World behind the world; another shade of grey.

Three Days Later...

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 08:11:28 -0600

Upon his death, it is said that it would not last. Day and night pass, his body has grown as cold as the ground - no life remained. Upon the third day, his body had vanished without any trace. Only to blindsided another by his giving hands, a comfort extended to prove it was real. Yet upon his embrace, he unleashed a plague unto Man.

Returning to life to fulfill his path, only to offer another gift in its place. It shall spread from man to man. From woman to woman. From child to child. All of human kind shall be purged of the comfort of death knowing their bodies shall not rest, only to rise once again. Vicious beasts guided only by gluttony.

Upon his rise, he gave man his gift, yet with this gift came a perverted sickness. Unknowing to Man, who accepted the gift in good faith to forever pass it from generation to generation. Only few succumb to the sickness, but the more the body grows frail, more dependent, the more the sickness emerges.

From the Dark Ages to the Black Plague. To the Witch Trials… Events triggered, in cases of Dark Ages, affected customs of battle, by this human sickness, this beast. The longer Man lived, the more he discovered, medicine, constructs, etc. Yet the more Man created, the more vulnerable he was to the sickness…

Comes to Modern Day. Society slowly falling apart at the seams as the gifts sickness re-emerged as a new threat, a new enemy to Man himself.

Of the unspoken - Left Behind.

Sat, 16 Mar 2013 00:47:02 -0600

Walking around a new and unfamiliar town, Bryce was clueless to how different this newly taken country had developed. It was similar to one over sea but not, by it’s own right. Feeling completely isolated, like usual, he continued walking around just looking at what is being constructed. Until he grew tired of it and stopped in at the only tevern around. He drake before, during his life. Mostly after his ‘incident’ in the past but the longer he lingered alive, the more drive there was to escape. Alcohol has ‘saved’ him a few times. At least with amounts of alcohol, it brings the sleep.

Taking a seat away from anyone else, he remained. Silently sitting, until he made up his mind to once again escape by the bottle. Standing up and approaching the one who could trade for drink.

“I would like a bottle of your strongest…”

Bryce said, making a sigh before he finished his simple question.

“… All I have is Whiskey. Will that do?”

The man turned to face Bryce with his maintained straight face.

“… yeah, that will be fine. The whole bottle. I don’t need a glass.”

“As you wish.”

The man walked around the far side of a counter nearby and pulled a bottle of whiskey from behind and sat it upon the counter. Looking at Bryce, he gestured to make sure it was acceptable then proceeded to walk back to Bryce.

“Here. That will be…”

“Take it.”

Bryce interrupted him, with as small bag of coin that he knew would cover the drink and make sure there were no questions. Bryce then walks back to the table he was at earlier and took his seat once again. Uncorking the bottle he began to take gulps of the liquid. At first, quenching his face after each swig due to flavor but the further down the bottle he got the more his expression remained the same.

Unknowingly, he ended up passing out on the table for the remainder of the night.

Waking up the next day, outside, covered in dirk, he stood up. Puzzled to what could have happened. He was unsure if he was forcibly removed or just removed for this building to be closed down. Either way, it didn’t matter. He would most likely be back soon. But for now he made his way to go find some food. A while after waking, the alcohol’s effect could still be felt. Pain radiated in his head as any light and sound just ripped into his skull. He contemplated taking off his head to ‘take care’ of the problem but figured that might be… frowned upon in this area.

He wasn’t too far from where the town ended when he heard a crash echo from a small wooded field nearby. Curious yet unconcerned he went to go check it out. He may have been in pain but he still owed any potential demons a form of payback. Approaching the wood line, he hears some struggling going on near the ground. Arming himself with his favorite Crossbow, he watches as a female jets halfway out of the woods. Trying to get away from something.

Bryce lunged forward and grabbed at her legs trying to help, noticing there was some form of tentacle wrapping around her leg. Dropping the Crossbow and grabbing a knife he had in his boot, he plunged the blade into the tentacle just far enough to nearly cut thru but not harm her. She kicked back, making it hard to assist but Bryce knew it was the panic that had already kicked in. He kept smacking and stabbing at the tentacle until it gave way and she slid out further without anything else attached to her. Grabbing his Crossbow, he shot a few bolts in the direction he herd the creature struggle before it seemed to scurry away.

Walking in a fair bit, he retrieved his bolts but noticed there was blood left behind. Blood that had a different hue to it.

“A tentacle and this type of blood… Hmm…”

Bryce muttered to himself, piecing it together with his hangover making it difficult.

“Must be a demon. But why here?”

He asked himself just before he looked up for the lady he just helped out but she was nowhere to be seen now. She kept going when he shot at the creature that held her. Shrugging, he left to go back to the town and further peruse his escape. Upon reaching the first line of houses, he overhears a conversation between females. One sounding familiar had grabbed his attention, causing him to go scout if it is the one he helped put.

“… then someone came and helped…”

The frightened voice barely made out as she was holding her leg. Badly cut up by the thing that had her.

“Do you know who it was? Or what had you?”

Came the voice of an older women who seemed to be helping take care of her wounds.

“No. It was just some man that I’ve seen around here…”

She muttered, still in shock.

“I don’t know what the thing was… Some kind of demon.”

“Demon!?”

Came the woman’s voice again.

“It didn’t look or behave like the animals we are familiar with…”

She said before her head seemed to get light and she swayed to the closest stable object to lay against.

“Bah. It had to have been just an animal. But no matter, I’ll finish treating your wounds.”

The woman said, irritated but with concern as she continued cleaning the ladies leg.

“I’ll have to talk to her later about what happened.”

Bryce thought to himself, wondering if there was any special reason she was attacked by a demon. He left for the tavern, to drink the next few hours away till he could finally get some answers.

Later that day, he walked passed the house he saw the lady at and approached the door. Knocking lightly and waiting patiently for an answer. The door opens and the woman from earlier stands looking up at him.

“Yes? May I help you?”

She asked, curious as to why this stranger was even here.

“I’m here to check up on the lady you were treating earlier. I helped her and want to make sure she is alright.”

He said, trying not to breath too much to get the scent of alcohol to confuse his intentions.

“Sure… Right this way.”

She turned inward and awaited by the door for him to step in. Closing it right behind she took point and led him to a back room.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He said, trying to be nice.

Coming to the room, the woman stands by the door and waves her hand inwardly, to gesture the lady was inside. Peering in, Bryce saw her laying on a sheet on a small pile of hay. Her leg wrapped up.

“She is resting right now. You can wait here or come back.”

The woman said, implying she didn’t really want him to stay.

“I’ll stay, if you don’t mind. I didn’t get the chance to speak with her earlier when the attack happened.”

He said, walking in further and taking a seat against a wall next to her.

“All right. I’ll be out here if you or she needs anything…”

She said, making a gesture to behave. Bryce knew these kinds of gestures well.

