I could hear someone in distress, probably an officer on scene; he kept praying over and over that there has to be more than one.
All those children, those lives that were far more precious than mine, just written off in seconds. I was only semi-conscious but I could hear the paramedics informing the police outside the ambulance and although I was the only survivor, I wasn’t going to last very long.As we punched through red lights and traffic, sirens blazing, I slipped in and out of consciousness, flat-lining just as we reached the hospital and awaking to the feeling of new life being charged directly through my chest.”We nearly lost you there!” A paramedic said as she parted my eyelids and shone a light in my eyes. “Pupils full and responsive.” she said to her partner who was at the front of the gurney.At first I saw the ceiling of the ambulance, then the cloudless starry night sky and then a female doctor with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her blue rimmed glasses made it hard to focus on her eyes but I was too groggy to answer when she asked what my name was.
The sudden brightness inside the building hurt my eyes making me see stars momentarily. The doctor with the blue glasses was getting a quick summary of my injuries most of which was in medical jargon that I didn’t understand; maybe it was for my own good. At best I could only feel a growing pounding in my head and nothing else. The only thing I grasped before blacking out again was the question: “Is he viable?”I woke up after what felt like a very long time to the sound of dozens of conversations, a high-pitched whine and a consistent humming that sounded like electronic equipment. It was all too much, all at once. I put my hands to my ears hardly noticing that the effort was painless and squeezed my eyelids shut, completely concentrating on blocking out the noise. After a few seconds most of it subsided like someone was turning down a stereo, slowly. I was left with a conversation between a man and a woman, more medical chatter and lots and lots of science. Words like:  ‘molecular’, ‘quantum mechanical’ and ‘sub-atomic’ were thrown around but I had no idea where it was coming from.
I opened my eyes to find myself sat up in a white and grey circular room with a mirror running its circumference. Various trays with used surgical implements and bloodstained towels were my only company.
I looked down to see I was dressed in a short-sleeved jumpsuit like the ones convicts wear only mine wasn’t orange, it was red. My toes were a welcomed sight and I hesitated before making them wiggle. I was pretty sure that if I wasn’t dead I would at least be paralysed from the waist down. My big toes responded, much to my relief. At that moment the quiet conversation got louder again hurting my ears so much that I gripped the side of the bed bending the toughened steel frame too easily. I quickly grabbed a pillow and placed it where my hand had been to hide the damage before two people entered the room through double doors to my left that I hadn’t noticed before.”Ah, good, he’s awake already,” said a male doctor. He was in his late fifties, had soft eyes and spoke encouragingly. “Forgive us for the state of the room; our surgeons can be quite messy, especially after performing miracles.”"How do you feel?” The young woman beside him asked, touching the frame of her blue glasses.”What happened to me? Where am I?”"All in good time,” the older doctor replied. “Please answer the good doctor’s question.” He said nodding towards his colleague.

I hadn’t had much chance to think about it. I moved my legs, bent my arms, arched my back a little and rotated my neck to convey more to myself than anyone else how I might be feeling. They seemed pleased before I gave my obvious answer and proceeded to have their own conversation, a continuation of the one I couldn’t follow before. The older doctor seemed happy almost excited, his colleague regarded me with marked concern. I actually felt great, in fact I felt better than great. I felt like I was totally rested, pumped with energy and able to jump off the bed and run twice around the city, but there was something about me that troubled her.
Maybe it was the vibe I was picking up from her, I wasn’t sure but, I began to recall the accident or just the bits I could remember. From the extent of what the paramedics had said I shouldn’t be alive. And then it dawned on me. “Doctor,” I said anxiously. They both turned to face me. “What did you mean by miracles?”

The Fallen

Posted on by stefslines

Sourced from: godofwar.wikia.com

It’s thought that gods choose not to dream, why would they? They blessed the world with such a privilege to keep hope alive, balance fears and keep progress at a steady pace.
What the gods didn’t account for were other gods making ungodly decisions.
 -~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Since he was a boy he’d chosen to remember the day of his birth, this meant dreaming of falling for an entire day and an entire night knowing that in spite of his lineage he’d survive, broken, weathered, and eternally scarred. Falling was the result of being thrown, he hadn’t forgotten that either.”Tell me about your parents?” The little boy asked.He shrugged the question off with a grunt and continued hammering the heated metal into shape. He didn’t know his mother and father in the traditional sense. He knew where he’d come from, how he’d been tossed to the mortals thousands of years ago, but stories about being held, tucked into bed at night or sitting on his father’s shoulders; never actually happened so they’d be no stories for the boy tonight.
The man wasn’t sure if it was his mother or father who had done it in the end. Seeing their child’s disfigured features angered them. How could Gods produce offspring so tainted? The only option was to cast out the child immediately.The piece of metal cooled as he hammered harder. The anvil had sunk into the floor a few inches under the weight of each blow and the boy continued his barrage of annoying questions. If it wasn’t the boy disturbing him it was an ominous black cat that had taken a sudden interest in his work. Where it had come from he had several ideas but no real proof. It did enough to distract him over the last few weeks by perching on freshly made shields or rubbing itself against the blunt edge of a sword, it even tried to take a peek at a bolt of lightning he had stashed in a lead-lined box.”Why do you spend so much time in here mister?”

