Empty

My latest story. If does NOT reflect my beliefs. Just saying. It's simply a story. Anyway, have fun!

Empty
By Adam Gonzales

Hell was cold, for starters. Really cold. Figgins stared down at his shoes. They were frosted over and frozen to the ground. Ice clung to his brown hair and eyelashes, and his teeth clattered violently as he looked around the long hall. It was more of a tunnel than anything else—a dark tunnel of rock and sleet. Bright blue sleet.
It was funny. Figgins had always believed Hell to be more crowded. Crowded and hot. But it was empty. Not a soul in sight. He wondered if maybe he wasn’t even dead yet, really, but he stopped that thought short when he remembered his last minutes alive.
It was curious how people said that when you got close to dying you saw your life flash before your eyes. He couldn’t remember it actually happening, but he supposed it was possible. If it did happen, he figured it must have been his memories leaving him; because no matter how hard he tried all he could recollect from his life was his last five minutes. Nothing else.
Figgins tried to lift up his feet. The ice cracked and gave way, but it was hard to move without shaking. Hell was so damn cold. Why was it so cold? He rubbed his arms and started to move forward. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew if he stayed idle any longer then he’d be in trouble. So he kept moving. Moving and thinking.
He remembered not wanting to die, but needing to for some reason. The reason escaped him at the moment, but he knew he’d remember if he tried. Walking in front of the blue bus had been frightening, but necessary. Figgins scowled. Necessary, yes. But why? Why in damnation had he thought he needed to die? Dying wasn’t fun. Dying wasn’t even practical. Hell, even being dead was horrible.
He stopped moving and closed his steel blue eyes, breathing in deeply. He was here for a reason. Whatever that was. He opened his eyes again. Small flakes of ice cracked as they peeled away from his lashes. There was no end to the blasted tunnel. Just solid stone and ice in an eternal black void. Figgins grimaced as he pushed himself forward once again. Then he stopped short. Had someone whispered his name? It couldn’t have been—could it? He was alone.
Figgins.
There was no mistaking it: someone or something was calling him. Was this why he had come here? To find the one who uttered his name?
Figgins.
But there was no way he could have known this would happen. No way he could have wanted to feel this chill down his spine. This deep chill that had nothing to do with the ice. He wanted a way out. But he wanted to know who was calling him.
Figgins.
“What!?” His voice didn’t carry or echo like it should have done in a hollowed tunnel. Instead it was swallowed. As if it was being shoved back into his mouth. It set him on edge.
Speak your reason.
What? His reason? His reason for being in Hell? He couldn’t remember.
Speak your reason.
“To find what I have lost.” Figgins had replied without even thinking. And yet he knew he was looking for something. He had come to Hell to recover something he lost. He knew why he was here. And the thought comforted him.
What do you seek?
He racked his brain, concentrating as hard as he could. He couldn’t remember. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. His memories were gone. It was almost as if they were blocked; being held from him in some way. “I don’t know,” he managed to croak.
A selfish request, asking for that which you do not know.
“What are you?” Figgins cried out in frustration. He was trying so hard.
Now that is a question I can answer.
The temperature dropped fast. What was left of the rock on the wall was enveloped in ice. Figgins lost his breath—the shock of pure cold shooting up his veins. A figure in deep blue stood directly in front of him. It bore the face of a woman, beautiful and inviting with rich brown hair and calm grey eyes. So lovely and pretty, yet—Figgins somehow knew—so alien. So wrong.
“Hello.”
The voice echoed and shook in his skull. It came from everywhere at once and seemed to want to rip him in half. Figgins clutched the side of his head and gave a ragged breath. “What are you?” he asked again, despite the fear that flooded his body.
The woman smiled, her mouth widening slightly, her eyes narrowing, hair shortening, nose extending. A man with grey hair and sad brown eyes was staring back at him now. His lip curled as his face shifted again until it held the image of a slick teenage boy with bright yellow hair and eyes that matched the blue of his robe. The boy smile wryly.
“I am the face of every being that has stepped into this domain. I am the tortured soul of every mortal that has dared to try God. I am the eyes of every fool that has failed to love. The mouth of every cavalier who thought himself greater than his own undoing. And I am the ears of every master who lost himself in sin.”
The boy’s features had changed even as he spoke, until an imposing and hawk-like man with stark black hair, and cold green eyes stared down at Figgins.
“I am Lucifer.”
Figgins had somehow known this would be the case. He was in Hell, after all. What should he have expected?
“No,” Lucifer whispered calmly, “this isn’t Hell. Not in the practical sense, at least.
Figgins started. Could he really hear his thoughts? Everything?
Lucifer nodded as if in response, but he continued to speak. “This,” he said touching the side of his head as he smiled, “is Hell. In here. I am both its keeper, and its gate. No, this that you see before you,” he raised his arms widely then lowered them in a quick swoop, “this is the empty confines of your soul.”
Somehow, even after everything that had already happened to him, somehow this scared Figgins the most. He swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally despite the sheer chill. “Why am I here?”
Lucifer gave a rattling chuckle. “To find what you have lost. Did not you yourself tell me that?”
Figgins scowled. “Yes. But why can’t I remember?”
Lucifer shot Figgins a look of contempt and utter hatred. “No,” he said softly.
He reached out for Figgins’ temple, his fingers arched. And shrieked when their skin met. A look of pure fury slid across Lucifer’s face as he took a step back. “How did you get here?” he hissed.
“I don’t remem—”
“How did you die?”
Figgins fell silent.
“Do not test me, child.”
“Suicide. I ran in front of a bus.”
“And yet you remember.”
Figgins nodded.
“But you cannot recollect the rest of your life.”
It wasn’t a question. Lucifer knew something. Something that made him mad. Furious, even.
“I do not take well to taunts and practical jeers, Figgins. Playing with Hell is a dangerous pastime.”
Figgins swallowed hard, ice collecting on the tips of his ears and the edges of his mouth and eyes. “I don’t mean to. I just came to get something. Something I cannot remember.”
Lucifer sneered. “Everyone who enters Hell remembers their whole life. It is part of the eternal damnation, the endless cycle of vicious torment. It is the very definition of Hell.”
“But I can’t.”
“Curious, is it not? And yet,” Lucifer turned his back on Figgins and spat on the ground, “you have been condemned to perdition.”
Figgins didn’t dare to move now that Lucifer had his back on him. He knew he was too cold to run, and he knew the pointlessness of trying to escape the devil. Even more futile than trying to cheat death. Lucifer would find him, and Figgins did not fancy the idea of earning Lucifer’s rage two fold.
Lucifer turned back. “It is known that no unclean thing can enter the Kingdom of Heaven. There is a similar principle for those who pass through damnation. No clean thing can enter the Kingdom of Hell. You cannot remember your life because, by the standards of men, you lived a life of purity.”
Figgins coughed. “What?!”
“You do not belong here.”
“Then how,” Figgins was struggling to focus in spite of the cold, “how come I’m here? How come my soul is so…cold?”
“Suicide. The act of taking one’s life is a crime and sin so heinous that the soul becomes instantly shattered and fragmented upon death. That is why you can remember your death and only your death. Your single sin.”
“I…I killed myself because I knew it would be the only way to get here.”
Lucifer’s face grew sour.
“But you still hoped to claim my soul. Even knowing I’d done nothing else wrong. And it didn’t work. You wanted it to work, but it didn’t. Why?”
Lucifer’s face shifted back to the beautiful woman. Her deep grey eyes sparkled. “Suicide is a sin. And though it fragments the soul, nothing is nobler than dying for someone else.”
As the woman spoke, a familiarity crept through Figgins’ body. He knew this woman. This woman. She meant something to him. Charolette. Her name was Charolette. She was…
“…my wife.”
The woman’s mouth curled into a wicked grin as her face melted back to the hawkish man. “Ah,” Lucifer whispered with an air of self-satisfaction, “you do remember. Yes. Charolette. A fine prize for the Prince of Light. A fine prize, indeed.”
Figgins felt his stare grow hard. The flecks of ice that had been collecting on his face cracked as his brow steeped into a scowl. “Give her back.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that. She has already passed through the gates of Hell.”
“But why? If Hell abides by the law that no clean thing can enter its Kingdom, then why is she here?”
“Possession. A deal was made to spare the soul of her father. In return she took his sins as her own, and I took her soul.”
“And that is why I’m here, isn’t it?”
Lucifer turned to the side, his robe brushing against the shards of ice underneath him. “If it is, then I am afraid I cannot help you. Or will not. Either way. I care not what reason you find I use.”
Figgins was trying desperately to maintain an air of confidence and imposition. He pulled his hands to his side, splitting chunks of ice, and stared at Lucifer as he turned back around. “It must be quite maddening to know that a spotless soul stands before you, and you can’t do anything about it.”
Lucifer hissed.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“What might that be, then?” Lucifer’s eyes narrowed as Figgins drew in a breath.
“My soul for hers.”
Lucifer cackled. “A soul is a soul, foolish Figgins.”
“And yet you took Charolette’s for her—”
“For her father’s, yes. You see, Figgins, a woman’s soul is so much more precious. It is more difficult to corrupt as men are more naturally drawn to power, and therefore failure.”
Figgins shifted. “But surely a sinless soul is even more tempting?”
“Charolette’s was. As I have told you, and as you have already come to know.”
“But not really, was it?” Figgins stare remained firm. “On earth, yes, it was. But you told me her father’s sins became her own. Her spotless soul tainted. Mine is clean. No contracts or satanic deals to tamper it. Pure as you will ever be able to claim.”
Lucifer’s eyes grew hungry, his desire betraying his demeanor. “If I take your soul in exchange, your soul would be tarnished by those same sins. Those sins cannot go unpunished without retribution from the Almighty.”
“The reward outweighs the consequence.”
Figgins stared into Lucifer’s green eyes, not daring to blink. The Prince of Perdition’s lip twitched, his mouth hinting a worried frown.
Lucifer reached out his arm, his hand eager to seal Figgins’ fate. But Figgins held fast. “Charolette is released and her father’s sins purged. That is my only offer.” Confidence seeped through Figgins now that he knew his purpose for entering the domain of the damned. The ice began to melt.
Lucifer hesitated, his hand curling slightly. “And in exchange,” Figgins continued, “the soul of a valiant man. Unblemished and clean.”
Lucifer’s green eyes gleamed as his hunger overwhelmed him. His hand steadied and his wicked grin widened. Figgins breathed in deeply and clasped Lucifer’s hand.
His body became violently filled with cold and pain. His veins felt as if they had ripped in half as his skull split from every angle. The cry of a thousand thieves filled his ears and the blood of a thousand murderers filled his mouth. In his last moment of sanity he watched as Charolette’s person split from Lucifer, fading into existence—returning to earth. Her grey eyes met his blue as he smiled despite the deafening scream that peeled from his lips. And in the moment he heard the crack of his spirit snapping into Lucifer, into Hell, he knew he had won. He had saved Charolette. And now…now he was…