Hours passed, Bryce had barely drifted asleep when he herd the sounds of a female voice and some struggling. Opening his eyes, he looks at the lady laying down. Her face covered in sweat, her body moving to what seemed to be a nightmare. Her leg wrapping drenched and seemed to be coming undone. Bryce tapped her shoulder to snap her out of it but it was in vain. He grabbed her shoulder and gently shook until she stopped moving. Her eyes opened and she slowly glanced around. Till her eyes came to rest on Bryce.

Filling with fear, she jumps away, forcing Bryce’s hand to release from the movement. He lifted both to show he was innocent and shook his head.

“Don’t be alarmed. I am the one who helped you earlier when you were attacked. Do you remember?”

Bryce asked, unsure if he would get a positive reaction.

“No! I don’t remember anything but trying to get away.”

She remained, staring at him.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you were alright anyway.”

He said, sitting back to where he was.

After a few moments she relaxed, sliding back to where she was and stared at the ceiling. She seemed to fall unconscious for a short time. It was a few hours before she seemed to have woken up to finally speaking up about anything.

“I… think it was a demon.”

She said, the first sound muttered within the uncomfortable silence.

“What makes you think that?”

Bryce questioned needing a bit more to go on before a hunt is possible.

“It… just didn’t look like an animal of the wild… Something about it was off…”

She continued, turning her head to look at Bryce.

“I felt something before the attacks. Like something wasn’t… real… then was. Like a ghost that appeared in form…”

She ended, looking back up at the ceiling, closing her eyes.

“Thank you for helping me… but I fear it may have been in vain.”

Bryce looking at her with some intensity, questioning what she meant by her comment.

“Why do you say that?”

Bryce asked, trying to piece together her earlier point of something feeling to ‘appear’.

“I have been ill for quite some time… It took much of my strength to get away much less deal with these wounds…”

She said, looking back at Bryce.

“No, it will be alright. I’ll make sure you okay. Tell me your name?”

He said attempting to ease her worry.

“My name is Ceila. If it helps, I’ve always felt some kind of presence as long as I can recall…”

Speaking under her breath in disbelief as she fell unconscious. Her head slightly turning to ground level. Bryce remained a little while longer, pondering what she could have meant when he came to a conclusion; she was a Medium. Shooting his eyes upward, it seemed to make sense to him. Her ‘feeling’ the demons presence, getting attacked when no one else did. It may have been an assumption, but Bryce held onto it as if it were a certainty.

Thinking back to his wife, the last known Medium, was his last chance to pay back the demon who cursed him to live forever. His mind filling with memories of Cypher, with good times… and with Asteroth… Putting it all to a defeated end. Taking her away from him. Hm being completely defeated, wounded. And endowed with Asteroth’s eye of immortality - he was to live forever in despair for his failure.

When he came to, it felt as if a few hours had passed. Looking back down to Ceila, he smiled.

“I understand. Rest, I’ll see you when you wake up.”

He muttered, standing up to a stretch. Grabbing his Crossbow he left the house, giving a nod of thanks to the woman who seemed happy he was leaving. Returning to the woods where he remembered the demon to have been, he looked for any signs of the creature.

Progressing deeper into this part of the woods, he noticed some sounds along the ground. Something struggling with the brush. Aiming his Crossbow in the direction, he stepped slowly in that direction. Looking down, and from side to side, conveying as much as possible. Stopping after a few feet to look more in depth when he felt something moving across his legs. Aiming downward, he shoots a bolt hoping to hit something.

The bolt causing the creature to become aggressive and taking hold of his legs. Struggling, he falls over and pulls himself free. Crawling around and starts shooting bolts into the creature. Getting it to stop moving, he reaches towards his leg to grab his knife. Pulling it free, he begins to carve up the creature, the stench reeking of demon. Completely destroying the body of the demon, he gasps and crawls away. Making it barely out of the wood line before growing his legs back.

Kicking them into the ground to make sure they were good, he made his way back to the house Ceila was at. Knocking on the door, he waited. And waited. Knocking again, to wait longer. After a few moments, the door opens to reveal the woman. Looking down to avoid eye contact she stepped aside allowing Bryce to walk in. He made his way in back to see Ceila with good news, to see a few people sitting over her. Looking back and fourth, shaking their heads. She had died in her sleep. Her leg revealed the injuries had turned for the worst. Or her sickness behaved poorly.

It escaped him. The new Medium was now lost once again. Unknowingly if another would return.

“Dammit!”

He shouted before leaving the house. Looking down at his arm, imagining the blood in his veins, he clenched his fist.

“I should have saved her when I had the chance… This goddam blood!”

Shouldering his Crossbow, he then returned to the Tavern. Storming in, grabbing a bottle of Whiskey and leaving a small bag of coin on the counter and left the town as a whole. He grew tired of loss. People he knew, people he tried to help, people he barely met… it always ends the same.

It was getting old…

"… for some may never amount to anything more than just grease to a wheel…"

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 07:29:00 -0600

“… for some may never amount to anything more than just grease to a wheel…”

- - Anonymous

"I tell you now the words of Red Moon: From the Great Spirit was born the Wolf and Man became its..."

Thu, 14 Mar 2013 03:12:00 -0600

“I tell you now the words of Red Moon: From the Great Spirit was born the Wolf and Man became its messenger. The Beast lives his life in silence, abiding where the blessing of the blood of the gods is bestowed upon him. The White Flower, after winning the favor of the lord of the night, will share her scent, preordained and eternal in countenance is of a lily white supple maiden. She distills and condenses all of time, until it becomes a precious frozen mass. Only then will appear the wretched beast.”

- - Darcia

"Humanity can evolve past its petty tendencies, and I will make it do so. My methods themselves will..."

Fri, 15 Feb 2013 05:11:09 -0700

“Humanity can evolve past its petty tendencies, and I will make it do so. My methods themselves will live and grow as humanity grows. Long after I am gone, my legacy will still shine brightly throughout the world and humanity will look upon its benevolent splendor and know the world is good.”

- Diary of Xeust Lambert
August 13, 2029

Black Powder and a Bloodshot Eye.

Wed, 06 Feb 2013 00:34:00 -0700

“Bryce!”

A faint shout barely heard among the many Musket explosions. The spraying of burning powder, the flying metal spheres crashing into their targets long before their tailing sound catches up. Bryce looked around the field of slowly lifting smoke and debris for whoever could have shouted his name. Not seeing any recognition, he stood up, facing those opposing to his end and fired his Musket. Kicking back hard, his right shoulder seemed to dislodge.

Slamming back down behind his cover, he grabs his left shoulder and twists is back into place. His rifle sitting firmly in his lap, he then proceeds to pack in another bullet, twisting his head slightly to see what he was doing - wearing a make-shift patch to cover his right eye was making it a bit difficult than he was used to.