Feeling a bit guilty – an ungodly trait – he thought of a rhetorical answer. “Your mother prefers me to do my work in the barn away from you children. My work is dangerous and little boys like you could get hurt for just being nearby.”

Unhindered in his pursuit, the notion of danger failed to send the boy back to the house. “What you making mister?”"My name is V or Mister V to you.”"Sorry V, I mean Mister V. Erm, what is it?”"The last piece of a very large puzzle, child.”
“Well … my name is-.”"Not my concern,” he said, cutting the boy off. “Fetch me that skillet of water over there and shut the door before that darn cat comes back. The boy did as he was told.
“Why aren’t you out fishing with your father?”
 “He isn’t well and my uncle has already left the harbour with his boat and won’t be back for weeks.”
“So I’m stuck with you?” V rubbed his jaw more thoughtfully than frustrated. “Well, make yourself useful and help me move this.”
The boy followed V’s gaze that fell upon a large half-finished golden throne. “I need that over here young man, think you’ve got the muscle to move it?”
The boy grinned flexing his pea-sized biceps and jumped down off the bundle of hay he was sitting on, ran over and pushed the throne easily into the spot Mister V was referring to.
A very useful young man. V thought to himself. “Tough little lad aren’t you?”
The boy nodded, no words or questions this time, which made V happy and he patted him on the head before the boy jumped back onto the bundle of hay.
“What does a boy like you do with secrets eh?”
The child gave V a smile that turned into a very devious grin a moment later, and served the facial expressions as his answer.
“Good! Knowing when to listen will serve you well later, never forget that,” V was slowly beginning to like this child. Out of the nine orphans that lived in the main house, this one was by far the quickest study of the lot … “I’m building a trap of sorts. The idea came to me a while back, the irony of it rang like that large bell above Jago’s Well.
“How do you catch something that can’t be caught and keep it there?” V asked.
The boy thought on in puzzlement at Mister V’s question. He couldn’t answer because he couldn’t figure it out. This played up to V’s vanity and he began explaining. “Well, what you have to do is make the prey catch itself and then design a trap that holds it as securely as the very strength that prey has; to break free. The more they struggle the more effective the trap. Brilliant, I know!”
V wondered why the boy hadn’t asked an annoying question yet and turned his attention from the throne to the boy, the bundle of hay he was sitting on and, the cat he was now stroking.
“I told you to shut the door!”
“I did, I have no idea how it managed to get in.”
“Arrggh, strange how it just seems to turn up. Well it’s here now, keep it out of my way. What was I saying?”
“Trap/brilliant/ego.” The boy replied.
“What was that?!”
“Oh nothing Mister V, carry on … secret?”
“Yes … I’m going to hold my mother hostage and in time educate the gods themselves.”
“But how?! The gods will never let that happen.”
“I’ve made many thrones over the years for those arrogant immortals, each with its own little surprise for its owner.”
The cat nimbly jumped onto the stacks of hay behind the boy and scaled the wooden beams leading to the roof. The smell of a good home cooked meal wafted in through an opening and the cat squeezed its body out and fell to ground below; minus a life. It looked around as though making sure it wasn’t being watched and when satisfied it didn’t have an audience, it jumped high into the air, transformed into an eagle and flew toward the heavens.
In the barn the proverbial cogs and bolts in the boy’s brain began aligning. “You’re going to kill the gods aren’t you?” he asked.
“No, just give them the chance to think like mortals for a little while.”
“Sounds like dangerous fun, can I help?”
V laughed, the red patch of bloated skin on his face went an even deeper shade. “I’m sure your father will have something to say about all this.”
“He’s laid up in bed; he doesn’t have to know does he Mister V?”
“I’m sure if he knows the nature of his son he already suspects you to get up to mischief. Pass me those springs by the pig pen,” V watched the boy collect the springs. “I must tell you a story that will help you to understand the truth. You orphans call that man father but soon you’ll have to accept where you all really came from.”
“What do you mean, Mister V?”
“Sit down, and don’t interrupt, you’ll want to hear every word of what I have to say.”
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
The eagle landed on the outstretched hand of the most feared immortal and the immortal immediately felt the presence of his half-breed son. Unable to get up from his throne or send word of what danger the bird had delivered, the wielder of lightning, the bringer of life and death could only sit petrified in place and wonder how as gods they’d managed to get it all so wrong.