Empty.

Satellites

Another song! What up?

Satellites
By Adam Gonzales

I know that my heart won't beat up against an empty chest
I'm hoping that you're hoping one day that we will both will find some rest

CHORUS:
I never knew the satellites above us
Were circling around us just to keep in time
I think if we find a single outlet,
A place that we can both get to, we'll find a rhyme
Keep dreaming, stop screaming
And then one day we'll both be fine

I've heard that some people define my heart as a black stone
And I'm open to be open so that I don't spend my life alone
But mending hearts is dang'rous, blood's contagious, there's no antidote
Find beauty in duty, so that your spirits stay afloat

CHORUS 2:
I never knew the satellites above us
Were circling around us just to keep in time
I think if we find a single outlet,
A place that we can both get to, we'll find a rhyme
Keep dreaming, stop screaming
And then one day we'll both be fine
I know that somewhere out there, there's a partner waiting to align

BRIDGE:
Where, where can we
See where sky meets sea
And where, where can you be
I've been waiting so patiently

It's true that we're different, that sometimes worlds turn their heads
An axis of blueness: somehow graceful--sad--yet elegant
I felt that same gully, dig deep a rift inside my soul
But don't worry, you're so rare; a gem, a jewel, a precious stone

CHORUS 3:
It's funny how the satellites above us
Were circling around us and kept us both in time
I know that if we find a single outlet,
A place that we can both get to, we'll find a rhyme
Keep dreaming, stop screaming
And then one day we'll both be fine
I know that you're special: no need to fret about the "now"
Keep breathing; you're gleaming
There's no way you will get a "no"

Scratches and Bruises

Here is the latest song that I have written. No joke: I wrote this as I was falling asleep last night. I couldn't fall asleep until I recorded it. So here it is! Hope you enjoy!

Scratches and Bruises
By Adam Gonzales

Now that time has unwinded
We're songs that are lost in the wind
And even though we're constantly reminded, we'll
Make our way back to them

So just take my hand, take my hand
I promise
That if you take my hand, take my hand we will
Find another land, no demands
I promise
That somehow we will be okay

We run through life with scratches and bruises
As our friends peel back their thin skin
The one who never tries is the one who loses
And even though we know it's there we won't begin again

So just take my hand, take my hand
I promise
That if you take my hand, take my hand we will
Find another land, another land
I promise you
That this is where we will begin

An empty casket lies upon the table
You look inside, there's nothing but a pen
And a single sheet of bright white paper
Left for you to write your memoirs to your best friend

But she has passed on, this is the song
You promised her
And it had better be worth every single word
But we're finally here, you are a dear
I promised you this
And we can finally see eternity, my friend

We can finally see eternity, my friend
We can finally see eternity, my friend

Festral Dominions

Here's the finalized edition of Festral Dominions!


Festral Dominions
By Adam Gonzales

Throughout the course of his existence, Yyvellian considered his luck to be close to nonexistent. Not only was he tall and brown-haired unlike the rest of his kind, but he often found himself creeping into troublesome situations. Of course that was expected of someone Yyvellian’s age, but not on a continual basis. The rest of the elves living in Oglandador lived for the thrill of a good scam or dangerous escapade, like unto himself, but Yyvellian was constantly bending the oaths that they had made upon settling in their great city. Exploration was permitted, and even encouraged, within the boundaries of the Elven Kingdom, but journeying outside the caves of Oglandador was strictly unacceptable. It was known throughout the Kingdom that the elves had lost the Great War and had been forced to the depths of Festral’s bestial caverns as punishment, but Yyvellian had always suspected that it was all a hoax; after all, the elves were a mischievous race. Possibly this was the reason other elflings his age looked up to him, but then again perhaps not. But either way Yyvellian knew one thing: sooner or later he would be victorious in his endeavors of finding a way out of Oglandador.

Herder spent most of his days bounding from tree to tree, scouting for new hunting grounds and mapping new landmarks. True, the city of Bastille was a sight to behold, but Herder had always wanted to discover something new—either that or find somewhere where he wasn’t constantly bombarded with requests from the Dwarven Council. Herder was the Master of Game in Bastille and found that the Council was consistently pestering him with demands and questions. Were they going to have trouble during the Cold Season? Had the tesslir doves made their yearly pass yet? Was it safe to travel on the forest floor, or did they still need to be wary of gollan hounds? Of course, Herder would answer their questions with respect and then continue on with his day. He would climb the thick, wide branches that served as Bastille’s treetop city streets until he reached his small thatched hut where he would turn in for the night. If he was lucky, which he rarely considered himself to be, Herder might sometimes find himself camping on the forest’s balcony while on a particularly long mapping quest. It was those days that he would lay his strong arms under his short red hair and look at the starry sky, wondering if there was something greater in Festral waiting for him out there.

Sometimes Kallick simply wanted to die. Not because he thought his life ghastly or depressing, but more that he considered it horribly boring. Well not too boring, just boring enough. Yes, he had Estra to keep him company—and he never minded her company—but it was rather his daily routine that he wanted to escape. He was the horseman’s apprentice in the grand human city of Regral, and despite his greatest efforts to entertain himself between the gaps of the labor hours and his home life, Kallick never felt the true thrill that he was searching for. Admittedly Estra, yet again, helped fill that void in his life but Kallick believed in something much greater. True, he was not quite old enough yet to know what, but the fact that he knew was all that mattered. The cramped city nerved him to no end, and although he found some solace in knowing that no matter what happened, Estra would be with him, Kallick decided for once to be illogically rash. He was going to leave the city. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he was going to and that was that. So when Estra came bringing news of Regral’s Naissance Celebration, Kallick couldn’t have been luckier. It was finally time.

It was a cold day in Oglandador; the torches flickering bluefire—a sign indicating the holiday of the city’s founding. Yyvellian’s stomach swelled in excitement as he scrambled through Oglandador’s large and spacious streets, bumping into no one due to their emptiness. Founding Day was one of the few holidays that the elves celebrated indoors. It was commemorated with heavy drink and thick pastries within the warmth of their private homes, and each family stayed inside in order to observe the holiday’s message of solitude from the proud races that had confined them to the caverns of their dominion. It had been well over a thousand years since the passing of the Great War, but no one forgot the harshness and cruelty that the elves faced during their sentence of seclusion; a fact that Yyvellian planned to exploit in his escape. Throughout the previous couple of weeks, Yyvellian had delved deeper into the caves of Oglandador, in hope of seeking a new tunnel that led to the outside world. And, although he had been close to ultimately discarding his freedom initiative, Yyvellian had actually found something new. Past the back alleyways of Oglandador’s industrial precinct, Yyvellian had noted that the caverns grew increasingly wide and dark, eventually leading to a black vertical crack in the far side of the wall. It had taken Yyvellian almost two hours to reach the opening, when he was eventually caught off guard by the loud chattering voice of a City Guard. Yyvellian had not been expecting anyone to be on duty during Founding Day, and began desperately racking his mind for some clever trick to distract the guards’ attention. He slid behind a particularly large stone and slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out his elfish sling that he had made years before. A smirk slipped across Yyvellian’s face a he slid a small stone into the sling and hurled it past the guards. The stone snapped across a pile of rocks in the distance, and the sound became amplified in the empty cavern. The two guards shifted uncomfortably as they turned towards the sound. Probably they thought it to be nothing more than it was, but Yyvellian decided to toy with their emotions and try to intensify their inner fears. Breathing deeply so as to make it look like he had been out of breath, Yyvellian turned from out behind the rock and began running towards the short blonde-haired guards.
“Hurry,” he yelled desperately, waving his arms, “the Elder says to get back into the city! She says that there are giant gworms on their way!”
The guards did not need any sign that what he said was true. They had already grown paranoid from Yyvellian’s stone. Barely even acknowledging Yyvellian as they passed, they began rushing hurriedly into the stone city. Yyvellian grinned as he watched the guards scamper away. He had acted characteristically elfish and had pulled a masterful prank—a prank that had granted him the opportunity of freedom.

