Prologue, Part 8: Caution

-I didn’t know you were coming back to the Citadel on such short notice. I don’t suppose you received my letter, did you?

-As a matter of fact, no I didn’t. I was stationed in several locations, so it was probably difficult for it to be delivered. What was it about?

-Nothing important… I just tried to reach you and see how you were doing. I think you can imagine exactly why I was worried.

-Yes… I’m sorry I couldn’t keep in touch, but it was pretty hard to write a letter with arrows flying over head. Whatever moments of calm we had were used for resting and preparing for the next battle.

-Didn’t the Council say that the strength of the enemy was waning and that the citizens needn’t fear anything? Yet all I hear of are battles…

-The Council can say whatever they want… that doesn’t change the fact that we’re being constantly attacked, sometimes by enemies we know nothing of. Whoever is massing these troops doesn’t seem to bear a particular allegiance. Now we’re fighting rogue mages and the members of some secret order. I’ve never seen a coat of arms like theirs before… but, that’s of little relevance. The Council doesn’t want to stir the hearts of the citizens, at least not with fear. And yet they find no concern in our dwindling numbers or the swelling of the enemy’s ranks. That’s why I think you should leave the Citadel. That’s part of the reason why I came here.

-Leave? Where?

-The northern city of Delnas is safer for the time being.

-But Delnas isn’t even part of Noldera. They’re not even our allies.

-Nor are they our enemies. The Council has helped them before, so they hold no resentment towards the Citadelship. And the city itself isn’t of such high importance, strategically or otherwise. Even if the Citadel should fall, Delnas should be safe for at least a little more while.

-How could the Citadel fall? Even if its armies should fail, then the city is protected by the Conduit and the Council.

-Didn’t you listen to me? We have Voidweavers amongst the enemy. The kind that could break the barrier if given the right amount of power and time. Even the Condit can’t protect the Citadel from the onslaught that will follow. I’ve warned the Council about the threat, and they’ve responded by spreading my armies even more amongst the border territories. The magisters have either grown tired and senile, or they’re planning something that will mean the Citadel’s downfall.

-Can’t your father convince them?

-My father? He was the first one to be dismissed when he proposed something like that is possible. And that only serves to strengthen my belief.

-What about Beren? He’s viewed well amongst the magisters.

-Only because they intend to use him as a puppet. The Council was too anxious about bringing the Book of Judicators here. If mishandled, it can tear apart the barrier from the inside entirely. Yet another threat the magisters choose to ignore without any conceivable reason. Please, Aryiana, I’m only doing this to keep you safe. Trust me.

-And what about you?

-I’ll have to talk to my father. And then I’ll talk to the magisters themselves. If nothing should become of that, I don’t what the next course of action will be.  The only thing I know is that whatever their plan is, it’s not heading into anything but destruction.

-Alright… I trust you. But promise me you won’t get yourself killed.

-You know I can’t promise that. But I’ll try to be careful. Here, take this…

Ceren took a little silver box out of his pocket and handed it to Aryiana. She reached for it, and stared at its framing a little bit puzzled.

-If trouble finds you, use that to bring word to me. You’ll see how it works when the time comes. I have to go now, but we’ll see each other again soon, I hope.

Ceren kissed Aryiana while embracing her tightly. He was afraid of what was to come in case she stayed in the Citadel and although he knew she would be safer outside its walls, he drew little comfort from the fact that he wouldn’t be able to look after her personally. He stared into her eyes, trying to find some flicker of hope or at least a glimmer of happiness. He didn’t understand why Aryiana was so distraught, neither did he have the time to ask. He hoped that his questions would find a time and place to give him some decent answers. And there were plenty of them to give…

Ceren opened the door hastily and rushed out into the street, quickening his pace as the night air seemed to grow thicker. The musky scent of the fog distracted him for a second while he made his way to a back alley of sorts. He kept his cowl over his head, despite the thickening fog that didn’t make recognizing him an easy task either way. The night would only grow darker from here on in…

Top 3 Things I Find Frustrating In Video Games

It suddenly came to my attention that I haven’t been using this blog to express by whiney bitch fits in a pretty long time. And what better way to do that than complain about 3 things that make me want to dance the rumba in flaming underwear. No, wait… that was for another article. Today I’m actually going to be talking about the top 3 things that I find frustrating in video games. So all of you give it up for…. *drum roll*