Normally Bryce wouldn’t worry about such things, but he joined this Red crowd to come over sea. He didn’t want his eye to cause a problem, didn’t want to exploit his immortality by being a one-man-army and didn’t want to get persecuted as a witch. He was well aware of the fears that plagued many of these men and knew his ‘condition’ could play on those fears.

“BRYCE!”

Came the voice again, more noticeable this time around. Looking to his left, he sees a man staring at him, gesturing with a wave to ‘come over here’. Bryce tucking his head as another volley of shots came in his direction, he bolted without thinking twice once they were embedded into their wood and dirt.

“I’m coming Alex!”

Bryce flew into cover right next to Alex. Looking at his body to notice a fresh hole he looks up at Alex with a smirk.

“I guess I was bound to get hit at least once, eh?”

Bryce laughs it off as he gets a new bullet packed into his rifle.

“I guess being alone in this isn’t the best situation to be in, right?”

Alex nudges Bryce, knowing he would get the hint.

“If only you were immortal! Hah!”

Bryce continued to laugh as he stood to fire once again. Dropping back down, he looked up and stared right at Alex.

“Wait, is that why you are here?”

“Maybe, I might have a chance for mine.”

Alex said, standing to take his turn to fire.

“You are here because any major conflict tends to have a demon involved, right?”

“Yeah, I like them to know I am still here. As if they could forget, thanks to Astaroth.”

“Well, if he is high enough, maybe I can get mine!”

“You crazy bastard! You are waging a lot on this chance. You could loose it all when you aim to keep it all.”

Bryce retorted as he stood to fire one more time.

“I might as well. If I fail at least you have one less person to worry about.”

Bryce shook his head than stilled to look at Alex’s face once more. His determination was unlike what he expected.

“Then you might need this!”

Bryce took a Bayonet off his Rifle and gave it to Alex, Who instead of attaching it onto his, he dropped his bag and rifle, holding his Bayonet in his other hand.

“You know me well, eh senior Bryce?”

“I am not that old…”

Bryce said under his breath and he reached for Alex’s ammo and powder bag.

“Now we wait for this to settle.”

They remained for a little while till the fighting slowed. Couldn’t have been very long, few hours at best, before something began to rustle among the bodies and burnt ground. Clanking rifles on stone, shredding stiff cotton and leather, debris sliding down unstable slopes.

“That may be our, well my target.”

Bryce turns to look over his cover, lifting up his eye cover to look all around the field. Noticing something large, pulling bodies together - both Red Coat and Blue Coat. A Red glow among the center, shining out faintly.

“I… have seen that eye before.”

Bryce said to himself, gritting his teeth trying to recall where he has seen the eye.

“That is it, isn’t it?

Alex asked, entrapped by the glow. Almost drooling with anticipation.

“Let’s go say ‘hi’.”

Bryce stood up and casually approached the Red glow.

“Hey! You ugly Red bastard!”

Bryce shouted, hoping to hear something that will remind him of what he is talking to.

“It is you… from so long ago it seems.”

A phlegmy sounding voice tremors from the group of bodies.

“Azrail! I should have known you would be involved in this bloodshed.”

Bryce tapped his forehead with his rifle, shrugging. Almost envious of the dead.

“So what brings you to these parts?”

Bryce asked aloud, standing in front of the bodies. Dropping his arms to his sides.

“These places… so rich with human life. So easy to get them to fight. It was plentiful.”

“Too bad I am not among them, right?”

Bryce followed up, taking his bullet and powder bag off his shoulder and tossing it among the center of the mass.

“Alex! Get ready!”

Bryce shouted behind, readying his rifle aimed at the bag. Shooting it, the bag rupturing from a mass ball of fire enveloping the bodies, scattering the body parts. Knocking Bryce back, to the ground. His body - arms and legs falling off his body. Alex rushing up afterward, dicing up anything in his way. Dead flesh, living unrecognizable flesh. Getting too the core of the blast zone.

“it is… mine. Finally…”

Alex dropped his Bayonets as his hands reached for the Red Eye among a face completely hideous to the look. A part hidden among the bodies jumps up, stabbing thru Alex’s chest. Knocking Alex to the ground right in front of the Eye.

“Alex!”

Bryce shouted, as he was pulling himself together. Alex collapsing all the way to the ground, his arm remaining in the reaching position. Bryce now standing right behind Alex, looking down only to see Alex. No more Azrail - no Red Eye could be seen. Bryce bends over to place a hand on Alex’s body.

“Well, seems you wagered and lost it all, my friend… goodbye.”

Standing back up, he proceeds to walk around the field and leaves.

The ground trembling slightly once more, Alex weakly blinks his eyes, sighing.

“You seem similar to Bryce… I will share my power with you… on one condition…”

The deep phlegmy voice came again. Alex looking up at the returned Red Eye, blinking in recognition.

“I assist Asmodai, if I do this for you, you will assist him as well…”

Alex blinks his eyes once more in acknowledgement. The appendage that penetrated Alex’s chest stretches and wraps around the Red Eye. Pulling away leaving no red glow, it reaches to Alex’s face. Lowering just above his left eye, a red glow erupts from the connection. Alex’s wound appearing to close - his breath returning to it’s normal pace.

“It is done… Your injury was taxing for the transformation. You must be cautions, for you are now immortal. But not to it’s fullest - too much will cause you issues.”

“T-t-thank y-you… Azrail…”

Alex’s voice returning as well, Driven by his wish being granted, being given new life. It was almost too much to take in. Alex stands up and wraps some cloth found on the ground around his neck and upper torso. Alex nods once again to the face that last spoke.

“Things will get interesting now… Bryce.”

Alex takes his Bayonets and stabs them into his shoulders, grinning. Then turns and walks away.

"Cavity search? My ass! Wait… you know what I mean!"

Mon, 04 Feb 2013 05:37:00 -0700

“Cavity search? My ass! Wait… you know what I mean!”

- - Hunter Gathers

Despair Remains, always.

Mon, 04 Feb 2013 03:07:00 -0700

“Bryce… I’m sorry…”

“Wait! Cypher!”

Grounded, struggling to move, Cypher strains to reach towards Bryce. Not making much progress, light tears drip from her unfocused eyes as she goes limp. Gasping a final taken breath, her head rolling to it’s center as her eyes continue looking. Staring at Bryce whom was just out of reach, who was also attempting to get her hand. Looking into her eyes, he fills with pain, anger. Sorrow, despair. Her eyes saying “I’m Sorry.” in case her words didn’t reach his ears.

“CYPHER!”

Bryce shouted as he managed to grab her lifeless hand, trying to hold onto her life now since passed.

AHHHHHH

Bryce shoots straight up within his bed. Panting, seething with regret, he lashes out with his fists down into his bed. Absorbing the impact, he remained sitting, his arms throbbing with rage from once again witnessing his loss. Always so vivid, every nightmare he has of his defeat; his loss of Cypher… his fall from his path.