Herder was finally alone. He had been completely overwhelmed while in Bastille’s Council Hall, and now that he was home he could finally relax. He had hoped that the day would have gone by rather uneventfully due to Bastille’s Dawn Festival, but he had been wrong. The Dwarven Council had directed swarms of concerned tree farmers and spring hunters to his cramped place of work. He had done his best in denying their fears and confirming their hopes, but by the end of the day he had found himself completely drained. He must have been one of the few dwarves staying indoors for the Dawn Festival. The grand tree that supported the city of Bastille would be filled with bustling vendors and enthusiastic merchants selling food, toys, and lightsticks. The lightsticks would be used to spray burning colors throughout the night sky, and the noises from the jovial games and contests would undoubtedly keep Herder up through the night. So for once in his life, Herder decided to do something different and impulsive. He gathered a small pack of food and clothes, slid his bow and quiver across his back, and slipped out into the crowded branches of Bastille. It took him nearly half an hour to reach the edge of the city, what with the lively throng of people filling the streets. But by the time he finally did make it out of town, he had gone by unnoticed—just as he had hoped. He reached a wide branch that angled north out of Bastille and tightened his pack and bow before leaping off towards a tree below. He reached out instinctively and found hold onto a branch that had been smoothed by use, and began to let his weight slide him towards the tree’s center. He slammed into the tree’s trunk with his feet and then hurriedly made his way up an additional branch that reached out to another nearby, level, tree. Herder continued on like this for over an hour before his arms began to feel sore, and before he finally couldn’t see the bright lights or hear the loud thumps coming from Bastille. It was in the canopy of a massive oak that Herder finally found himself deciding to turn in for the night. He smiled slightly to himself as he pulled out a small bedroll out of his pack and placed it across the branch’s flat surface. He took in a deep breath and looked up into the night sky, smelling the clear air around him—smelling the air of freedom.

“Kallick, I don’t like this.” Estra’s blonde hair whipped in front of her face as she did her best to hide against the side of the stables.
“Hush, Estra!” Kallick kept his eyes forward, not daring to let them stray from the stone road of Regral’s main street.
Estra tugged him backwards, causing his brown hair to toss to the side. “Don’t you ‘hush’ me, Kal! I want to leave the city just as much as you do, but I just don’t like what we’re doing!”
Kallick rolled his eyes. “It’s not stealing.”
Estra stamped her foot and gave him a stern look.
“Well, it’s not. Coppercloud is my horse. I should be able to take him whenever I need him.”
“And the field lance? Is that yours?”
“Not exactly. But Master Youtle won’t be missing it. Besides, we’ll be needing protection once we leave,” he tried to rationalize. “We can’t go stumbling into the woods unarmed.”
Estra pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “We won’t be,” she said, rubbing her hands together.
“Right,” Kallick acknowledged. “Speaking of which.”
He tilted his head to the chain wrapped around the stable door. Estra sighed heavily, shooting him an annoyed glance and braced herself against the stone floor of Regral’s grand city. Then a bright blue light flowed from underneath her feet and began to wrap around her hands, and in a single burst of white hot energy the light whipped out against the metal chain. And it fell, broken, to the ground. Estra stepped backwards and patted her hands lightly against her side. Kallick gave her a curt nod, and then stepped into the stone stable house, looking to the end of the large room. Coppercloud was a brilliant mahogany horse with a stark white mane. He whinnied slightly as he sighted Kallick, but quickly quieted himself upon noticing his master’s stern eyes. Kallick quickly saddled Coppercloud and had the horse out of the stables in less than five minutes. By then Estra had grown noticeably impatient.
“The grand horseman has returned,” she muttered sarcastically, trying to get Kallick to take her bait. He couldn’t refuse.
“Horseman’s apprentice…ma’am.”
Estra twitched at Kallick’s subtle prod: she detested being referred to as ‘ma’am”. Kallick initially said it out of respect, but when he had realized that Estra found the word to hint towards age, Kallick had begun using it as a sort of joking affront. He helped Estra onto Coppercloud, and then veered them into the stone backstreets of Regral. They were lucky; most of the city had filed in to the center square for the Naissance Celebration—they did not encounter anyone particularly noteworthy on their way out of the city until they reached the wall gate. The armored men guarding the gate gave them a suspicious glance as they approached. But before they could even raise question to their business, Estra sent a green pulse of light in their direction with her hands. The guards instantly stepped aside and opened the gates for them as they made their way out of the great stone city of Regral.
Kallick kissed the side of Estra’s head. “Have I told you that I simply love you?”
Estra smiled. “You can stand to say it more.”
Kallick grinned as they headed steadily forward into the forest—as they headed steadily towards freedom.

Yyvellian was too preoccupied to even consider feeling scared. Sure he was deep within the cracks of an unmapped cave, but the things that he was finding kept his mind from wandering on things like monsters and darkness. Not that it was too dark, anyways. There were tiny mushrooms that lined the different tunnels within the cavern that shone faint green and red lights. And so Yyvellian was able to make his way through the winding passages, using his hook and chain to lift himself when the tunnels grew too high for him to reach. He knew that he hadn’t thought his escape plan through carefully, and that it was only a matter of time before he needed to reconsider actually going through with it, but for the moment he enjoyed the light thrill of a potentially dangerous escapade. Then he heard something. It wasn’t the occasional clack of a falling rock that he had grown accustomed to hearing, but rather a flurry of unmated movement coming from a channel that bent a little ways off to his right. Yyvellian stopped short, pressing his body up against the rugged surface of the stone tunnel. Voices began echoing throughout the cave and it didn’t take long for Yyvellian to notice that they appeared to be clicks and hisses instead of actual words. Yyvellian’s eyes widened as two slimy, bald, reptilian creatures with nostrils stretched across their brown and red snouts turned the corner. They had wide flat feet for gripping loose rocks, and long, knobby fingers and tails for keeping their balance in the dark. Their eyes were massive and glowed a dim and pale green—almost useless if it wasn’t for the fact that they were coupled with the gaping holes in the side of their heads that served as ears. Yyvellian swallowed a gasp of fear: kobolds. He turned around swiftly, careful not to make any loud noises, but was shocked to find another kobold blocking his path. Yyvellian froze fearfully as the creature issued a shrill screech that bounced off the cavern’s serrated walls. Yyvellian didn’t need to look behind him to know that the other two kobolds had their eyes fixed on him; it would be foolish to think otherwise. He didn’t know what to do. True, his body screamed for him to flee or attack, but he was cornered and elves hadn’t trained in combat since the Great War—they were not warriors. But, then again, Yyvellian never considered himself a normal elf. In a quick flurry of movement, Yyvellian spun his hook and chain over his head and swung it to the cave’s ceiling overhead. It grasped a firm chunk of rock and he speedily climbed the chain just before the kobolds pounced on his position. He didn’t have much time; clinging to the ceiling would only prove a temporary respite from creatures that spent their lives climbing sharp rock. The kobolds hissed impatiently, trying to reach Yyvellian with their short pointed sticks that they carried. Yyvellian breathed in deeply. He didn’t have the liberty of planning what he was going to do so he simply acted. He yelled loudly as he dropped from the ceiling, smashing his feet into the kobold directly underneath him. Yyvellian heard a disturbing crunch as the creature’s head splintered against one of the caves many rocks—he was dead in an instant. Yyvellian didn’t allow himself to settle as there was a blur of motion as the other two kobolds began reaching out for him. But Yyvellian was quick in getting behind one of the rabid creatures and making sure that the other one lined up with him. Then, deciding to use his hook and chain as a weapon, he reached out for the far kobold and yanked hard. The kobold screamed as he was pulled, keeping his sharp stick pointed forward. The other reptilian monster turned to Yyvellian, ready to strike him down, but was met with a searing pain as the other kobold’s stick slammed through his body. Yyvellian smiled despite himself—he had pulled the far kobold into the other one with the hook, causing his sharp staff to pierce through the other’s slimy skin. Yyvellian finally paused. There were three dead bodies lying around him, each oozing out splotches of black blood. He walked over to the kobold that had the hook pierced into his back and tugged it out. There was a hissing sound as blood began to pour freely from the three pronged wound, and Yyvellian found himself calmed in spite of the bloodbath in front of him. He pulled out a linen cloth from one of his pockets and wiped his hook and chain clean. What had they been doing so close to Oglandador? Possibly gathering food? It didn’t matter. In an attempt to walk off the adrenaline pulses that were overwhelming his body, Yyvellian began to continue to walk down the cave. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew to follow the fluorescent mushrooms that were dimmer than the others; the deeper they were into the cave, the more they shone. By the time he had shaken off his initial shock from killing the kobolds, Yyvellian had wandered quite far into the caverns. He wasn’t sure how far he had gone, but he knew it was significant. Angling his head up as he scampered up a particularly large pile of rocks he was able to make out a distant glow. It was bright and yellow—unlike any light he had ever seen. And he longed for it. So without questioning its origins, Yyvellian raced through the cave as the light got increasingly brighter. When he finally reached it, he was dumbfounded. The cave opened into a lush, green, bright world that he had never seen. True, he had heard tales from the stories of the Great War, but he had assumed them to be nothing more than a hoax, just like everything else the elves said. The light burned his eyes at first, but he slowly began to grow accustomed to it and was able to make out the beauty of the landscape around him. Bright green carpets smothered the ground and shot out of the earth, clumped together on top of massive wooden posts. Except they seemed…natural. No one had made these odd plants; they simply lived this way. Yyvellian smiled hugely, aware of the wave of freedom pouring down upon him. Then he paused as his ears picked up something strange and remote. He pricked them up, trying desperately to make out the soft and soothing sound that seemed to whisper for him. And when he was finally able to make it out, he was surprised at what he heard.
My Gatherer, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Yyvellian’s brow furrowed. Gatherer. That was the meaning of his name in elfish. An ancient tongue that was all but extinct. And yet he somehow knew that this voice was to be trusted—that it really did need his help. And it called again.
My Gatherer. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Yyvellian smiled as the sweet voice enveloped him. Then, thinking of nothing else, he followed the Call.