#3. The Brain-Fuck A.K.A. The Insanely Difficult Section At The Very End Of A Very Long Puzzle/ Platforming Section

Imagine this… you’re just cruising along the highway, doing about 120 mph. Then, for a section of the road you have to dodge debris on the highway. The debris is pretty widely spaced, nothing too hard, you just cruise along, everything is peachy. Of course, you might also be an epileptic monkey behind the wheel of a sports car running at 120 mph, and that is just another way of saying your flaming carcass will be flying out your windshield faster than you can say “Would you like to save your game?”. But, in the off chance you actually posses the motor skill and hand-eye coordination of a six-year old, you should be pretty fine even if you’re passed out drunk. Then shit gets more difficult… debris is a lot closer-spaced than before, you have to jerk that wheel like you’re riding the bumper cars and shit starts to get mildly fucked up. Keep in mind, you’ve been doing this for about 10 minutes now. And then… BOOM!! Godzilla comes out of nowhere, whips his dick out and crushes your puny skeleton with a dick-to-your-face-move, all while the guy from Mortal Kombat screams “Fatality”.

 Like this, but with Godzilla

By some godly miracle, you find yourself at the wheel of your car again, and you think it’s just a dream… and then… you have to do the same god damn shit all over again. Of course you eventually realize you need to get out of the car just before the giant dick-whip, but you can only do that by pressing a series of buttons on the side of your car door.

That’s about how every one of the puzzles or platformer sections I’ve mentioned feels when you actually come down to the ball-crushing reality. Seriously, if a puzzle can actually convince a person to delete a fucking game after the third retry, you should really reconsider your whole policy on brain-benders. Either that, or you’re just a gigantic douchebag who likes to fuck around with people.

#2. The Spike In The Brain Routine A.K.A. The Retarded A.I. Partner/Idiot Who Needs Rescuing

I can totally understand why someone wouldn’t give a shit about enemy AI. It’s fun to shoot an enemy in the balls while you see him staring mystified down the barrel of his shotgun. It’s fun to see them jump on a grenade like it’s a fucking candy bar and they’re 5-years old. Hell, it’s fucking hilarious to shoot a guy then watch as he dodges behind a fucking window while your character should technically be rofl-ing as hard as possible. But… for the love of all that is squishy and explodes awesomely… don’t do the same with your ally’s AI. I’m not saying it should be able to solve quantum physics problems while it shoots bad guys with its oversized machine-gun and takes the others down with the sheer gravitational force cause by its gigantic balls… no, that isn’t it… all I’m asking is that you don’t give me the intellectual equivalent of Beavis for a freaking squad-mate. Or at least give me someone who has a military proficiency above Bambi for crying out loud! Why do most AI allies have to be slow, retarded and blind?

 Not pictured above: Allied AI

What, is it an unknown stigma or something? Did NPC’s get hit by a terrible plague that causes them to regress to what can only be qualified as fermented shit in terms of usefulness?

And don’t even get me started on the ungodly-complex AI behind their pathfinding. I mean I know the shortest path from point A to point B is a straight motherfucking line, but unless they are the descendents of some race of Transformers, NPC’s really need to get a clue about the principles behind a basic wall. These are: 1. You can only pass through it if there’s an opening or you have a sledgehammer and 2. It rhymes with call. End…of… fucking… discussion.

#1. The Time-Fuck A.K.A. The Timed Puzzle/Mission

Remember when you were little and you first came in contact with a little toy called a Rubik’s Cube? Well it means you’re probably part of a select group of people who thought spinning colored cubes around was fun. But even so, it tended to get a little frustrating when you messed up a side or managed to mix shit up even worse than before. Now, imagine, if you will, that every move you make that mixes shit up even worse impales your fingers with spikes coated with a very powerful neurotoxin that sends you from ok to piss-in-your-pants-seizure-driven death in about the time it takes you to crush an egg with a sledgehammer. Now shit gets pretty serious right? Well, how about you add the extra incentive of a small amount of C4 put right into the centre of a cube, with a timer on it. And what happens when that timer reaches 0? Well, if you’re still alive and actually care about that aspect, you’ll get to feel the delightful sensation of multicolor shrapnel turning your face into what can only look like a Skittles-induced massacre. TASTE THE RAINBOW NOW BITCHES!!!