Switching on a lamp next to his bed, he grabs an almost empty bottle of liquor. Swigging the last of the brown sour liquid, he exhales in anguish. Anticipation for more instantly overcame his lust to escape. Throwing the bottle to the ground, he stands up, scratching his neck and back. Getting irritated, he grabs his left arm and with a tug, pulls his arm free. Re-grabbing it, he drags his fingers across his back, getting the itch present along the lower part of his shoulder blades. Sticking the fleshy torn skin back to his body, the inner flesh takes grab and pulls itself back together. Rotating the shoulder with his right hand, he hears a moist snap, recognition of his arm clicks with his nerves as he clenches his fingers into his palm.

“Not even the night can let it go…”

Looking over to the bottle, seeing a portion of his reflection looking back at him - the Yellow Eye. It seemed not even the little things would let such failures go. Picking up a cigarette from his nightstand, he lights it up, taking a deep drag then exhaling with force towards the bottle’s mockery.

“Ugh, I got to get out of here.”

Throwing on his shredded looking overcoat and placing his gun harness across his back like a metal rod backpack. Taking a set of assault rifle looking guns and placing them within the harness on his back, he approaches his apartment door. Grabbing a folded piece of metal as he leaves.

“Same thing, over so many nights… Time to go release some of this aggression on some demons… And find myself a drink.”

The door slams against the frame as he storms off.

"You see, according to Cocteau’s plan, I’m the enemy, ‘cause I like to think; I..."

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 05:28:00 -0700

“You see, according to Cocteau’s plan, I’m the enemy, ‘cause I like to think; I like to read. I’m into freedom of speech and freedom of choice. I’m the kind of guy who likes to sit in a greasy spoon and wonder, “Gee, should I have the T-bone steak or the jumbo rack of barbecued ribs with the side order of gravy fries?” I WANT high cholesterol. I wanna eat bacon and butter and BUCKETS of cheese, okay? I want to smoke a Cuban cigar the size of Cincinnati in the non-smoking section. I want to run through the streets naked with green Jell-o all over my body reading Playboy magazine. Why? Because I suddenly might feel the need to, okay, pal? I’ve SEEN the future. Do you know what it is? It’s a 47-year-old virgin sitting around in his beige pajamas, drinking a banana-broccoli shake, singing “I’m an Oscar Meyer Wiener”.”

- - Edgar Friendly

"As Humans, we are taught to forget that we are animals."

Tue, 29 Jan 2013 04:30:43 -0700

“As Humans, we are taught to forget that we are animals.”

- - Rob Schrab

"If you can’t run, you crawl. If you can’t crawl, you find someone to carry you."

Mon, 21 Jan 2013 03:50:00 -0700

“If you can’t run, you crawl. If you can’t crawl, you find someone to carry you.”

- - Joss Whedon

This House of Dreams

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 01:23:14 -0700

Something I found interesting a short while ago was a blog over on blogger. Simply titled “This House of Dreams”. At first I thought it was just a simple personal blog with updates to a sort of ‘off-center’ individual. But after doing some research onto it, with some confirmation from an actual website, that the blog was a tease from Remedy Games. Teasing, in some form, the Alan Wake fans in particular.

Remedy likes to do things like this to build up anticipation, or have it available to show it off in a ‘See? It is right there!’ kind of thing. But I digress, the point of this is to show off the poetry involved within the blog itself as well as some of the ‘unintentional prose’ ala ‘dreams’ that are written of.

Without wasting more time, here are the appropriate links to the content and to the long discussion-to-confirmation about it:

This House of Dreams.

Fansite or Official - Alan Wake Forums.

For those who like it, here is a PDF of the blog contents.

Enjoy.

Building a Bible - By Hal Hefner.

Fri, 28 Dec 2012 07:14:00 -0700

Is your Bible really holy? If not it should be.

Now I’m NOT talking about the BIBLE… Yeah, that one–the book of morals, prophecy, wisdom and suffering written by several authors, interpreted in many ways and used as tool for good and evil throughout human history. Not that book.

I’m talking about a story bible!

If you are a creator of any universe that comes form your mind…then if you want to make that universe a reality, the first thing you need to do is get your bible in order.

When I create a world, I create a Bible… first and formost.

My story bible is the book of knowledge I create that tells me everything I need to know and then-some, about the story I’m working on. Whether it is a comic book, short story, novel, screenplay etc… I always make a bible in one form or another.

A PITCH BOOK vs A BIBLE: WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE?

Pitch books are used to pitch your idea and are an abridged and more advanced form of a bible. They typically have more imagery and are much more geared at selling the awesomeness of your universe to others.

This is basically a nicely designed representation of my bible with major edits and the inclusion of new chapters used to sell whoever reads this on the world.

A story bible is a collection of information that allows me as writer to have every secret and detail of my universe, plotted out so that I may write my story.

So here’s a little info about it for all of you folks that are curious as to how I prepare and create a story bible.

HOW I BUILD A STORY BIBLE:

I love to build the bible for my universe. It is the most fun thing that I do because I get to combine all of my favorite create juices into one collection. And by creative juices I mean my art, design and writing skills being used to bring forth my vision.

Now for someone who doesn’t draw or design, just writes, your bible may look different. That is cool. Your bible is a reflection of what you need to get your project completed. Every bible is different…not one are the same. It is the culmination of all of your exciting ideas you are going to be using for your project. Now mine just happens to be a transmedia eBOOK, with art, imagery, video and of course, pros, so it’s got some interesting additions…and it is pretty large.

You have to take into account that the length and complexity of your story idea will usually dictate the size of your bible.

So in building my bible, one must first have the ingredients to cook up their creative masterpiece.

HE MAIN CONTENTS OF MY BIBLE:

At this stage in the game, to me, nothing is sacred in terms of ideas so I will always be editing BUT the bible helps you commit to some ideas more than others as you know they are the backbone of your story. The bible for me is a psychological conquer for my story as it gives me the first semblance of a solid foundation. In my opinion, my bible keeps me from unnecessarily changing things. Sometimes, it is an easy trap for writers to fall into in terms of changing things just for the sake of changing things.

1) Brief Synopsis:
My bible begins with a brief synopsis. For my current needs right now, I have a nice four paragraph (one page) synopsis that summarizes the story as well as I need it to be. As This is what I lead off my bible with.

2) Detailed Synopsis/Outline:
Next section is where I take the synopsis and expand it… I write something of hybrid synopsis and outline. These are the major plot points of my story, flushed out in clear fashion. It is here that I have the bones and the guts of my idea, laid out clearly so that I may use them as my guide when I write the story.