The arrow whipped through the air and struck down the tesslir dove. Herder gave a satisfied grunt as he slipped his bow over his shoulder and climbed down the tree to pick up his breakfast. He had enough foresight to realize that his arrows would soon become a rare and necessary commodity, so he carefully extracted to one he had used to shoot down the bird, cautiously wiping away the blood from its tip. It had only been two days since his departure from Bastille, but he had found them peaceful and longer than the days he normally took surveying the city’s border. Probably it was because he knew he was to never return to the treetops of Bastille, but he found them resplendent nonetheless. The majority of his days were spent hopping from tree to tree, but he knew that it would soon become more difficult to traverse through the branches in this way; he was passing swiftly through the Resplien Forest and drawing ever closer to the darker, and smaller, Wayward Wood. Herder frowned. He didn’t know what he was doing, or even where he was going, but he was sure that—despite its dark demeanor—he was supposed to make his way through the eerie wood ahead of him. It was a few hours before he reached the outskirts of the Wayward Wood, and Herder decided to continue onward despite the darkness that would be soon sweeping through the sky. He lit the small lantern that he had packed with him, and tied it to a short walking stick, giving himself a means of light for the dark wood ahead of him. He entered the wood wearily, trying to be careful to not get himself entangled in the thick brush and roots of the trees. There were tales of dark encounters and frightful fiends about the Wayward Wood that were only ever whispered in the bright and cheery streets of Bastille. Herder pulled his lantern closer to his side. Climbing the trees was difficult due to the gnarled wood of the perish pines, but it was better than sifting through the black mist on the wood’s floor, risking a cross with a gollan hound, a hex hob, or Light knew what else. He made his way through the black wood, catching the occasional glimmer of green light from above. There were multiple times when he thought he saw the flicker of glowing blue, or violet, eyes watching curiously from below. Herder began to grow anxious despite his usual hardy nature; there was no creature that he knew of that possessed such eyes and he carried no weapon of defense outside of his bow—which wouldn’t do him much good when he had no way of seeing his target. He began to question why he had entered the wood, deciding whether or not to turn back, but something tugged him forward. As if some sort presence urged him on. Then something hissed. Something nearby. Herder drew his bow instinctively, knowing that it was a futile effort in the overwhelming black of the wood. He shifted his weight on the branch he was standing on, locking himself into place in order to maintain his ground in case of an attack. The faint green glow above him began to grow nearer, and he quickly disregarded the idea that it had been filtering sunlight. Three massive forms dropped down from the top of the trees and it was all Herder could do from yelling in surprise. They were massive. Each of them were easily ten feet tall with what appeared to be bodies made out of giant brown leaves. Their legs were goat-like tree trunks, bending on a backwards knee, and their faces were nothing more than slits in a pile of sharp v-shaped foliage. They peered down at Herder expectantly, each grasping a large knotted sword of glowing green timber in their long wooden hands. Herder breathed in deeply.
“What are you?” His voice came out cracked and small.
The creature closest him stretched out its arm. “We are Waldgeist. We are guardians. We are protectors.” The voice seemed to resonate from all around.
Herder did his best to remain calm. “There is no need to protect against me. I am merely passing through these woods. Nothing more.”
“You bear arms,” they all boomed in unison, “you trespass on Holy Ground. You breathe as mortals breathe. You are not part of this world. You are not of the woods. You live.”
Cold sweat was trickling down Herder’s brow. He ignored it. “Then please, let me leave. Forgive me; I knew not your rules!”
“You die.”
Herder had moved before they had even finished speaking. He wasn’t irrational enough to believe he was going to get by free. He needed to run. And he needed to run fast. He heard an eerie chorus of shrieks issuing from behind him. He had little time to react to the blue eyes watching hungrily from below—it wasn’t the blue that he feared now, but rather the green that was growing closer and closer. Herder hazarded a glance behind his back and, to his surprise, saw nothing. But when he turned back around, he was shocked to see the three Waldgeist climbing out from the bark of the tree in front of him—as if they had been melded into its very essence. Flight was no longer an option, as Herder quickly assessed the situation. The closest Waldgeist flung its glowing sword vertically at Herder, who tucked to the side just in time. Wood splintered against wood as the sword crashed upon the twisted branch of perish pine. The Waldgeists shrieked bloodily, as if the damage to the tree was a blow to their own selves. Herder pulled his bow back out and quickly shot at the slitted eye of one of the Waldgeists, but was disappointed when it showed no sign of pain. The Waldgeists rushed towards Herder, grunting irritably as he continued to roll from side to side avoiding their persistent strikes. Then, in a stroke of genius, Herder stopped and let them get close enough to swing their swords inches in front of his face. They roared as their swords swooped upon him, but instead of getting completely out of the way, Herder raised his lantern for protection. Which shattered upon impact of the swords. Fire spread upon the swords like a parasite, hungrily feeding off the old, dried, wood. The Waldgeists screeched in fear and agony as it crawled up their blades and onto their arms, eventually enveloping their bodies in a pillar of flame. Herder was already gone by the time the Waldgeists had been completely devoured, finding that the time that he had spent fleeing the spirits had led him to the edge of the wood. He peered back as he stumbled out into the dark night, catching the faintest flicker of red and orange within the rotting wood. He breathed the crisp air around him and laid on the smooth bark of a particularly large tree, when he heard a faint whisper. He sat up quickly, fully aware that he felt the same presence he had felt when he had been lured into the Wayward Wood. Muting all the other sounds around him, he was finally able to hear the voice that had been ushering him forward.
My Protector, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Protector. Herder’s name meant Protector in the ancient tongue of the Dwarves, he was sure. Why was someone calling for him? Could this voice be trusted? Yes. Somehow he knew it to be pure and dependable. So he listened as it called again.
My Protector. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Smiling, despite the hour’s previous atrocities, Herder gathered his things and followed the Call.