That’s about the approximation of how a fucking timed puzzle feels like. And I’m not talking about the wimpy get from point A to point B in a given time while riding a pink pony and looking at pretty butterflies. No, I’m talking about the shit that would make “Apocalypse Now” look like Hannah Montana. Except, you know… with a specific time to do it.

I really can’t understand why anyone would implement puzzles of this kind in the first place. I mean some I can understand, but others just seem to be put there by people way to obsessed with timing things. I can imagine one of the guys who designs the puzzles during sex just randomly saying “Holy shit, I only have 30 more seconds to hit the money!”. And that is just fucking sad. Just like timed puzzles. And the fact that I am disgusted by what I just imagined while writing this.

Movie in review… Inglourious Basterds (2009)

I saw “Inglourious Basterds” yesterday at a pre-screening at a local cinema, mainly because of a spur of the moment decision, one which I most certainly didn’t regret.

The first thing that surprised me about the movie was the fact that it ended so quickly. At a running time of 153 minutes (credits included) I imagined it would feel like a lengthy experience. Apparently killing Nazis is a lot more fun than I initially expected… oh , wait… that wasn’t really it.

This is one movie I can’t really shove into some narrow category or genre… mainly because it has balls too big to fit anywhere. I suppose the only thing not in this movie was a musical-themed scene where the Basterds do the can-can with the Nazi soldiers at their side. Considering this is a Quentin Tarantino movie, I’m actually surprised that was left out.

I’ve just realized that the introduction to this review was a little too sober compared to my other masterpieces… oh well, there’s only one thing to do then…

THIS MOVIE WAS FREAKIN’ AWESOME!!! If Zeus and M. C. Escher had a bastard child, and that child’s underwear had spontaneously combusted sometime during his second-grade math pop-quiz, and someone would have taken the ashes, hooked them up to a car battery and resurrected them only to bring forth Wedgie, the destroyer of worlds… it would have had about as much of a connection to World War II as this movie… seriously. Why?

Enter Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt), mountain redneck and all-round badass, who makes it clear that he really wants his scalps. And does he get them. And gut-wrenching hilarity ensues. Honestly, I never could have imagined that when exposed to a scalping scene, albeit in a movie, I could bring myself to laugh. But then again, maybe I never imagined I’d laugh at a scene of some random dude flying with his motorbike into a wall… 7 times in a row. So I guess Quentin Tarantino just has that effect on people. After that scene I imagined some guy would just come in with a baseball bat, Babe Ruth style and bash the shit out of some guy’s head… oh wait… that wasn’t some bizarre hallucinogen-induced trip… that shit actually happened. And the guy with the bat was known as the Bear Jew. Bear…. Fucking…. Jew.

After that I was expecting them to play baseball with the severed heads of Nazi soldiers… oh, wait… neah just messin’ with ya. They totally carved a swastika in a guy’s forehead though. Beyond that the movie was basically straight up Tarantino (as in straight up YOUR FUCKING ASS Tarantino) and went from hilarious to brutal to hilariously brutal. Hell it was the fucking Mardi Gras of dead Nazis. With dick jokes. That is either monstrously awesome or completely insane. Or a dick covered Banana Split… ok that sounded better in my head.

Well now that we’ve established the general feel of the movie, it’s only fair to talk about everything else, even though it can be vaguely summarized in two words: “Whew, dude”.

Each and every performance was delivered brilliantly (even though Brad Pitt sounded like he was tightening his butt-cheeks too much at times) with the crown jewel of the performances being Christoph Waltz, in his role as Col. Hans Landa. He is amazing from start to finish and manages to deliver the kind of character you completely loathe, yet you wouldn’t like them to die horrible death in the near future. Hell, he’d probably be fun at parties… as long as you’re not a Jew. Til Schweiger is brilliant as Hugo Stiglitz, the man who could kill you by grinding bullets between his teeth, snorting the powder and then sneezing towards you. And everybody else is fantastic but I’m not exactly writing a novel here so I can’t mention every single one of them.

