Saturday, February 9, 2013

Silent War

Episode One
:::Night Storm:::



    The rain was falling in torrents that seemed to wash away the world around them. Two men stood in the cobble-paved square of an ancient city. Their cloaks heralded their Identity to one another. A man in Crimson gave off an aura that was electrifying. The very air around him seemed to burn with ozone as the raindrops scittered away from him in jumping impulses. Across the square from him stood a shape that seemed to be part of the darkness around them but slightly darker. The rain didn't touch the black cloak either but it didn't flee from him in fear, rather it gently parted around him in a bubble as though the falling rain respected him to much to bother him with its presence. The two figures stood there for some time as though they were transfixed by the torrent surrounding them, or perhaps by each other's presence.

    Why would never be certain, the only thing that was certain was that the Black moved first. A flash of glinting moonlight as the knife slid from his sleeve. A sudden flutter of movement as he darted from his position. A sudden coalescense as the rain formed large spheres of water around him pooled by some invisible hand, and it was not only the water that obeyed that hand. The shadows themselves all seemed to converge on the Crimson even as the Black charged for his throat. The air smelled of rain but beneath it you could also smell blood.

    It wasn't until the last second that the Crimson would make his move. The sound of a splash and a blur of red heralded his ascent the shadows and even the water on the ground reached for him but were cut off by bright flash and a piercing momentary crack of sound. Lightning, but it didn't come from the sky it was wielded by the will of the Crimson. Following the crack a chill pervaded the square. The spheres of water around the Black froze in an instant and fell to the cobbles where they shattered, but shadow could not freeze.

    Black tendrils lashed and gripped the crimson, again a flash and crack of lightning freed him. Their powers were too well matched when shadow is given substance it's weakness is still energy and light. The Crimson dropped to the ground in front of the Black. They're direct struggle began then. They fought hand to hand the Black's knife never completing it's journey to any artery or vein. Meanwhile, all around them in the square their powers collided. Watery shapes formed in the rain only to be hit by sudden bursts of cold to freeze them. Shadow figures rose from the cracks in the pavers only to be struck by bolts of divine wrath. The battle raged on for quite some time. Neither side giving an inch. This was their final confrontation. Neither was willing to simply give up after coming so far and losing so much. One of them would rain victorious this night or neither would. Each was determined to end the struggle under their own terms. In the end neither side returned from that square. Still no one knows what happened, but the next day under the sun lie two cloaks damp with the blood of their former owners, singed as though from a fire, and dusted with ash.

~*.The Year is now 2008.*~

    August of the year 2008 and life in the small town seems to go by as normal. During the week there is little business with the students of the town's University studying and the shops open for business. The place is quiet but with a buzz of background noise that tells you it is alive. You are lucky to see the place on a weekday when it is a comforting image of rural life. On the weekend the buzz goes away. Shops close earlier and the students stay in there dorm rooms or are out of town. Occasionally there is a party, but most notice the weekend in this place for what it is. It is the silence of a town that has died. Each new monday it revives and goes about a short life of activity and pleasantness, but on the weekend the town is silent as the grave. It gives off an eerie feeling to any who chance to pass through. Especially if they do so in the evening or at night.

    In one part of this town, along the main road there are houses at the base of whose yards are walls that drop off to the sidewalk. They aren't tall, only mid-thigh height at most. If you sit on one of those walls and look out across the road, past the houses, and through a gap in the trees beyond that, you see a massive cemetery. Sometimes this sight is peaceful, it encompasses the town well, the living, the places they live, the nature that is barely held away from the town, and the dead resting peacefully nearby. Sometime, especially on the weekends, especially at night, this sight sends a shiver down the spine as you just can't help but think, do the dead really rest in peace?

    Whether or not the spirits of the dead are truly silent it can be said that the war which had come to this small town was silent. It was silent because it had to be hidden. It was silent because that's what the participants wanted. The wish for this silence would be the only one that the would be granted to the participants.

    As was said it was a weekday that it all began, so the hushed background buzz was there, even if no one was nearby you could sense it. It was not raining, the day had been sunny and the night sky was clear of clouds revealing the beautiful star-filled sky that only exists in rural towns where the starlight can still kiss the ground. All the stars, however, were outshined by the moon whose face was full this night. It was one twenty-four am when the sound of shoes clicked on the paving bricks of a miniature square where two pathways met on the campus of the university which called the small town its home.

    "I see it's true. You really are alive," One figure said to the other. This figure wore the clothes of an average student at the university, bluejeans, a t-shirt advertising something, what exactly was obscured by his open black jacket. His skin was slightly tanned but there was no mistaking that he was white. His hair was a light brown color and his eyes were a dark blue.

    "I just so happen to be. To think we'd reincarnate into the same generation and start this whole mess again. I'd be willing to let bygones be bygones and we could go back to the old days before the endless war," This figure was dressed a bit nicer, but not by much. His shirt was a polo rather than a t-shirt, but he wore a ratty old red scarf around his neck. His eyes were a more somber shade, something of a brown and grey mix. His hair too was brown and his skin pale. His body language emphasized a sort of aggravated uncertainty to anyone who might notice it. The only one there to take notice, didn't.