“Some horse,” Estra muttered as she kicked up a pile of dirt.
“I don’t understand,” Kallick said as he rubbed his forehead, “Coppercloud has never had problems before!”
The red horse whinnied as it stumbled onto its feet, giving Kallick an almost apologetic look. They were halfway through the Meldwind Meadows, finding themselves towards the Meadows’ end where thick trees and shrubs were beginning to grow in tight clusters. They weren’t sure where they were actually going, but they knew that they wanted to get as far away as possible from the prison that was Regral. Coppercloud had grown ill after traveling for almost a day, and had nearly collapsed in the middle of the second night. Kallick and Estra were unsure of what to do next.
“Can’t you heal him? With your Life Magik?” Kallick asked.
“Probably,” Estra said, yawning, “If I knew any healing spells. I only know the illusion, manipulation, movement, and force forms of Life Magik. Or the yellow, green, grey, and blue spells, as it were. I never got so far as to learn the white, red, and purple spells of healing, heat, and transformation. Sorry, Kal.”
“But you know the Old Tongue,” he protested, “isn’t that enough?”
Estra scoffed, crossing her arms. “No! You need to speak Old Tongue, true, to use Life Magik, but you can’t just yell ‘heal’ and expect someone to get better! You have to know what to actually say. Hmpf! Boys!”
Kallick was too tired and frustrated to argue. He patted Coppercloud’s side, as the horse trotted slowly to rest under a small cluster of trees. The moon was bright, and Kallick found it easy to make out shapes and objects from a distance. He kept his lance in a readied position, in case anything tried to attack them during the night. He was just getting ready to tell Estra to get some rest when a rustling sound came from a nearby bush. A small púca rushed out of the bush in the form of a wolf. Kallick knew it was a púca from his training—the dark fur and orange eyes could come from nothing else—and therefore knew it to be harmless. But Estra; that was another issue entirely. Before Kallick had time to tell her to be calm, Estra was mumbling Old Tongue under her breath, casting blue light around her body. It drew from her feet, then into her hands, and finally it lashed out against the unsuspecting púca. The púca yelped in fright, and sprinted off as it morphed from wolf into a tiny goblin form. Estra’s eyes were wide with fear, and Kallick rushed hurriedly to her side in order to comfort her.
“It’s okay, silly. It was a púca. Just a small shape shifting sprite that likes to pull pranks on humans. Nothing to be afraid of. Completely harmless.”
He looked again into her eyes and noticed that she wasn’t looking where the púca had been. She was staring at her feet. Kallick looked down. All around Estra’s feet, the area where her Life Magik had sprung from, was dead grass. As if the blue light had drained the essence of the plants. Estra was beginning to cry, something that she did rarely, and Kallick did his best to help her over to where Coppercloud was resting. When she sat down she began to talk, stumbling through her occasional sobs.
“I always thought it just came from my feet. Not from living things!”
Kallick smiled, and tilted her head towards him with his left hand. “It’s fine, Estra.”
Estra’s brow furrowed. “No it’s not! I suck away the life from under me! I couldn’t see it before, because the streets of Regral are all stone. I must’ve been killing the plants underneath the city. Oh! And poor Coppercloud! It’s because of me he’s sick! Right before we left the city, with the guards. I wasn’t standing on the ground—my feet were pressed against Coppercloud’s side. I must’ve drawn my magik from him. No wonder he’s sick!”
Kallick sighed. He wasn’t sure what to say. He knew Estra hadn’t known better, but it was her fault that they were where they were. “Maybe,” Kallick said calmly, “it’d be best if you just didn’t use your magik for awhile.”
Estra nodded. Then, slowly, they fell asleep.
It was almost two days later before anything else exciting happened to them. The moon was bright and they knew that they were almost an hour away from the edge of the Meldwind Meadows. There were more and more trees now, and they were already close to the enormous Blackwater Mountains. Coppercloud was getting better and Estra had, once again, gained back her chatty and flirtatious attitude.
“I’m so tired of walking, Kal. Ugh! Why aren’t we riding Coppercloud? He seems better.”
“Because someone made him sick, remember?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean to, did I?” she said, pursing her lips. “Besides, I’m sure you’d rather me get on the horse’s back than collapse from complete exhaustion, now wouldn’t you?”
Kallick rolled his eyes irritably. He couldn’t wait to get out of the Meadows. Then something caught his eye in the distance. Then another something, and another. Kallick stopped, dropping Coppercloud’s reigns.
“Estra,” he whispered, “stay with Coppercloud.”
Estra began to protest quietly as Kallick walked forward with his lance held outward, but her vocal cries soon became inaudible. As Kallick drew closer to the three figures he was able to make out one of them instructing the other two with long, knotty arms. The other two, following the orders of their elected leader, shifted and gestured back. Kallick noticed that they were human in shape despite their shortened height and broad stature. They were dark grey and wore shabby cloth around their gnarled and twisted bodies. Their hands, legs, and faces seemed to be made entirely out of wood and their massive beards were knotted messes of roots and twigs. Only the two holes in their faces resembled anything truly human: eyes. But the most shocking thing about each of the creatures was thick hand axe that each of them carried. The first one signaled once more and the creatures began to run towards Kallick in a sprint. Kallick turned around and yelled to Estra.
“Leshies! Run!”
Kallick didn’t even check to make sure that Estra had taken off with Coppercloud. Instead he whirled himself back towards the leshies, lance thrust forward. They were gaining quickly. The closest leshy was upon him in moments. Instinct kicked in as Kallick’s battle lance clashed against the swing of the leshy’s axe. The moonlight reflected off of the blades as the continued to beat upon each other. Kallick saw the other two leshies almost upon him and in desperation drove his lance into the face of his current attacker. Brown, sap-like, blood oozed from the wound and the leshy instantly collapsed. He yanked his lance out of the bark skin, and turned just as the remaining leshies leaped on top of him. He was done for. He knew it. There was nothing left for him to do except die. He chuckled. Funny. Hadn’t he once said he sometimes simply wanted to die? Then, as he looked up between the two bodies that were on top of him, he watched as Estra leaped on top of the creatures, one foot on each leshy, and quickly muttered an incantation. Then, looking down, she smirked. A massive column of blue light enveloped the leshies and seeped into Estra’s body. Then, in one final push, she directed the light back towards the woodland creatures and blasted the energy towards them—killing them in an instant. There was a silence as Estra pulled Kallick up from the pile of bodies and led him back to Coppercloud. He smiled at her ingenuity; using the life force of the leshies to be used against themselves. He looked at her, smiling, and kissed her.
“Thank you.”
Estra smiled. “Well, you know: you’d have done the same.”
Kallick chuckled and Estra laughed, but they both quickly fell silent. They looked at each other, and nodded, indicating that they had both heard something. Straining their ears, they listened again. And heard a voice.
My Elected, My Instructor, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Estra grew noticeably excited. “Kallick! Those are our names! In Old Tongue! Kallick means ‘Elected’, Estra means ‘Instructor’! Someone’s calling us!”
Kallick pressed a finger to her lips as the voice called again.
My Elected. My Instructor. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Estra hadn’t stopped grinning. “Well?” she asked pointedly.
Kallick smiled. “Well, I say it sounds nice enough, whatever it is. I’m fine with following it.”
Kallick hadn’t even finished speaking before Estra rushed over to Coppercloud to grab his reigns. Sighing happily, Kallick made his way to Estra as they followed the Call.

One the seventh day of her Plea, Vlendessa watched as four beings and one horse made their way into her secluded glade. They were each startled by the other’s presence, each aware that they were different in appearance. But they stopped any misgivings that they had about each other when she called their names.
My Gatherer, My Protector, My Elected, My Instructor. Please. Be of good intent. I have brought each of you here for a purpose. I have brought each of you freedom, if you would wish it so.
The elf, Gatherer, cocked his head to his side and scratched his nose. “A plant that talks?”
“Yes,” Elected agreed, “a tree, it would seem.”
Instructor smiled largely. “Yes! A Sacred Tree!”
The dwarf, Protector, was in awe. “By the Light, it is! A talking tree! Never have I seen anything so precious and beautiful!”
My name is Vlendessa. I have Called you here and tested your worthiness with trials to prove your humility; to prove your right to reign.
Instructor scrunched her brow. “Vlendessa? That means Peacegiver in Old Tongue.”
“And in Elfish,” Gatherer concurred.
“As does it in Dwarvish,” said Protector.
Elected narrowed his eyes. “You sent those monsters?”
The other three fell silent. Vlendessa knew that this time would come sooner rather than later. I have tested your ability to show leadership in even the darkest of times. Festral is collapsing and the Great Expanse draws ever near. The separation of the races has lasted too long. A New World must be born in order to save that of the Old. A World of unity and peace. It is yours, if you would wish it so.
Instructor smiled and nodded. “I would accept this great opportunity.”
“As would I,” Protector said gruffly.
“I’m not sure as to what this all means,” Gatherer chimed in, “but anything is better than Oglandador. Count me in.”
“I suppose,” muttered Elected, “that I don’t have much of a choice if Estra has already decided.”
The road will prove difficult, and the opposition great. But at the heart of every pure ideal lies the ignorance of the self. You must seek the greater good outside of your own needs in order to bring this New World to Light. I will be there for you in your most desperate hours, and I will not. For the answer often lies within the heart, and not within its own desires.
“Again,” Gatherer said in a sing-song voice, “I’m not so sure if I get all this, but I will do my best making somewhere…happier…than Oglandador.”
“And I, a place more calm than Bastille,” Protector grunted.
“I wouldn’t mind somewhere more vibrant than Regral,” Instructor said happily.
“Then it’s settled,” Elected said sternly, “we will strive to do our best to make a brand New World.”
“You didn’t say what you wanted, Kallick,” Estra sighed.
Kallick smiled. “The tree said to not think of my own desires, right? Besides,” he said, sliding his arm around Estra, “I’m happy wherever I can find you. I think that’s all I could ever ask for.”

I Still Exist

School has been a hindrance in my progression towards writing and creating new projects. I apologize. However, due to the fact that I have been HEAVILY editing the chapters that I currently have for my first book, I am confident that during the winter break much will get done. The Terris Letters WILL start back up once more (hopefully concluding by the end of January), I will be posting a few more songs that I have written, and at LEAST three new chapters will be added into my first book. Until that time I will be posting my finalized product of Festral Dominions, as well as posting the prologue to Wapper and the Spotted Egg!