SOTR: Here There Be Dragons

Posted on by stefslines

Sourced from: educatedearth.net

It was true … it had already begun.
The night was too young for the sun to be rising. Something about the distant glow looked artificial.
Two moons ago Ilya’s grandfather had felt the bitter cold of the smooth trinket, a change from its natural state and an early warning that they were in danger. Fortunately the enemy had touched down far, far away. Their carnage shown by a burning line of destruction along the outer territories, a wide unyielding strip of fire and pain. Ilya, along with a scout team had travelled half a day to get a estimate about what they were up against. Though fearless and ready, each scout halted when the first plume of fire and smoke that followed a deafening ‘BOOM‘ rose up to the skies and scorched the clouds.
It was still early morning, but as dark as the deepest night.

Though cautious, they needed to get a better look and the closer they ventured the louder the screams of those left alive could be heard. At a crawl they ascended a hill looking out onto the Gild Plains where the Hune Tribe reside. The earth below was shattered. Crops and fields, beautiful, rich and fertile; were gone, replaced with blood and bodies. Off in the distance heading east Ilya could see their machines, so many of them rolling away, crushing the very breath from the land. Men walked alongside the rolling beasts holding weapons that spat hot needles of fire that cut down those that tried to fight. For every one human that went down; ten tribesmen fell. Their forces were overwhelmed by the superior and unrelenting force upon them.Ilya and the others backed away on their stomachs staying low, hoping that their movement was slow enough to go unseen. Once a little ways down the slope Ilya rolled on his back and let out a long deep breath. The scout team’s oldest member had seen several more winters than Ilya and was shocked by what he’d witnessed too. Both boys looked at each other dreading the report they would have to deliver to the village council.

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“If what the scouts say is true, we must head south to the Darhcro Lands. We have good relations with the people there!” Chancellor Hodo shouted over the raucous assembly in the Speakers Hall. His suggestion was met with mixed emotions from the other council leaders.”We have lived in these lands from the time of the first Great War, to leave would shame our ancestors who fought and died for our right to be here.” Said Bahad, captain of the guard.Delivering the news didn’t change the fact that scouts were forbidden to enter Speakers Hall. They climbed quietly onto the roof, although, against the noise from inside; being light footed wasn’t a necessity. Through a door they’d fashioned some time ago when they were very young they all poured in, spreading themselves silently across the beams and supports in the darkness above.Ilya’s grandfather had heard enough. “No! We are made up of warriors. Every man woman and child of age knows how to fight, even you Chancellor; whether or not you’ve grown weak from wasting your breath. We must send for help if we are to succeed against such an army.”
The hall fell silent.

“Help from whom, a myth?!” Chancellor Hodo demanded.

“Hodo, don’t act the fool. Even you were told the stories, and once, you believed them to be true.”

The Chancellor glared at the old man with more contempt than disbelief that he still had any say in council matters. Though he’d once been a reliable warrior, he was not and never was on the council or qualified to advise on their politics, but the people listened to him and Hodo despised him for that. “So, old man, who will be our emissary to carry this message of ‘help’, surely a mission so important is worthy of only a brave select few? You understand old man that if there is any truth to those misguided stories, then this is a suicide mission?”

Chancellor Hodo’s sarcastic and irreverent attitude was so tangible Ilya could’ve shot arrows into them. The other boys in the rafters were communicating using hand signals but Ilya didn’t find the joke funny. He shifted position for a better view.

“That is the decision of the council,” the old man addressed the assembly. “That is unless such a mission is deemed fruitless?”

Seated either side of a wide stage were rows and rows of men and women, among them warriors and council leaders, scribes and runners. Each looked around the room as a murmur rose like a tide carrying the question of who should be the chosen ones.”They should go.” The old man said looking up into the shadows.”Show yourselves!” Shouted Tanu; a fierce and uncompromising warrior with a reputation for impatience.The shadows above stirred and several boys made their way to the stage in a show of stealth and acrobatic brilliance. Ilya was the first to land, bowed in humbled shame for being discovered.
Placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, Ilya’s grandfather regarded the rest of the boys solemnly and addressed them as one.
“By accepting this task you forfeit your very lives for this is not a mission we expect you all to return from. Do you understand?”As one, the scouts looked up for the first time, their faces giving no trace of emotion, and placed their daggers on the floor as a sign of their acceptance.”Ha! You see!” Said Chancellor Hodo; gesticulating to the rest of the council. “These boys are ready to die on a whim, is this who we have become? A people who blindly follow an old storyteller?!”Ilya’s grandfather shifted uneasily but only because he was fishing something from his robes.”Look, what is this bumbling old fool doing now?” The words had barely left the chancellors lips when the oversized razor sharp tooth landed by his feet making a heavy thudding sound that betrayed the old man’s real strength for a fleeting moment.This time the room fell into a much deeper silence than before, as if the very life had been sucked out of the space they occupied. Though no one had seen one, they all knew what it was and what it was once attached to.
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Part 1: SOTR