    "You know it can't be like that. The wounds run too deep. Your clans killed mine. Vengeance is the only thing that brought me back to this life and this world. I can't simply ignore those facts," The black jacket turned his side to the red scarf and raised his hands as though ready to fight.

    "Roy Roberts," The red scarf said still slumped a bit with his hands in his pockets, "I figured we should at least share our names if we're going to be trying to kill each other."

    The black jacket flinched for a moment unsure how he was supposed to respond. It only took a short time for him to order his thoughts, however, after which he replied, "Marquis, Jason Marquis."

    "Well, Jason Marquis, I'm sorry the ancient past has to come between a chance for us to be friends," now red scarf adopted a fighting stance of his own. The silence after this remark stretched on for some time. While the two stood amidst this silence strange things began to happen all around them. Shadows swirled around the feet of the black jacket while the air around the red scarf seemed to crackle and hiss. The air in the little courtyard became damp and cold all at once. Seconds stretched into minutes and then the two were moving.

    They met in the center with a muffled crash. Their strange powers beginning the conflict even before they did. Shadow, and lightning; Water, and Ice; These manifested themselves in warring forces all around the center of the struggle, the Black and the Crimson. Still wearing their colors in a different lifetime and, in the case of one, still holding ancient grudges.

    Something was different this night, however, and it wasn't simply the absence of the rain. In the midst of the conflict of the two colors a third appeard. A beam of light fell from on high between the two, separating them. Fire engulfed the Ice and shadow and burned so purely hot that water could not touch it. When lightning attempted to strike it was caught by slender silvery rods that directed it harmlessly into the ground. The two young men sat where they had sprawled on the bricks staring at the figure that had interrupted them. A woman wearing a stunningly white, hooded rain cape over white clothes stood there. She held silver knives in each hand and she took turns staring at both the young men in contempt. Her hair was as dark as the night sky above. Her eyes too seemed black in all the bright light. Her skin was paler than either young man's her words held weight when she finally spoke.

    "I am Teri Jameson. I was once known as Luna Halimuran Argentum. I am also called the Silver Flame. You two are the Crimson Storm and the Black Tide. I've come to end your meaningless war."

    "Meaningless!?" Exclaimed Jason as he scrambled to his feet, "What do you kno-"

    He was cut short as a flash of silver sped past him and solidified. The girl who called herself Teri held one of her knives pointed in his direction, the blade had elongated and now part of it's unrealistic length caressed his neck so closely that a thin line of crimson blood seeped onto its edge.

    "What I know is that both of you died for your grudges in the past. It was fine then because your struggle was the only threat to this world. Now things are different. The Azure Army has come to claim the lives of the immortals and break the balance we once held. You two must stop your squabbling so the immortals can present a united front against that which threatens the world." Her words were spoken quickly and deadpan serious. Jason found himself wondering, but what of my clans? In his heart, however, he knew that, were he to vocalize such a question, Teri's response would be for him to start them anew. On some level he knew what she said was right. So it was duty, and not desire that led him to speak his next words with bravado.

    "I guess you may get your wish, Roy, It seems higher powers have seen fit to make allies of us."

    "I suppose, I'll have to accept that for now, Jason, I hope that by he time it's all over, you'll see that I mean you no harm in this life."

    "Good enough," Teri said as the fires in the courtyard extinguished leaving no trace of their former existence, "You should come with me, we have much to discuss."

Monday, February 4, 2013

A Look to the Future

I feel fully alive for the first in a long time. I've come to some realizations and decisions. First because of a strange desire to marathon the anime Series Death Note I've realized that watching anime seems to fuel my creativity and whet my thought processes. I also noticed that over the past year I've watched dramatically less anime than in any point in several years. In addition I've also written dramatically less than in several years. Therefore my conclusion is that if I hope to regain my former luster for writing I should watch more of the medium that seems to most inspire me. In addition I've decided that as soon as I have paid off the student loans I currently own I will take steps to go back to college. However, unlike last time I'll be going to school with a specific plan in mind... To become a voice actor. I've always been melodramatic and enjoyed putting on a show so this seems like a good idea. In the meantime I'll continue to work on writing. Part of my plans to stretch my literary muscles will be to write for at least one hour each day. I believe I may turn to the story idea generators on the internet to use as exercises. I'm hoping that by feeding my desires and attempting to stretch my creative muscles more I can return to the voracious writer I once was.

As a final note I want to say that I'm going to need more than my own determination to accomplish these goals. I know myself too well. If I try to go on my own I'll get lazy and/or depressed and give up. Even as I sit here writing this blog post I've begun to doubt and back down a bit. I'm going to need the help and support of my family and friends. I'm counting on you guys to keep me assured of my conclusions and help me fool myself into being the man (well manchild) I was, the man who wanted to tell stories more than anything.

Respect, Honor, and Power to you all.

Archknight Jason aka NuraMike aka Justin Michael Thompson