-Adam

Terris Letters--Letter #2

Dear Hope of Mankind,

I realized that I have failed to mention the premise of these letters in my last message. It has recently come to my attention that the Great Eclipse, the air in the center of our world that blesses us with Life and Magic, is being rapidly drained. If the Great Eclipse runs dry then our bodies will become nothing more than hollow shells. This is obviously an extreme concern, is it not? And yet the townsfolk here mull about on with their business. Fools!

And so today, I depart, journeying into the Far North in aspiration of someone who will heed my profound and generous knowledge. And yes, I did leave the people of my small, rugged town with some instructions should they ever decide to read them. More than likely they will be used hastily in the application of a particularly moist buttocks. Huh! If nothing else, someone will be comfortably clean while their bodies get hollowed out. Nothing like a clean buttock, I always say!

I have decided to bring only the minimal amount of supplies that are necessary for my journey. Food, water, clothes, and the five essential Elemental Tomes. Helpful in making fires, or warding off danger in a tight spot. My sky blues Mage robes have been cleaned, their blood red cuffs shining nicely, and I have finally worn in my traveling boots. But there is something that concerns me greatly. During the two Epicenters of the day--noon and midnight--my ears ring with a violent piercing cry that seems to fluctuate on a magical field. Perhaps this is a surge within the Great Eclipse? Or perhaps I need to stop eating gravied lamb during the day. I'm going to go with the latter.

And so I press forward with a high spirit, and--for once--an empty stomach praying that everything goes my way (because the Sages know it never does)! For now then, I bid you adieu, and hope for a brighter tomorrow.

*~--Terris Rolland the Bright--~*

Cool New Thing! (An Update)

So, in an attempt to write something new, and to wire a new audience, I have decided to start a new mini-series called "The Terris Letters". It is the story of as young mage who, in a desperate attempt to be heard, has sent letters all over the world to warn them of an impending doom. It recounts his tales and escapades and is set to have one to two letters per week, finishing sometime in December. I will be posting them here, and on my new blog dedicated solely to his letters. I hope you like 'em!

The Terris Letters-- Letter #1

Dear Hope of Mankind,
In a dehumanizing society full of grief and constant bickering, I often found the outside world rather...odd. It irked me to almost no end that one could find themselves slowly disintegrating into a vast sea of nothingness simply due to their lack of moral faith. That isn't to say that it was nonexistent, but rather that it was...how shall I say it? Neglected. But that's getting off the point. My name is Terris. And yes, I do tend to ramble. But, contrary to popular belief--popular belief being the belief of the rest of my no-good, ill-educated town--I am NOT a Wizard, or a Sorcerer. That being said, there is something you should know about me. I am a Mage. And yes, Mages are different.
Yes, I do find that most of my idle time is spent bent over a dusty tome or history, but what I find rather interesting is the fact that no one else in my dismal town does the same. They meander throughout their lives plowing the fields and sowing the seeds, giving no second glance to a young twenty-something or other magic-user with his face stuffed between the pages of a rotting book. That suits me just fine. I just hope that sooner or later they finally take heed to my pestering them about listening to the rantings of a wizened scholar. Not that they will.
But here I go off rambling again. My purpose in sending you this letter is that it may find its way into the hands of someone who has half a wit about them! To be put as frankly as possible...don't be a fool. Listen to me and everything will work out. I promise. Really.

*~--Terris Rolland the Bright--~*

Complicated Arsenal

Song number two of the night! What up?

Complicated Arsenal
By Adam Gonzales

Tonight's another mystery
I've no regrets of history
That you and I have shared in troubled times

And maybe I'm not thinking straight
Or possibly it's far too late
But either way I'm waiting here for you

[Chorus 1]
And you are in a complicated world
And you are a complicated girl
And you are striving for some love and peace tonight
I promise that it'll be alright
I promise that it'll always be alright

We've been together through it all
With my complicated arsenal
Of useless means and methods to get you

And frankly dear although it failed
Our stubbornness and love prevailed
Leaving us to seek warmth in each other's arms

[Chorus 1]

(Bridge)
And maybe if the sun would fade
Then you and I would see
The way our love was formed and made
And where we'll finally be

The reason for the wet concrete
Underneath our freezing feet
Is to remind us that we've come so far

And despite our subtle differences
When we were struggling in some instances
We realize that it makes our love more true

[Chorus Reprise]
And you are in a complicated world
And you are a complicated girl
And you are striving for some love and peace tonight
I promise that it'll be alright
I promise that it'll always be alright
Be alright, it'll be alright
Be alright, it'll be alright
Be alright
Tonight

The Proposal

Here is my newest song that I have come up with, although I will be posting an older one later, as well. Love it.

The Proposal
By Adam Gonzales

Contrary to all the foolish things I've said
I can't marry someone who wishes not to wed
It's quite scary as I lay my head upon the bed
While I tarry in all the things that you have said

[Chorus 1]
Is this where we want to go?
Your blood is colder than the snow
Why don't we just go with the flow?
Is there something I should know?

On these nights the floral scents descend above
A grand fixture dedicated to you, my love
It's in summer where young love will take a dance
So breathe deeply and won't you just give it a chance?

[Chorus 1]

A confession for you, my love, I have to speak
But at the thought, my legs begin to grow so weak
It's not that I do not trust you my sweet
But rather I fear if you hear you'll retreat

[Chorus 2]
Is this where we want to go?
My blood is colder than the snow
Is it right to go with the flow?
Or is there something you should know?

A slight whisper begins to slip across your cheek
And my outlook on the situation is quite bleak
But you are a dear: finding courage in everything that lives
A shining start that finds so easy to forgive

[Chorus 3]
Is this where we want to go?
Your skin is whiter than the snow?
Should we just go with the flow?
Or is there something I should know?

Contrary to all the foolish things I've said
You can't marry unless the bride wants to be wed
It's quite brilliant to see you dancing in that dress:
The most beautiful thing that I have seen, I must confess

[Chorus Finale]
Yes, this is where we want to go:
You in that dress as white as snow
We fin'lly just went with the flow
You are the one I want to know

Wapper and the Spotted Egg (An Attempt)

I am eagerly working on the Prologue and First Chapter of my Second Book, Wapper and the Spotted Egg while at the same time hurriedly finishing my First Book, Tarterrior: The Rise of the Sixth Kingdom. I hope to have the preview to the second book up by next month and the FIRST COPY of my First Book done by the end of this year. Let' hope! Just an update!

Festral Dominions (Preview)

This is a short story that I'm writing. Right now it's about five pages, but when I'm done it's going to be about twenty five, or so. I just want to see what people think. I hope your like it. Let me know if you have any questions, comments, or ideas to help me out. Thanks!

PRONUNCIATION: Yyvellian = Yev-yeel-lin; Kallick = Cal-ick; Bastille = Bast-eel; Everything else is how it looks.


Festral Dominions

By Adam Gonzales


Throughout the course of his existence, Yyvellian considered his luck to be close to nonexistent. Not only was he tall and brown-haired unlike the rest of his kind, but he often found himself creeping into troublesome situations. Of course that was expected of someone Yyvellian’s age, but not on a continual basis. The rest of the elves living in Oglandador lived for the thrill of a good scam or dangerous escapade, like unto himself, but Yyvellian was constantly bending the oaths that they had made upon settling in their great city. Exploration was permitted, and even encouraged, within the boundaries of the Elven Kingdom, but journeying outside the caves of Oglandador was strictly unacceptable. It was known throughout the Kingdom that the elves had lost the Great War and had been forced to the depths of Festral’s bestial caverns as punishment, but Yyvellian had always suspected that it was all a hoax; after all, the elves were a mischievous race. Possibly this was the reason other elflings his age looked up to him, but then again perhaps not. But either way Yyvellian knew one thing: sooner or later he would be victorious in his endeavors of finding a way out of Oglandador.


Herder spent most of his days bounding from tree to tree, scouting for new hunting grounds and mapping new landmarks. True, the city of Bastille was a sight to behold, but Herder had always wanted to discover something new—either that or find somewhere where he wasn’t constantly bombarded with requests from the Dwarven Council. Herder was the Master of Game in Bastille and found that the Council was consistently pestering him with demands and questions. Were they going to have trouble during the Cold Season? Had the tesslir doves made their yearly pass yet? Was it safe to travel on the forest floor, or did they still need to be wary of gollan hounds? Of course, Herder would answer their questions with respect and then continue on with his day. He would climb the thick, wide branches that served as Bastille’s treetop city streets until he reached his small thatched hut where he would turn in for the night. If he was lucky, which he rarely considered himself to be, Herder might sometimes find himself camping on the forest’s balcony while on a particularly long mapping quest. It was those days that he would lay his strong arms under his short red hair and look at the starry sky, wondering if there was something greater in Festral waiting for him out there.