3) Characters:
This is the ultra detailed version of my character descriptions. Along with my character descriptions, I always include an image. I would prefer to use my art for the images but if I don’t have the artwork completed, I will use some kind of representation of who I think would be a great actor or person in my life, that could play the part of that character.

4) Source Material:
This is usually the biggest chapter of my bible because it contains all of the background history about the setting of my story. For this section, I have a ton of collected articles, wikipedia entries and other resources I have found online that comprise all of the information I need to make my setting consistent. This is the research I need to keep my story entrenched in my world. These are details I need to write fearlessly and educated on my topic.

WORSHIPPING MY BIBLE:

So now I have my bible… what do I do next?

I get old school… and I print it out!

I just print all the four sections I just outlined above and punch holes in them, and place them in a three ringed binder.

Now I have a physical specimen of my ideas in my hand, advancing the psychological foundation of my ideas, even one step further.

Cherish your bible and be grateful that you have completed it because now you are on to the next magical journey… WRITING YOUR STORY!

And remember, you are the GOD of YOUR BIBLE and the creator of your world and all of its’ inhabitants.

WHAT I LEARNED PUTTING TOGETHER MY BIBLE:

1) You can never have to much information when creating a bible for your universe.

2) Specifically in my source material section, when editing out info that I may not need, taking a conservative approach to deleting was a smart move. I feel like the more I have, the better because even if I never use it is there to support me.

3) A synopsis is there to be edited. But get it to a good point and move on. There will be lots of time to edit your synopsis.

4) The psychological power of having completed a bible I can hold in my hand is incredibly strong.

5) Be organic with the contents of your bible. This is all about what I need to create my story. Period. Everything I need is here at my fingertips so I can write unchained.

- By Hal Hefner

"I have not been as others were - I have not seen as others saw - I could not bring my passions from..."

Thu, 27 Dec 2012 05:11:37 -0700

“I have not been as others were - I have not seen as others saw - I could not bring my passions from a common spring.”

- - Edgar Allan Poe

Trade Off

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 05:28:00 -0700

Part VI: Remaining among the Living - Borrowed Time.

Struggling to escape, I began moving violently to get myself free. Ignoring the pain, I had to get out, I must. As my breathing began to grow heavy, my teeth clenching as tight as they could without cracking, I manage to squirm free. Taking a sigh of relief, my pain kicked back into my senses. My eyes shut hard as my hands rise to hold my torso.

Moments pass, the pain calmed enough for my sanity to take hold of my perspective. Patting my body, I feel all kinds of wounds. Though, not open. I didn’t understand at first with what happened, but after thinking about it, it became clear: I used the blood. No, the life of these men to spare my own. Realizing this, I knew I wasn’t really alive at this point. Borrowing life in such a manor is like spraying a flammable catalyst onto a fire. It roars at first but in turn tends to die quickly since the fire didn’t get the chance to take root in it’s body.

Not sure what I should do, my mind kept swirling around my now borrowed time. I didn’t want this to be the end, but that is no longer up to me. I wasn’t greedy enough to begin taking everything’s life around me. All I could do, was wait for my time to run out. Since anything I could do would only hasten my end.

Worry finally left me as I sat back onto the ground. Propping my legs upon a corps close to me. I remained, thinking. Of what my purpose was up here, if my banishment was till death, or if it was to test me upon this world. For it certainly wasn’t for me to bring our knowledge to these, people. We were far too different from what I have perceived.

But even those answers never came to me. I felt my mind jumping from thought to thought. It no longer made any sense. My body began radiating with a mixture of pain and cold, starting at the tips of my arms and legs, making their way to my core. I felt myself leaving my body, though I couldn’t comprehend it. My emotions were no longer in my control as my arms and legs began seizing. Behaving erratically, till all stilled.

My spirit ejected from my body. Lifting just above, the energy mixed with it from these bodies separated and blew away. I found a piece of serenity overcoming me as I drifted away, into the natural flow of energy.

Umbra Asunder

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 05:11:52 -0700

Part VI: Paradox.

Snapping to, realizing he was back on his cot, staring out the flap of his tent, the man’s eyes remain open yet throbbing. Having sat there without blinking for hours. His dog next to him increasingly restless keeps nuzzling his arm over its head to get his master’s attention, to no avail. He was caught within a trance. Giving up, the pet roams the ground for a moment before settling down.

The man remained motionless for several more moments, before erupting with a gasp for breath; almost as if he came back to life, taking his first breath. His face looked horrified, body shaking as he slowly attempted to push himself further from the entry way. Falling off the cot and dragging himself next to his fire pit he kept focus, watching the sun set till he felt a rush of heat glove his left hand. Immediately catching his attention, he flung his hand up before he buried it within the soft ground below to extinguish the fire. Breathing quickly, his attention fell to the ground; to his shadow and how it no longer was behaving as it should. Glancing over to the mirror, then shifting back to his shadow, growing suspicious and filling with stress.

His eyes widened as he played with his shadow, gasping as if succumbing to deja vu. Moving his other arm side to side, close to the ground then away within the rays of light. Yet the shadow remained still; cut, for it had not decided to move. The man slowed to a still, giving up this attempt to ‘correct’ this trick before him, realizing this is similar to what he envisioned moments earlier when he was stilled to a trance. Due to this, he could only guess to what happened next.

Watching the ground and holding onto his burned hand, he waits for some sign of the shadow. For in his vision, the shadow would form a gesture with it’s arm and point towards an object. After a short wait, this is exactly what occurred. Though he wasn’t sure as to what object till the event. Following the angle he came across an old mirror stashed within a pack that laid adjacent to his cot. Pulling it out he looked back to the shadow, in his vision the shadow vanished. Here the shadow seemed to swirl about then flood into the mirror. Watching as the mirror’s face rippled as the shadow passed thru certainly didn’t beat out the sentient shadow as being the oddest sight, but he figured that there was something special about this object.

Placing it down, he sat back on his cot and stared at the mirror. Unsure of what his next move should be. He reaches for it once more but stumbles forward. His arm falling into the mirror itself. Shocked, he leans back to look at his arm now covered with what looks like silver. Looking back he takes a deep breath and decides to pursue his shadow and launches himself into the mirror’s face.

Feeling as though he was within a nightmare, the ‘world’ around him streamed by like water. Light bent as it seemed he was being dragged in a tube. His gut grew heavy the longer he was there, but he didn’t know if it would stop, only to eventually black out. When he comes to, he finds himself surrounded by a world he was familiar with even though his gut didn’t agree. Looking around he realized that what he was seeing was reversed from what he knew was fact. It was his tent, but foreign, no longer his.

Leaving the tent, he begins to look around to any trace of his shadow. Only to find a trail that appeared to have some black liquid dragged into the distance. Assuming this was connected with his shadow, he follows for a distance till he came to a ground he knew was where he typically would hunt. Though looking closer, he noticed a figure standing across the plain from him.