And now for random spoilers: (seriously, don’t read any further if you haven’t seen the movie or actually care at all about not knowing what happens)

3 Basterds die in what can only be referred to as a ball-shooting accident (or something that could only happen during a drunken Easter-Egg hunt, where one guy just shoots everyone in the nuts). Hitler dies and gets his body so riddled with bullets his head is fucking torn-apart (and no, I was totally not stoned when writing this). And Landa gets a fucking swastika carved into his forehead, while you get to watch it. Oh yeah, and your mom… yeah I totally did her (if she was hot).

Seriously, why are you even still reading this and not going to watch the movie? Do you need an invitation with a grenade attached to it? GO!!!

Prologue, Part 7: Resurgence

The night air had an ominous feeling to it. It pierced Ceren’s heart and brought him unease, although there was no reason for it. Despite his brother was seemingly a little bit too curious about meddling with relics of the past, Ceren’s confidence in his abilities didn’t leave much room for doubt in his heart. The sensation had its roots somewhere else. Even the cool breeze that swept Ceren’s brow seemed to whisper threateningly. He cusped a small bouquet of crimson red roses, holding them tight, as though he feared they’d be swept away in the wind if not for his firm grasp. As he made his way to his destination, he thought about how the flowers were an odd choice for a gift. He didn’t know why he figured they were odd, and the more he tried, the more he decided to just give up thinking about it altogether. He attempted such minor distractions in order to detract from the troubles he pondered of momentarily. There were a lot of questions he still hadn’t received answers to, a fact that was nearly poisonous for his inquisitive mind. The quaint reunion he had just had with his brother only served to make matters worse, providing more material for thought than the reason it happened for in the first place.

The only clarification Ceren received for the day concerned what exactly happened to Beren during the last 5 years of Ceren’s “escape”, as he himself put it when he first departed. It provided him with a strange kind of comfort… the fact that he knew Beren hadn’t changed that much in all the time they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other. It also gave him the impression that his father may not have been so exigent with Beren after he managed to join the Council. His father wasn’t one for low expectations, at least not when it came to Beren.

Ceren continued walking in a marching pace until he reached the dimly-lit street (at least by Citadel standards) on which the house he was looking for was located. It was the home of Aryiana, the object of what little affection Ceren was capable of in these times. As he got closer to the door, he felt the steps he was taking resounded in tandem with his heart, as it slowly made its way to his throat. He didn’t really know how his return would be received by his beloved, since he had left her alone for nearly a full year. She was capable of much kindness and understanding, but even Ceren realized there had to be limits to how much she could endure for him.

He knocked on the door with a weary hand, as if he’d break it down with a slightly more energetic movement. His assumption may have been correct, since the door opened with a nearly devilish screech. The pale hand that opened the door didn’t help calm down Ceren in the slightest. He first assumed that it was some housemaid of Aryiana’s that opened the door, an impression he would have kept to if not for the ring he saw on one of the fingers. It was the one he had given Aryiana as a gift after he joined the Academy, a lavishly-jeweled silver ring, with detailed, albeit tiny, inscriptions on it. He kept staring at the ring until Aryiana opened the door entirely, in order to reveal her pale figure.

Even though she looked sickly, Aryiana still maintained a dignified beauty about her. The paleness of her cheeks only served to contrast with her ebony hair and dark brown eyes. Normally, her eyes had a kind of endearing light to them, a glimmering of her kindness. Now they looked harsh, tired and darker than ever. They only started to lighten a little bit after Aryiana realized what stranger dared “grace” her doorstep with his presence. Her face now covered in a broad smile, she wanted to jump straight into Ceren’s arms and never let him go, but she contained the impulse. The broad smile receded and she asked Ceren to come in with a slightly trembling voice.

P.S. Sorry for the long time in which I haven’t posted anything, I was kind of busy I guess. I’m going to come back to writing regularly for the site, so expect new content soon enough . I’m probably going to do a couple more movie reviews as well, so watch out for those too. As always, feedback is always appreciated and encouraged.