Sometimes Kallick simply wanted to die. Not because he thought his life ghastly or depressing, but more that he considered it horribly boring. Well not too boring, just boring enough. Yes, he had Estra to keep him company—and he never minded her company—but it was rather his daily routine that he wanted to escape. He was the horseman’s apprentice in the grand human city of Regral, and despite his greatest efforts to entertain himself between the gaps of the labor hours and his home life, Kallick never felt the true thrill that he was searching for. Admittedly Estra, yet again, helped fill that void in his life but Kallick believed in something much greater. True, he was not quite old enough yet to know what, but the fact that he knew was all that mattered. The cramped city nerved him to no end, and although he found some solace in knowing that no matter what happened, Estra would be with him, Kallick decided for once to be illogically rash. He was going to leave the city. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he was going to and that was that. So when Estra came bringing news of Regral’s Naissance Celebration, Kallick couldn’t have been luckier. It was finally time.


It was a cold day in Oglandador; the torches flickering bluefire—a sign indicating the holiday of the city’s founding. Yyvellian’s stomach swelled in excitement as he scrambled through Oglandador’s large and spacious streets, bumping into no one due to their emptiness. Founding Day was one of the few holidays that the elves celebrated indoors. It was commemorated with heavy drink and thick pastries within the warmth of their private homes, and each family stayed inside in order to observe the holiday’s message of solitude from the proud races that had confined them to the caverns of their dominion. It had been well over a thousand years since the passing of the Great War, but no one forgot the harshness and cruelty that the elves faced during their sentence of seclusion; a fact that Yyvellian planned to exploit in his escape. Throughout the previous couple of weeks, Yyvellian had delved deeper into the caves of Oglandador, in hope of seeking a new tunnel that led to the outside world. And, although he had been close to ultimately discarding his freedom initiative, Yyvellian had actually found something new. Past the back alleyways of Oglandador’s industrial precinct, Yyvellian had noted that the caverns grew increasingly wide and dark, eventually leading to a black vertical crack in the far side of the wall. It had taken Yyvellian almost two hours to reach the opening, when he was eventually caught off guard by the loud chattering voice of a City Guard. Yyvellian had not been expecting anyone to be on duty during Founding Day, and began desperately racking his mind for some clever trick to distract the guards’ attention. He slid behind a particularly large stone and slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out his elfish sling that he had made years before. A smirk slipped across Yyvellian’s face a he slid a small stone into the sling and hurled it past the guards. The stone snapped across a pile of rocks in the distance, and the sound became amplified in the empty cavern. The two guards shifted uncomfortably as they turned towards the sound. Probably they thought it to be nothing more than it was, but Yyvellian decided to toy with their emotions and try to intensify their inner fears. Breathing deeply so as to make it look like he had been out of breath, Yyvellian turned from out behind the rock and began running towards the short blonde-haired guards.
“Hurry,” he yelled desperately, waving his arms, “the Elder says to get back into the city! She says that there are giant gworms on their way!”
The guards did not need any sign that what he said was true. They had already grown paranoid from Yyvellian’s stone. Barely even acknowledging Yyvellian as they passed, they began rushing hurriedly into the stone city. Yyvellian grinned as he watched the guards scamper away. He had acted characteristically elfish and had pulled a masterful prank—a prank that had granted him the opportunity of freedom.


Herder was finally alone. He had been completely overwhelmed while in Bastille’s Council Hall, and now that he was home he could finally relax. He had hoped that the day would have gone by rather uneventfully due to Bastille’s Dawn Festival, but he had been wrong. The Dwarven Council had directed swarms of concerned tree farmers and spring hunters to his cramped place of work. He had done his best in denying their fears and confirming their hopes, but by the end of the day he had found himself completely drained. He must have been one of the few dwarves staying indoors for the Dawn Festival. The grand tree that supported the city of Bastille would be filled with bustling vendors and enthusiastic merchants selling food, toys, and lightsticks. The lightsticks would be used to spray burning colors throughout the night sky, and the noises from the jovial games and contests would undoubtedly keep Herder up through the night. So for once in his life, Herder decided to do something different and impulsive. He gathered a small pack of food and clothes, slid his bow and quiver across his back, and slipped out into the crowded branches of Bastille. It took him nearly half an hour to reach the edge of the city, what with the lively throng of people filling the streets. But by the time he finally did make it out of town, he had gone by unnoticed—just as he had hoped. He reached a wide branch that angled north out of Bastille and tightened his pack and bow before leaping off towards a tree below. He reached out instinctively and found hold onto a branch that had been smoothed by use, and began to let his weight slide him towards the tree’s center. He slammed into the tree’s trunk with his feet and then hurriedly made his way up an additional branch that reached out to another nearby, level, tree. Herder continued on like this for over an hour before his arms began to feel sore, and before he finally couldn’t see the bright lights or hear the loud thumps coming from Bastille. It was in the canopy of a massive oak that Herder finally found himself deciding to turn in for the night. He smiled slightly to himself as he pulled out a small bedroll out of his pack and placed it across the branch’s flat surface. He took in a deep breath and looked up into the night sky, smelling the clear air around him—smelling the air of freedom.


“Kallick, I don’t like this.” Estra’s blonde hair whipped in front of her face as she did her best to hide against the side of the stables.
“Hush, Estra!” Kallick kept his eyes forward, not daring to let them stray from the stone road of Regral’s main street.
Estra tugged him backwards, causing his brown hair to toss to the side. “Don’t you ‘hush’ me, Kal! I want to leave the city just as much as you do, but I just don’t like what we’re doing!”
Kallick rolled his eyes. “It’s not stealing.”
Estra stamped her foot and gave him a stern look.
“Well, it’s not. Coppercloud is my horse. I should be able to take him whenever I need him.”
“And the field lance? Is that yours?”
“Not exactly. But Master Youtle won’t be missing it. Besides, we’ll be needing protection once we leave,” he tried to rationalize. “We can’t go stumbling into the woods unarmed.”
Estra pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “We won’t be,” she said, rubbing her hands together.
“Right,” Kallick acknowledged. “Speaking of which.”
He tilted his head to the chain wrapped around the stable door. Estra sighed heavily, shooting him an annoyed glance and braced herself against the stone floor of Regral’s grand city. Then a bright blue light flowed from underneath her feet and began to wrap around her hands, and in a single burst of white hot energy the light whipped out against the metal chain. And it fell, broken, to the ground. Estra stepped backwards and patted her hands lightly against her side. Kallick gave her a curt nod, and then stepped into the stone stable house, looking to the end of the large room. Coppercloud was a brilliant mahogany horse with a stark white mane. He whinnied slightly as he sighted Kallick, but quickly quieted himself upon noticing his master’s stern eyes. Kallick quickly saddled Coppercloud and had the horse out of the stables in under five minutes. By then Estra had grown noticeably impatient.
“The grand horseman has returned,” she muttered sarcastically, trying to get Kallick to take her bait. He couldn’t refuse.
“Horseman’s apprentice…ma’am.”
Estra twitched at Kallick’s subtle prod: she detested being referred to as ‘ma’am”. Kallick initially said it out of respect, but when he had realized that Estra found the word to hint towards age, Kallick had begun using it as a sort of joking affront. He helped Estra onto Coppercloud, and then veered them into the stone backstreets of Regral. They were lucky; most of the city had filed in to the center square for the Naissance Celebration—they did not encounter anyone particularly noteworthy on their way out of the city until they reached the wall gate. The armored men guarding the gate gave them a suspicious glance as they approached. But before they could even raise question to their business, Estra sent a green pulse of light in their direction with her hands. The guards instantly stepped aside and opened the gates for them as they made their way out of the great stone city of Regral.
Kallick kissed the side of Estra’s head. “Have I told you that I simply love you?”
Estra smiled. “You can stand to say it more.”
Kallick grinned as they headed steadily forward into the forest—as they headed steadily towards freedom.