Approaching the figure slowly, he locked eyes with what he figured was the eyes of the shadow. The shadow approached as well, reflecting him. Till they stood mere feet from each other. He asked the shadow what was going on, only for the shadow to pull a sword off his back. Tossing it at his feet, recognizing it as a blade he knew in an old life he led. Thoughts start to flood within his mind, words he knew were not his. Coming to realize the shadow was communicating with him in this manor.

“You left this life behind, a life that was paved for you. I was granted freedom to draw you back to your path… and you will come.”

Understanding this a little more as a result of fleeing from his old life, he never knew such would happen to draw him back.

“I left on my own will. I do not intend to be taken back.”

He thought, drawing a blank within his mind afterward. Picking up the blade in front of him, the shadow manifesting a blade from it’s arm, he knew this would end with a fight.

“It was never your choice to leave. Just because you thought you made the decision, doesn’t mean it wasn’t accurate. I am proof of that.”

The shadow drew words one more before gesturing with the sword. Placing the blade between him and the shadow, he steps back. Shadow thrusting towards him, knocking the blade to the side. Stepping into his shadow, he knocks it back with his elbow. Falling back, he follows up with a kick, further knocking the shadow back. Shadow resets the blade and thrusts again.

Coming at him again and again, blocking each strike, being a stalemate. He knew the shadow was able as he was. Assuming he too was on par, he keeps his guard up. Only for the shadow to fake towards him, pulling back and stabbing his throat.

The world begins to collapse abruptly, taking everything with it. He comes to, back on his cot staring into the distance once again. His pet knowing something was off, kept his distance, snarling and staring at him.

The Locker.

Fri, 21 Dec 2012 04:15:19 -0700

Reading over my records, I came to a passage I haven’t thought about in a long time. The notes didn’t have any location data written, but I knew exactly what they were written about; the time me and a colleague went to look over a possible submerged wreckage. I failed to make such notes because of… what, we found. It wasn’t just a discovery; it was a damning.

From that day, I do not recall much of our preparation work, as we did the same thing every time so they blur together, but what I do recall is what we witnessed after submerging. As well as guilt from that very encounter:

We traveled downward some 500 Meters, not too far down, before we began seeing something irregular from our sonar. The object, or rather objects were protruding from the sludgy covered ground. Assuming the sludge wasn’t just growing off the irregular objects, we got closer to investigate. Light’s shown all over what we could see, we debated amongst our team about what the objects could be. Sending in our diver to get a closer look, we set the systems up to maintain it’s position so it wouldn’t be terribly high maintenance.

Looking over feed from a camera the diver took, I can get a good visual, granted only as close as the diver can get. Waving his hands around the sludge, it gets pushed away by the current as if gusts of wind were all the way down here. Once all that settled, it appeared to be man tempered wood. Growing with anticipation, I began telling myself we stumbled across a sunken ship from (hopefully) a couple centuries ago. But I kept in mind that it may be nothing.

Keeping watch, the diver spotted something moving among the sludge. I relay a message to him to stop his movements. He does as I guide his line of sight as well as camera to the direction in which I caught a glimpse of the disturbance. Sitting and waiting for more, the diver proceeds to move slowly in that direction. Finally getting sight of the creature moving. From our angle, it looked like nothing more than some octopus eating a large crab. But keeping watch, that was ultimately not the case.

Moving about the sludge, the diver looks back and manages to make a clearing to confirm it was an old ship. No markings but grabbed a small, broken piece and placed it within a pouch he had. Moving slowly about, he began pulling out a small net he had stashed away and looked back at the octopus-like creature. I don’t know why, but it seemed he intended to catch it as well.

Noticing the diver’s intention, the creature turns and appears to rear up. It appeared humanoid from this visual. Freaking the diver and myself, he scurried away from the creature in a panic, who then let go of a human skull from it’s mouth before the diver finally turned away. I jump from my seat and begin getting the systems enabled for surfacing. I couldn’t have been gone more than a minute to when I look back and see nothing on the camera.

Jumping to the pressure door, I flip a lever linked to a guide rope the diver had around his body to help him come back. The rope wraps up, pulling him as well as the creature in. Looking through the pressure glass, I see him struggling with the net and the creature on him; wrapping around him. I had no idea what to do, but the moment I questioned myself I see him stop moving; the creature wrapping around to do who knows what.

The net was shredded, as well as parts of his suit were ripped from him and left to sink to the bottom of the chamber. I knew he was gone. Making the hardest decision I ever had to, I hit a button to drain the chamber. Keeping the chamber closed, I hoped the creature would suffocate from the lack of water. Sending word to the other crew members, they got to the cab and began taking us back up to the surface. Keeping my ears open for any unusual noises, I keep watch of the creature.

Moments later, as we surfaced, it felt like they set the controls to maintain afloat. I remained at the pressure chamber; to see if that thing was still alive. Looking in, I didn’t see it move… much. I stared at it, and did happen to notice small movements within it’s body. It was doing, something. I felt us dock, the creature shrugged and stood up. Just as I though, it indeed looked like a humanoid octopus. Something I would have only dreamed of or read within fiction.

I didn’t document anything else after that point, for it left it’s mark on my mind. I remember that creature, what seemed like it’s eyes, just looking at me. The diver’s face, eaten, leaving portions of skull and meat left where a face had been. It was then that I had correlated that creature to some folklore I’ve been introduced to later in my life. I began to think that we may very well had stumbled across Davy Jones’ Locker.

Was that, creature, Davy Jones? Or at least some guardian of the legendary Flying Dutchman?

Codex Entry - The Qun

Fri, 21 Dec 2012 03:55:00 -0700

Long ago, the Ashkaari lived in a great city by the sea. Wealth and prosperity shone upon the city like sunlight, and still its people grumbled in discontent. The Ashkaari walked the streets of his home and saw that all around him were the signs of genius: triumphs of architecture, artistic masterpieces, the palaces of wealthy merchants, libraries, and concert halls. But he also saw signs of misery: the poor, sick, lost, frightened, and the helpless. And the Ashkaari asked himself, “How can one people be both wise and ignorant, great and ruined, triumphant and despairing?”

So the Ashkaari left the land of his birth, seeking out other cities and nations, looking for a people who had found wisdom enough to end hopelessness and despair. He wandered for many years through empires filled with palaces and gardens, but in every nation of the wise, the great, the mighty, he found the forgotten, the abandoned, and the poor. Finally, he came to a vast desert, a wasteland of bare rock clawing at the empty sky, where he took shelter in the shadow of a towering rock, and resolved to meditate until he found his answer or perished.

Many days passed until one night, as he gazed out from the shadow of the rocks, he saw the lifeless desert awaken. A hundred thousand locusts hatched from the barren ground, and as one, they turned south, a single wave of moving earth. The Ashkaari rose and followed in their wake: a path of devastation miles wide, the once verdant land turned to waste. And the Ashkaari’s eyes were opened.