Prologue, Part 6: Dissapointment

Targren counted the cobblestones that made up the path in front of him as he made his way home. He thought it funny that he had now resorted to such a childish method of distracting himself from his troubles. He was torn between trying to keep his son safe, and letting him make his own decision regarding this matter. Ha had already managed to turn Ceren away, and that mistake resounded clearly in his head more than ever. It gave him a quite feverish sensation, one that he had never clearly felt before… the feeling of ineptitude. He realized that he truly had no say in this matter whatsoever and that this time control was no longer in his hands.

Targren stopped in the middle of the road, turned his eyes to the night sky and stared at the stars, as if they would be able to grant him some sort of celestial wisdom with which to overcome his recent sum of problems. They diligently refused to do so, leaving Targren to bow his head in disappointment and admit his defeat. He proceeded to continue walking home a short while after, resuming the cobblestone count that had amused him earlier on.

When he arrived at the door of his home, he stared blankly at the lavish wooden carvings on the door. They featured a grand banquet and what seemed to be the ordaining of a king or some other high ranking figure. However, Targren envisioned a much darker scenario. The banquet was transformed into a conclave of nightmarish creatures, each cheering with sadistic passion at the sight of the frail figure that was sacrificed before their eyes.

Targren’s vision was ended abruptly as Beren opened the door. He stared bewildered at his son, and didn’t utter a word as he entered the house.

“What happened? Was the Council that punishing?” said Beren with a slightly devilish grin on his face. He tried to hide his glee as best he could so as to not upset his father. He failed miserably, and was fortunate only because his father found the hardwood floor more appealing than anything else at that moment.

“No, but they weren’t prone to persuasion either. You will carry out the task they appointed you.” said Targren with a tired tone.

“You don’t sound very pleased.” murmured Beren, only stating the very obvious. He liked to savor the victory he had gained in front of his father’s unrelenting pigheadedness. Ironically enough, in the art of being stubborn both Beren and his father were masterful in the very least.

Targren finally gave in and responded sharply.  “I’m not, nor will I be in the near future. But I have neither a choice, nor any say in the matter. However, there are a few things I must let you know about the artifact you’re going to handle.” he said and started recounting what he had studied in his early days as a member of the Council…

“You were told as a little boy, much like everyone else, that the world was given birth to by Yvenna, the Great Mother. She named our world Nera, and nurtured it into maturity, and all the creatures that inhabit it. But during our growth we went through two ages of menace which we called the First and Second Resistance. During these times our lands were besieged by creatures we had never seen before, filled with unending wrath and a thirst for blood. We eventually pulled through, and as a defensive measure we established the barrier around the Citadel. Even though that’s the story most know, it is a little more complex than that. It was kept simple in order to let people be unaware of the true dangers that this world holds. Most of the people who live in the Citadel now have never walked far outside its walls, and as such don’t know any better.” said Targren and paused a little in order to set his ideas in order, so that the story would be at least comprehensible further on.

“Yvenna was actually the Blind Weaver. She was given the task of creating Existence out of Void. So she spun the Void into thread and started weaving Time first. Nefer was Yvenna’s half-brother and was jealous that she received this task instead of him. He spun his own kind of thread, that of Chaos. Since Yvenna was blind, Nefer mixed some of his thread with the Void thread,without her knowledge. Yvenna continued weaving, but because of the Nefer’s thread, there are four ages of Chaos within the fabric of Time. The Resistances are the first two of these ages. The Third one I fear may be ushered in by your efforts to decipher the artifact entrusted to you, the Book of Judicators. But I will get to that in due time.” said Targren and paused yet again to recall all of the details he had to mention.

“After finishing Time, Yvenna moved on to weave Nera, and its sister world, Ethera. Ethera is the spirit world or the ethereal plane as it was called later on. Nefer meddled again and mixed some of his Chaos thread into the loom which led to the creation of the 3 Chaotic Kingdoms of Nera and the 3 Chaotic Spires of Ethera. However, Nefer’s mischief was far from over. As Yvenna’s work was nearing completion, Nefer interchanged the thread on the looms, and created 5 Soul Spires that exist between Nera and Ethera. That is where the souls of the restless dead wander. But more importantly, because of the exchange, the loom also created what we call Soul Walkers. They can shift between Nera and Ethera as they wish. And that is just a fragment of what you don’t know about our world.” added Targren and looked inquisitively at Beren.