Yyvellian was too preoccupied to even consider feeling scared. Sure he was deep within the cracks of an unmapped cave, but the things that he was finding kept his mind from wandering on things like monsters and darkness. Not that it was too dark, anyways. There were tiny mushrooms that lined the different tunnels within the cavern that shone faint green and red lights. And so Yyvellian was able to make his way through the winding passages, using his hook and chain to lift himself when the tunnels grew too high for him to reach. He knew that he hadn’t thought his escape plan through carefully, and that it was only a matter of time before he needed to reconsider actually going through with it, but for the moment he enjoyed the light thrill of a potentially dangerous escapade. Then he heard something. It wasn’t the occasional clack of a falling rock that he had grown accustomed to hearing, but rather a flurry of unmated movement coming from a channel that bent a little ways off to his right. Yyvellian stopped short, pressing his body up against the rugged surface of the stone tunnel. Voices began echoing throughout the cave and it didn’t take long for Yyvellian to notice that they appeared to be clicks and hisses instead of actual words. Yyvellian’s eyes widened as two slimy, bald, reptilian creatures with nostrils stretched across their brown and red snouts turned the corner. They had wide flat feet for gripping loose rocks, and long, knobby fingers and tails for keeping their balance in the dark. Their eyes were massive and glowed a dim and pale green—almost useless if it wasn’t for the fact that they were coupled with the gaping holes in the side of their heads that served as ears. Yyvellian swallowed a gasp of fear: kobolds. He turned around swiftly, careful not to make any loud noises, but was shocked to find another kobold blocking his path. Yyvellian froze fearfully as the creature issued a shrill screech that bounced off the caverns serrated walls. Yyvellian didn’t need to look behind him to know that the other two kobolds had their eyes fixed on him; it would be foolish to think otherwise. He didn’t know what to do. True, his body screamed for him to flee or attack, but he was cornered and elves hadn’t trained in combat since the Great War—they were not warriors. But, then again, Yyvellian never considered himself a normal elf. In a quick flurry of movement, Yyvellian spun his hook and chain over his head and swung it to the cave’s ceiling overhead. It grasped a firm chunk of rock and he speedily climbed the chain just before the kobolds pounced on his position. He didn’t have much time; clinging to the ceiling would only prove a temporary respite from creatures that spent their lives climbing sharp rock. The kobolds hissed irritably, trying to reach Yyvellian with their short pointed sticks that they carried. Yyvellian breathed in deeply. He didn’t have the liberty of planning what he was going to do so he simply acted. He yelled loudly as he dropped from the ceiling, smashing his feet into the kobold directly underneath him. Yyvellian heard a disturbing crunch as the creature’s head splintered against one of the caves many rocks—he was dead in an instant. Yyvellian didn’t allow himself to settle as there was a blur of motion as the other two kobolds began reaching out for him. But Yyvellian was quick in getting behind one of the rabid creatures and making sure that the other one lined up with him. Then, deciding to use his hook and chain as a weapon, he reached out for the far kobold and yanked hard. The kobold screamed as he was pulled, keeping his sharp stick pointed forward. The other reptilian monster turned to Yyvellian, ready to strike him down, but was met with a searing pain as the other kobold’s stick slammed through his body. Yyvellian smiled despite himself—he had pulled the far kobold into the other one with the hook, causing his sharp staff to pierce through the other’s slimy skin. Yyvellian finally paused. There were three dead bodies lying around him, each oozing out splotches of black blood. He walked over to the kobold that had the hook pierced into his back and tugged it out. There was a hissing sound as blood began to pour freely from the three pronged wound, and Yyvellian found himself calmed in spite of the bloodbath in front of him. He pulled out a linen cloth from one of his pockets and wiped his hook and chain clean. Then, in an attempt to walk off the adrenaline pulses that were overwhelming his body, Yyvellian began to continue to walk down the cave. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew to follow the fluorescent mushrooms that were dimmer than the others; the deeper they were into the cave, the more they shone. By the time he had shaken off his initial shock from killing the kobolds, Yyvellian had wandered quite far into the caverns. He wasn’t sure how far he had gone, but he knew it was significant. Angling his head up as he scampered up a particularly large pile of rocks he was able to make out a distant glow. It was bright and yellow—unlike any light he had ever seen. And he longed for it. So without questioning its origins, Yyvellian raced through the cave as the light got increasingly brighter. When he finally reached it, he was dumbfounded. The cave opened into a lush, green, bright world that he had never seen. True, he had heard tales from the stories of the Great War, but he had assumed them to be nothing more than a hoax, just like everything else the elves said. The light burned his eyes at first, but he slowly began to grow accustomed to it and was able to make out the beauty of the landscape around him. Bright green carpets smothered the ground and shot out of the earth, clumped together on top of massive wooden posts. Except they seemed…natural. No one had made these odd plants; they simply lived this way. Yyvellian smiled hugely, aware of the wave of freedom pouring down upon him. Then he paused as his ears picked up something strange and remote. He pricked them up, trying desperately to make out the soft and soothing sound that seemed to whisper for him. And when he was finally able to make it out, he was surprised at what he heard.
My Gatherer, the voice called, I seek your aid.
Yyvellian’s brow furrowed. Gatherer. That was the meaning of his name in elfish. An ancient tongue that was all but extinct. And yet he somehow knew that this voice was to be trusted—that it really did need his help. And it called again.
My Gatherer. I seek your aid. Come to me and you will find what it is you are looking for. You will find your sovereignty.
Yyvellian smiled as the sweet voice enveloped him. Then, thinking of nothing else, he followed the Call.

Markus and the Slumanari Gem Preview

Hey! Finally a new post! Here's a prview to my Sixth Book, Markus and the Slumanari Gem! Enjoy!


Book Six Preview

By Adam Gonzales

“Alsenoth,” Seth’s grey eyes were worn with concern, “believe me when I say that I’m sorry, but what you’re doing is completely irrational. We cannot risk the lives of thousands to help her. We don’t know, Alsenoth: she may already be compromised.”
Alsenoth’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m just trying to get you to understand what you’re asking, Alse. Are you willing to jeopardize the lives of an entire army for the sake of one soul?”
Emerald eyes gleaming, Alsenoth closed in on Seth—their snouts barely inches apart. “I have made the mistake before of turning my back on Kala and the pain that I felt was far worse than any soldier can ever imagine. Yes, you may be right; Wreaknatter may have forced her to give away our most precious secrets. But then again he may not have. Hell, Seth, she may have even read his mind with her Stimdärt abilities and gained invaluable information! But as long as there’s any doubt on whether or not she has given anything away—any chance that she is still alive—then I cannot and will not stand around doing nothing! I’ve made that foolish decision once already and now she’s gone! I won’t let that happen again!”
“Alse—”
“Seth, I trusted you; trusted that you’d be the one to lend me support!”
Seth stepped backwards, taken aback. “Alse, you know that I would. But the decisions you’re making are far too rash! You know how I feel about Miss Rööte, but your plan is murder!”
“No Seth. I’ll tell you what’s murder. The fact that Kala may very well be alive, may very well bet awaiting her death, and we’re sitting here doing absolutely nothing! The fact that not going to her aid could be the cause of her death! That is murder! So the question is, are you a murderer Seth?”
Seth sighed deeply, his eyes sagging slightly. And for the first time since he had known him, Alsenoth thought the general looked old. “Alse. More than anyone that I have ever known, you are a brilliant and intelligent individual. But the thing that makes you truly great is your loyalty and devotion to those you love. Someone once told me, ‘The question isn’t will we all have challenges? The question is How will we respond to them?’”
Alsenoth smiled.
“Alse. I have always given you my support. And although I still fear for the lives of these soldiers, I will stand by your side in battle like I always have.”
Alsenoth hugged his friend and stepped back, tears in his eyes. “Thank you. Thank you Seth. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
Seth gave Alsenoth a curious look and then gave a slight smile. “You’re sure she’s still alive, aren’t you?”
Alsenoth nodded slowly and started to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “If she wasn’t, I would be in agony.”
Grey eyes on his friend, Seth grabbed Alsenoth’s shoulder. “Then let’s go save her.”

An Update For The Uncertain

Yes, I am still writing ACTUAL stories, and yes I am still writing my book. I have two short stories on the way, along with a very short children's story. As far as my book goes, I have reached Chapter Nine in my typing, and Chapter Twelve in my writing. The last twelve chapters or so will be going by ridiculously fast in comparison to the first twelve, as they are more filled with action rather than information. My intent is to finish WRITING the book by September, and to finish TYPING by November. The short stories will likely be finished by October and the children's story, although already finished, will not be posted until May. If all goes according to plan, which it RARELY does, I hope to be able to be actively seeking a publisher by December as well as starting on my second book by January (Wapper and the Spotted Egg). Be on the lookout for more songs and short entries along the way, however, as I plan not to disappoint with the consistency of my updates. Wish me luck!

-"Adum" Gonzales

A Different Bed

Another song! Sweetness!

A Different Bed

by Adam Gonzales

If it wasn't for the black and white lines on my face today
Then maybe I would be a different me
But now the contrast of the Lights and Shadows twists my face askew
You will learn it all: the Old and the New
And though I'm talking now, my tongue won't move because it's far too numb
The words you say to me will never be wrong

'I am in the fourposter of my room
And I am falling for you again
And I am trying to rip out the mattress
But the seams won't split because my fingertips are far too soft'

If I had known the quake beneath us was the Earth's heartbeat
Then maybe I would think differently
And as I take you on the dance floor, gliding through this masquerade;
I will be there, so don't be afraid
And just like horses who are tired and who lay in beds of hay
We have made it through another tiring day

'I am in the fourposter of my room
And I am falling for you again
And I am trying to rip out the mattress
But the seams won't split because my fingertips are far too soft'

And despite the dust upon my feet, I walk along the hall
You have been there and seen it all
And even though dark things have passed, you flash a brilliant smile
I sigh with relief for it has been awhile
And now we're whispering to each other secrets we will keep
We both grow tired and try to fall asleep

'I am in the fourposter of my room
And I am falling for you again
And I am ripping out the mattress
And the seams all split because my fingertips are not so soft

And you are in the fourposter of my room
And you are falling with me again
You are trying to seal up the mattress
Because the seams have split and you want to sleep in a bed so soft'