Existence is a choice.
There is no chaos in the world, only complexity.
Knowledge of the complex is wisdom.
From wisdom of the world comes wisdom of the self.
Mastery of the self is mastery of the world. Loss of the self is the source of suffering.
Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it.
It is in our power to create the world, or destroy it.

And the Ashkaari went forth to his people.

Excerpt: Elirian Quest.

Wed, 19 Dec 2012 02:45:00 -0700

Excerpt from Chapter 6: Old Wounds.

Aldramek had moved towards the Inns back door as Tor was talking with the Innkeeper, distracting most of the others in the group. He lowered his packs right before the door, and as he did so, caught a glance from Calcazar. They exchanged glares for a moment, then Aldramek looked away and left the inn. He was preoccupied enough as it was for the moment.

Once outside the inn, he headed Northwest through the town, through the light rain. Few townspeople walked the streets at this time. He remembered that it hadn’t always been this way. He noted a few sidelong glances and realized that however few people were out and about, they had noticed him. He thought some even recognized him.

He passed by closed shops and very few open buildings until he came to a single abandoned building in particular, its crumbling foundations a testament to its long disuse. Without pausing, he squeezed himself through a large opening amid the fallen roof and stood for a while, his back to the only remaining wall that was fully intact. He listened closely, hearing a soft splashing sound following cautiously behind. He knew he was being followed, but he had somewhat expected it. For now, he ignored it.

Aldramek pushed away from the wall and left through the rear of the building and
entered a large, neglected plot of land from which crafted stones protruded here and there in many places. The Kreen town graveyard. He walked through the graveyard, slowly passing by three rows, then moved right, towards a more significant pair of graves, a matching set, that lay beside one another. He slowly fell to his knees in front of the two tombstones. He laid his hands on each, above and in the center where the names Sydney Damcyan and Biske Damcyan were engraved. Then he lowered his head and sighed, shedding tears that quickly blended with the now increasing rainfall.

His clenched his hands, causing the knuckles to pop and turn white. His nails carved into the hard stone, his fingertips getting scraped raw. He barely noticed. He mumbled to himself a moment before lifting his head, hot tears continued falling from his eyes and melding with the cool rain. Then he noticed a third tombstone, a smaller one, set beside to his father’s grave.

He moved over to see who it belonged to, and was shocked to see his older brother’s name; Richter. He fell backward on his haunches in surprise and disbelief. He read the epitaph, hoping he had it wrong, that it wasn’t Richter’s at all, but the inscription confirmed it. The reality of the present situation slammed down on him like a stampede of bulls, taking the breath right out of him.

Grabbing the stone to steady himself, he noticed an object sticking out of the ground directly behind it. He reached over to grab the object, his left hand closing around the familiar feel of a sword hilt, one just like his own. Just then he heard more splashing. His shadow come to confront him, no doubt. He left his hand on the sword as the footsteps came to a stop right behind him. “So it is you,” came a familiar sneer. “Back again. I recognized you the moment I saw you.”

Aldramek turned his head, his body slowly following the twist, keeping his hand on the sword behind the grave. “And I remember you, you filth.” He locked gazes with the cloaked man. “No, it is you who is the filth. You, Hylden, you Roshiirim half breed!” The cloaked man snarled, pulling his hood back to reveal a middle-aged man with a tension-ridden face, darkness surrounding his eyes and tinting his skin.

“So you are still blind to the truth of this reality, Varda?” Aldramek said. Behind the gravestone of his brother, his hand tightened on the sword’s hilt. “What truth? That the Roshiirim brought those creatures with them, planning to take this land as their new home?” Varda’s eyes flashed angrily. Two more men appeared out of the misty rain to stand on both sides of him. Aldramek shook his head. “Why would the Roshiirim come here as refugees, pleading to the King for acceptance, if they had plans to take over the land using creatures that they themselves are prey to? You are a fool! These creatures do not originate from them, they come from THIS land!” He prepped himself to stand.

“You lie! Those creatures came from them!” Varda insisted single-mindedly. “They came to destroy our lives and ways!” Varda stepped back, his cloak falling open slightly, revealing the hilt of his sword. “They ravaged our lives, killed our loved ones and destroy whole towns!” He finished, lifting his right hand, clasping into a fist. Aldramek finally stood, his body tense, pulling his brothers sword from the ground as he came. The weapon’s serrated edges ripping up the soil. “Stop blaming my ancestors for your loss. You’ve already taken everything from me!” He roared, his body throbbing.

“Oh? And who was it that murdered OUR parents?” Asked the man on Varda’s right, pulling down his hood to revealing a similarly tension-ridden face, dark around the eyes. Varda’s twin brother Zeig. His words caused Aldramek to flush red hot in anger. “And whose parents kept mine from any possible treatment for their wounds - the ones that were caused by those creatures!?” He pointed at the newest gravestone with the sword. “And my brother - why him?”

“He caused his own death,” said the remaining figure on the left, removing his hood. A slightly younger man, scars roughly covering his face, named Magnus. “He, too, insisted the creatures were no fault of the Roshiirim. He organized several of your kind, and began rioting. We fought back and stopped them. Some went to prison.” He glared at Aldramek. “Some were slain,” He said poisonously.

There is no more reason to continue this. They will never see the truth. Aldramek told himself mentally. He lifted his sword. “Its time to finish what we started all those years ago, Hylden!” Varda said, pulling his sword free. “Yes, let’s finish this. Your prejudice will be your end!” Aldramek agreed. Finally giving in to his desire, he charged straight at Varda. Their blades collided.

Aldramek saw movement to his right - Zeig, seizing the opportunity to attack while he was preoccupied. He broke away from Varda and squeezed his sword’s trigger, throwing the blade towards the charging Zeig, causing him to jump out of the way lest be impaled. Varda slammed up against him again, throwing Aldramek off balance, then jumped back as Magnus came in low with a strike. Aldramek parried the thrust, turning the deadly steel away from his body and causing Magnus to lose his balance and fall toward him. His sword thumped to the ground out of reach.

Aldramek kicked, thrusting his heel into Magnus’ torso and throwing the man backwards to the ground, this time winded. A blur of movement reached him a split-second before Zeig had ran him through. He jumped to the side, shoving his blade wildly into the other man’s face, forcing him back. Now in an awkward position, Aldramek recovered his stance and launched an attack on Varda, who was ready for him. Their blades crossed once again, as the serrations on Richter’s sword gripped Varda’s blade, Aldramek swung his sword up, Varda’s locked together with it and smashed the pommel right into Varda’s face. He heard a crunch and saw blood as Varda stumbled backwards, hands over his broken nose, his eyes tearing uncontrollably.