“That’s a lot to stomach in a short time. What about the Book of Judicators? Why is it so important?” asked Beren, visibly troubled by what his father had just told him.

‘In itself, the Book is a key. It has been in the hand of the Order of Judicators for 150 years. The Order itself was founded around the time of the First Resistance, to aid in stopping Nefer’s malice. He brought one of his minions into our world, and sowed destruction in his path. Just as the Order thought he was defeated, their resolve was turned to horror when he possessed the very leader of the Order, Khelar. The Judicators managed to free him and banish Nefer’s minion from Nera. However, Khelar’s role in the Chaos Ages was far from over. During the Second Resistance, Khelar was sent to Ethera to stop Nefer from surfacing into our world. That is the purpose of the Book of Judicators. It allows Soul Walkers to shift between planes. After the ordeal was over, Khelar remained in Ethera as the Guardian of its gates. Theoretically, the Book no longer has a specific purpose. It was written especially to allow Khelar access to Ethera, so it shouldn’t do the same  for anyone else. Besides that, it mostly contains Judicator lore and some minor spells. But if that’s all there is to it, then the Council’s enthusiasm is unfounded.” replied Targren in a grave manner.

“Indeed. The book does seem to be dangerous, but I think I can handle things. And even if it proves to be just a dusty old book, I’m still very much interested in the lore it contains.” said Beren, slightly more cheerful.

“Then so be it. I have said my part. Now… everything depends on you. I trust you will be careful. Now I must retire, since this day has taken its toll on me. We shall talk again tomorrow. Good night, Beren.” concluded Targren, visibly exhausted.

“Good night, father. And thank you, for everything.” replied Beren, with half a voice.

Targren waved in response to Beren’s praise and walked slowly towards his bedroom. He feared the prospect of tonight’s sleep since he believed it wouldn’t hold the sweetest of dreams for him. No… not this night.

P.S: This one took a butt load to write so I really hope everyone likes it. If not, feedback is always appreciated and recommended.

Prologue, Part 5: Futile

The Council Halls had always been a place of majestic beauty. Even in the last moments of the Second Resistance, they shined through the darkness that swept the world. The greatest heroes of the Citadel had either been leaders of the Council or had at least trained with the archmages once in their glorious path. The archmage Kondrius, for example, was the one who created the Conduit, the very artifact that channels the Void energies required to sustain the barrier around the Citadel. Had it not been for his valliant efforts during the First Resistance, the Citadel would have surely crumbled. Even Ceren’s grandfather was a member of the Council, and had his own purpose in the later battles of the kingdom. And it is within these walls that Ceren’s father, Targren, makes his last stand in front of the Council, in a desperate effort to keep Beren from the task he has been appointed.

-Why can’t you see reason, Targren?

-Because your reasoning would have me agree to put my son in grave danger.

-Your son is a valued member of the Council, and is more than capable of this task. How long is it going to take before you realize his full potential?

-This isn’t about his full potential! This is about him tapping into powers that could lead him to his death.

-That book is far from being as dangerous as you make it out to be.

-That’s why it’s been locked away for 150 years? Guarded by an order chosen specifically because they don’t know how to use it? Why would they try to keep people away from the temptation of learning it’s secrets if it isn’t dangerous?

-It was dangerous when the Chaos Walker was still a threat. It’s nothing more than an ordinary spell book now. However, it does have some valuable knowledge within it. It contains the writings of the first Conclave of Archmages, for one thing.

-The Chaos Walker is still a threat… you all know that. I haven’t been the only one to visit the hall of time in reacent years. We know what age comes upon us.

-No, Targren, we don’t. This Chaos Age was not established when time was woven. This is because this Chaos Age depends upon us. Upon all the races of this world. I have faith in Beren… I have faith that he will not falter . The question is… do you trust your son enough to let him do this?

-It isn’t a matter of not trusting him. But if anything happens to him because of this, I hold the Council personally responsible.

-As you wish. We will claim responsibility for whatever happens. But in case something does happen, I wonder how much better it will make you feel if you think that we are responsible.