Aldramek turned to Zeig, unaware that Magnus had caught his breath, retrieved his sword and was now stalking in behind the big man. A moment before searing pain engulfed his right shoulder, Aldramek saw a satisfied look come over Zeig’s face. Instinctively, he twisted and kicked backwards Magnus, pulling the blade from his body as he did so, the cold steel ripping his flesh on its way. Magnus fell to the ground again, landing awkwardly. Pain surging through his body, Aldramek turned back to Zeig, who was already closing with him again. He squeezed his sword’s trigger and threw it toward Zeig, rolling so that the blade segments wrapped around the man, though the pain almost caused him to black out. He pulled, knocking Zeig off balance, though the man managed to just barely stay on his feet. Aldramek took advantage of the opportunity, stepping forward to drive his left knee into Zeig’s solar plexus. The man crumbled to the ground.

Aldramek retracted his swords blade, turning towards Magnus, but keeping Varda in view as well. He couldn’t afford another hit like the last one. He could feel himself growing weaker with the loss of blood. This had to end now. “Never again will you fools cause others the pain you’ve caused me!” He vowed, his voice thankfully steady despite his heavy breathing. He swung his blade at Magnus, catching the man by surprise and cleaving his throat.

Varda was already rushing in for the killing stroke. Aldramek received a kick to his
stomach, which knocked him back and sent waves of red-hot pain searing through his wounded shoulder. It was getting harder to breathe. Zeig joined Varda for their last pass, the former risking getting impaled to tackle his body and hold him while his twin leaned in with a thrust. Aldramek managed to twist aside, but Zeig was already grabbing for him again. Aldramek got an arm free and elbowed the man savagely in this ribs, then turned as the man fell back and thrust his sword at him. The trigger was squeezed, the segments flew, and at their full extension, they
wrapped around Zeigs neck, at the tug of the handle, retracted once more. Zeig fell to the sodden ground, never to breathe again.

Varda screamed in unrestrained hatred and slashed wildly at the recovering Aldramek, his blade carving a grievous wound in the big man’s leg. He fell to his knees in agony. Through a haze of pain, he saw Varda coming in for the kill. The blow seemed to take forever to fall, as though time itself had slowed. He slipped
back slightly, as the blade cleaved barley through his left eye. His head whipping back from the sudden cut. He brought his head back as Varda was recovering from his failed deathblow. Aldramek gathered his good leg under him raised his sword in his left hand.

At the right moment, he thrust his leg out, pushed himself up, and ran Varda through, piercing his chest. The man grunted and died, falling back onto the wet ground, just like the others, but Aldramek didn’t notice, for he had already passed out, falling with the new dead man.

Live Ammunition.

Mon, 17 Dec 2012 03:09:23 -0700

“Go now! Make sure everything is perfect working order!”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

After a brief hesitation, the man salutes, turns and walks out of the room. Another man, sitting begins to turn his chair towards a nearby window and gazes out into a vast field. Bringing his hands together, he lowers his head. Seemingly in a painstakingly manor, he sighed then lowered his arms. Turning back around, he picks up a document from his desk.

“Real life live ammunition test.”

He said to himself, unsure of what could happen from this experiment. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he places the document back onto his desk and begins stand up to leave the room. Moments later, he comes to the entrance of the very field he had gazed upon earlier, to see rows of cadets being given important instructions of this trial.

Already aware of what is being said, he ignores what is being told and proceeds to walk out into the field. Approaching the Captain instructing the cadets, the Captain stops to address the presence of the General.

“At ease Captain. Please continue.”

He said, in a very calm manor. Something the Captain was already used to. The General stands to look over the faces of each Cadet he could see. Absorbing how young they were; how young it seems Cadets always seem to be. Recalling the first time he was given a briefing, before the War Games in his time. How different they have become. For the better? That wasn’t known, however the learning process seemed like it could be cruel in and of itself.

He sighed silently to himself, not eager to see the outcome of this trial but understanding it is now going to be standard for combat simulation. The Captain finished up his instructions then turned towards the General for a final say. The General took this up to give one final though to all the Cadets:

“Looking at all of you, I see how fresh you all are right now. This exercise will show you what real life combat will be like. The surge of adrenaline, the inability to process data, the pain of getting shot or watching your comrades get shot. This will not be a walk in the park. You treat this like an actual combat situation.”

Looking back and fourth among the Cadets, who don’t seem to be taking it as seriously as the General was hoping.

“I see many of you think this is light. Well, this will show me which of you will make the cut!”

The Cadets for the most part seemed to shape up after that comment, to the surprise of the General.

“Good luck to you all. Captain.”

He nodded towards the Captain, then proceeded to turn back into the building. Hearing the Captain mutter a few more words, then the sounds of feet began ringing in the very ground he was walking. Moments later, he returned to his office to sit back into his chair. Turning back towards the field, he remains, watching. Knowing the test was about to commence.

Within minuted, the firefight began. Shots making their present known to both sides of the test. Gunfire radiates from the field, almost like a concert’s speakers. Radiating so loud it was almost deafening. Seeing the Cadets breaking into their formations and taking cover where it was available. Taking turns to fire, he noticed that they would all need more gun practice. They were not as accurate as he hopped. But that thought faded as he began seeing Cadets getting hit by the gunfire. Immediately going to the ground, they remained laying, moving back and fourth as though in pain.

Something he knew was going to happen; this test was to use experimental ammunition that is energy based. That does no physical harm to the body, but tampers with the bodies nerves. Simulating a gunshot wound or worse yet, loosing appendages. It makes the brain feel like it was injured. Which, in hopes, could be used to more effectively train these Cadets.

The exercise ended soon after that, tho which he stood back up and left his office. Making his way down to where the ‘injured’ were taken. He wanted to get their responses first hand. Entering the room, all he could hear were only grunts and moaning. Each were acting like they were legitimately shot. The General walked around first to see all who was here before he began asking them their experiences.

Talking to each and every one, only one stood out to him. One of the first Cadets he looked over during the Briefing:

“Sir, it feels like I have been hot. My arm, I cannot feel my arm… I know it is there but I cannot feel it. It feels like I am dying.”

Once he heard his share, he proceeded to leave the room to go back to his office.

Days later, the Cadets who were injured each reported to him, one at a time. To the last one, the same man whose comment rang the loudest:

“Sir! I feel I have recovered. I was not prepared for what this Live Fire exercise was for but I found out the hard way! My arm works now, no more Phantom Pain! I know have a drive to do better! As I should have had from the start!”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

The Cadet salutes the General, turns and exists the office. The General, dropping his head into his weaved hands. Reflecting on how different this new technology is from the simple paint-balls from his day. This new training system will, he thought to himself, might hinder the spirit more than it helps. He lowers his right hand to pick up a pen. Making a note of that last comment on the very Document outlining this exercise, he then puts it back down. Pulling out the next Document, covering the next phase.