-Enough to make it worth the effort of having you admit it. I will have to inform my son of the lore he doesn’t know about yet. He needs to be aware of what exactly he’s studying.

-Very well, Targren, if that is your wish. Just try not to scare the poor boy, will you?

-Don’t count on it… We shall see each other again tomorrow. Vashkali Neran, fellow Magisters…

Prologue, Part 4: Bittersweet

Ceren approached the steps of his home with a heavy heart. He had not seen his father in 5 years, and the last time he did, it was only to tell him he was going to leave home against his better wishes. He didn’t know why he chose to come back this year… but something simply drew him there. He didn’t know what it was, but it seemed as if the very air of the Citadel itself was different, enticing him to return. The house was sorrounded by a thick scent of jasmine, that seemed to find it’s source from between the fine cracks on some of the house’s walls. It smelled like home used to in the summer, after a heavy rain, when all the plants in the garden behind the house suddenly lit up and shined like a freshly painted canvas. But, after only 5 years, the canvas looked a little tarnished, and the colours looked like they were more gray-toned than ever. Discontent at the desolate sight of his home, Ceren knocked on the sturdy oaken door, unleashing a deep sigh.

The door opened with a slight creak. Ceren expected his father would be the one to open the door. He smiled when he saw that it was in fact Beren who greeted him home on this occasion.

-Nice to see you can actually afford to visit once in a while. What happened? The Citadel ran out of enemies to fight?

-It’s nice to see you too, Beren. Are you going to let me in or do I have to battle you as well?

-Come on in. We’re always pleased to have a high ranking member of our proud army visting us.

-I’m going to assume father isn’t home, since you’re taking the liberty of talking like that.

-And I’m going to assume you’re on duty, since you’re being so formal. Come on… I’m your brother and I haven’t seen you in five years. Don’t I at least get a hug?

-No… not after the stunt you pulled when I left home to begin with.

-In my defense, I had no idea that changing one little word in an incantation meant summoning flesh eating pixies instead of happy little pixies. But they were no match for you, I suppose.

-That doesn’t change the fact that you nearly killed me,  and horrified the people who were seeing us off on that day.

-Will you ever let me live that down? It was an honest mistake.

-I don’t think so…. where’s father?

-He decided to pay the Council a visit. He disapproves of the task they’ve appointed to me. Says it’s too dangerous.

-I’ve heard something about that. What kind of artifact are we talking about?

-I haven’t the slightest clue. The only one who knows about the delivery is father. And he won’t tell me a thing. He says it’s not necessary since I won’t even come close to touching it.

-I suppose trying to reason with him didn’t work…

-Oh, it worked. It worked in the sense that it made him even less willing to let me do this. And the problem is, I can’t do anything about it. Because, outside of family issues, he still outranks me in the Council. I couldn’t tell him off even if I wanted to. So… I can only rely on what decision the Council makes on the matter.

-What do you think they’ll say?

-Judging by how red with anger father’s eyes were the other day, I’m going to assume it’s favorable for me. But only time and divine favor will tell.

-Do you think he’ll return soon?

-If things go as I think they will, then no. And even if he does, you won’t want to be around for the fireworks.

Prologue, Part 3: Dismay

The path back home was long and arduous. Ceren rode horseback, alongside Crin, his trusted advisor and without a doubt, his most valuable spy. Crin was one of Ceren’s tutors before he joined the Academy, and foresaw most of his activities even after Ceren had become General. Crin’s past was never completely brought to light, but Ceren found some strange sort of peace in this. He was content with knowing that Crin had also helped his father for a short while before he was born. He figured Crin wouldn’t just go about and betray a member of the family he’s been a loyal friend of for two generations.

-How was it like to work for my father? I never really got around to ask.
-Your father was ruthless, precise and, for as long as I kept contact with him, unwavering. I suppose his position in the Council of Magisters didn’t allow him to be otherwise. There were times when your old man would manage to bring out the worst in me. But for the most part, he taught me a lot of what I know today. Well… apart from teaching me how to kill a man.
-He always believed in the pacifist approach…
-And yet you chose to take up arms. To be honest, the only time I saw him lose control over himself was the day you told him you would go off to the academy, no matter what he thought about it. For every moment up until that day, he thought you would rival Beren for one of the seats on the Council. After that day, Beren gained most of your father’s favor, but it was a bitter one.
-Today’s his birthday. And all I have to give him is a victory he’d rather not know about. I’m sure he’ll be especially pleased. Any thoughts on how I should handle this?
-You could have Beren teach you to summon a birthday cake. If anything, it might at least make your father laugh for a bit.
-I doubt it. He’d probably scold me on how poor a job I did, and show me how to do it properly. Besides, I’m sure Beren has all the party tricks covered. I wouldn’t have the heart to take it away from him. What are you going to do once we get back into the Citadel?
-I have some business to take care of. There have been rumors about some kind of artifact the Council of Magisters wants to bring into the Citadel. Beren’s name came up too…
-He’s one of the greatest Keepers the Council has ever had. It’s only natural that if something very powerful and dangerous gets into their hands, Beren would be the first to tinker with it.
-Be that as it may, it could prove a little too dangerous even for him to handle. You should be careful.
-I’m always careful when it comes to Beren.
-Not long before we reach the Citadel. I’m afraid we have to part ways. I’ll see you tomorrow.
-Let me know if anything turns up.

Prologue, Part 2: Remembrance

“Ceren! Wake up! We need you out there, they’re slaughter-…” screamed the anxious soldier before being silenced by a monstrous cleave. He was swept off his feet, leaving the general he so desperately tried to revive open to the enemy’s attack.

The general in question, Ceren, recovered, and with a swift swing of the sword, he shattered his enemy’s shoulder-plate right above the neck, striking him down with a steady hand. Bitter and winded, Ceren pummeled any soldier foolish enough to cross his path, with fiendish precision. With his shield heavy, and his armor cumbersome, he advanced slowly towards the leader of the enemy ranks. Seizing the opportunity, he ordered all the men around him to press the assault and charge ahead. Victory was certain, and the soldiers felt empowered by Ceren’s mighty presence. Having struck down the last of their foes, they cheered Ceren on as he stood on the battlefield, facing the sky, his face enveloped in a shroud of blood.

There was no expression of happiness on Ceren’s face, however there wasn’t a frown either. It shouldn’t be thought that he wasn’t pleased with the victory… it was just that more pressing matters made his achievement a little harder to savour.

-A fine victory, as always, Ceren. You do justice to all the praise you receive.
-A storm’s brewing… looks like another rainy night.
-You aren’t listening to me, are you?
-No… mainly because what you’re saying isn’t true.
-You mean to say victory in a battle where we were outnumbered 4 to 1 isn’t a fine one? You’re being a little thorough, don’t you think?
-Any battle where my men die is a defeat for me. See Hendar over there? The one lying face first in a pool of his own blood? I promised him he’d see his wife again tonight. I promised him that he would bathe in the warmth of tomorrow’s sunrise. And now I get to send him to his wife in a casket. And he won’t be able to enjoy the sunrise, since he’ll be a little too beneath the ground to do that.
- Well… I thought you learned not to make promises like that by now. It isn’t your task to see that everyone of the soldiers makes it out alive. If by day’s end the gates of our kingdom are still standing, you’ve done an excellent job.
-Perhaps… let’s get back to the Citadel. They’re probably wating for news. We shouldn’t keep them anxious for too long.

Prologue, Part 1: Deliverance

“You think this is going to help anyone? At best you’re going to destory yourself and take everyone of us along with you!” said the voice of reason.

“You had a chance to turn away from your own misfortune, yet you chose to delve deeper into it” said the voice of love.

“You were a wonderful little puppet. Just a slight tug of the strings, and the whole play I had written for you unfurled marvelously” said the voice of hatred.

I silenced the voices some time ago. Their shrieking echoes didn’t allow me time for thought. But then again… what was there to think about? My conscience was already numb before all this had happened and all I did was bring about its final moments. Now, all I could do was stare blankly at a small coin I held in my hand. It used to shine once… it used to have value. It used to have a purpose. Funny thing is… I sometimes imagine it stares back and says the same thing about me. And then it cries out to me… “Ceren, Ceren… wake up Ceren…”