TSSC - June Edition

[Fenris]

The Sight Story Contest


yeah, I'm at it again. I figure with summer coming on, maybe more people will join this one, without me bribing and nagging =P

Ok, as for May's competition, I got two other people's opinions on the judging, so thank you to them. (Even though they won't be reading this cause they aren't members of this forum)
So congratulations to Zeth for winning 1st with The Advantures Of Bernie, Sabla for winning 2nd with her The End of San Francisco and Amber(Channon) for winning 3rd with her untitled entry.

All entries can be found in here:
trattoblessing.proboards39.com/index.cgi?board=contests&page=1


Rules:

• I start you off with an introductory paragraph, you get the choice of two. Choose whichever inspires you the most.
  
• Add a max of 4000 words. (the limit is there so I don't have a novel to read.)
  
• Have your entry in by the end of the month
  
• Winner's recieve either 20, 15 or 10 post points (for 1st, 2nd and 3rd place)
  
• Anything goes! Be as creative as you like!
  

Ok, for this month, you get two starting points.
And the first one is:

Dark and empty were the alleyways of the decaying city, a city that once stood proud and tall. Now the buildings were mostly beyond repair, everyone who remained – those who had not fled when the fighting had first broke out – were dirt poor and malnourished. Food was impossibility to acquire; clean water was another. Rats rampaged through the streets like they were the ones really running the place, and the vermin certainly had managed to scrape a good deal out of the disaster. The starving occupants of the one famed city were like shadows in the night. Those who could remain unseen, those were the ones who had managed to survive this long.

But there was one, in a dark alleyway. Past the rats feasting on a corpse of some god-forsaken being that might once have been called a human. Past the piles of stinking garbage, and not quite near the now open sewers. There was one, who had managed to survive the plight of the broken city. One who had a rather unique story to tell.

(Word count: 177)


And your second choice is:



The water slid by without so much as a gurgle. The only sound emanating from it’s crystal-form was when a fish shattered the surface to snap up an insect. If anyone took the time to stare down into the surface, they would see shoals of little fish swimming together, and then occasionally a darker shade of a bigger fish, on the hunt. Above the water’s surface, the sky was an intense blue, and only a few scattered clouds were in the air. Scattered in the horizon. The river – if it really should be called such a grand name, for it really was not that big. Too deep to be called a brook, too small and too narrow to be called a river, the body of water moved by so calmly, it barely even tickles the branches of the willow trees who had dipped their long fingers into it’s liquids. The willow trees that lined the banks of the water were surrounded by long grass that rippled and quivered in the almost undetectable breeze, that would whisper past your cheek and cool you ever so slightly - a gentle respite from the heat that poured down from the sun in the sky above.


(Word Count: 202)

[Sabla]

Yey! I got 2nd! Now I must go bug Wolfbane about his art contest.....

[Channon]

Aw, I got third out of three. No big deal, though, I can understand. xD;

Congrats Zeth and Sabla.

I may end up, you know, making another story and give it another shot.

[Fenris]

Ugh, I thought I could type up the beginnings this morning before i go round to my mates for her birthday, but turns out i gotta work.
so they'll be up tomorrow. >.<

aww please do Amber, I did enjoy your story. see i like reading them, its when it gets to judging them that this gets tough.

[Channon]

fenris said:

Ugh, I thought I could type up the beginnings this morning before i go round to my mates for her birthday, but turns out i gotta work.
so they'll be up tomorrow. >.<

aww please do Amber, I did enjoy your story. see i like reading them, its when it gets to judging them that this gets tough.

I'll consider it. I seriously need to get a job and some other stuff. xD; That last story may be continued, though. I don't know. xD;

[Fenris]

Got the beginnings up. One way more open than the other.

[Zukozu]

[glow=black,4,000]I'm entering this time, and thankies so much for making one of them work for the character that popped into me head the other day!
Muchos Gracias ^^[/glow]

[Fenris]

no worries, it actually set a scene in my head, since i was kinda lacking muse for the beginnings, as is evident in the 2nd one.

[Neithan]

((Here is me story for the contest =). Chose the 1st option. Total of 789 words))

As he looked over the remains of the broken city, which had once been glorious in its power and wealth, was barely even a shadow of its former self. He sighed, knowing that he would have to head into the filthy, vermin-infested ruins to find the one he seeked. The streets were pitted with potholes, and were in desperate need of repair. But then again, so did the whole city. He climbed out of the car, hoping that he would not have to stay in this God-forsaken city for long.

As he walked, he barely noticed the people of the former city. They were stick thin. ‘Why had the government not helped yet?’ he wondered as he wandered the streets, looking for the only one who could help him. Of course, all the relatively smart people had left the city, but who said that everyone was smart? Of course, he HAD lived in the city before….

He sighed; knowing the person whom he was looking for would not be on the larger streets. His informants had told him that much, but did he listen?…. nope, he didn’t, but that didn’t matter much. The person he was looking for would be in the city. ‘It’s not like he’s going to hop onto a bus and drive out of here,’ he thought. No, there was no public transportation to and from the city.

He headed down a side alley, and the putrid smell of sewage drifted up to his nose. A sewer line was located in the alley, and it had broken, distributing both sewage and this….smell throughout the alley. He frowned, hating the city more and more every minute….

He kept walking down the alley, and he knew instinctively that the one he was looking for would be down here….

He stepped closer, and closer….

And then he saw the one he was looking for….

It was his wife.

She was barely a shadow of her former self. She, like the rest of the remaining populace, was stick-thin. She was dressed in rags, and not the fine clothes she had been in. She smiled, her yellow and broken teeth visible to him. Her hair….her hair was also a former shadow of itself. In one year, she had aged 15.

She smiled at him, then said, “Hello, m’dear. I should have heeded your advice, but I didn’t, and look where it got me. I should not have been so stubborn….”

His eyes darkened with sadness. He remembered that day perfectly. She, like so many of the rich nobles, refused to leave her precious goods and her home behind. “This is where I live, this is where all my things and memories are, I am NOT leaving,” she had told him. He grieved inside, but knew it was a lost cause to get her to leave. He had begged, groveled, did anything he could to make her leave, but she didn’t, she wouldn’t. The conquering enemy had given them a day to pack up their things and leave, then it would break out into total war. He had left, unlike the many foolish aristocrats….

He pulled her up, and said, “Come with me, we can go to where I live now.”

She refused, saying, “My fate is tied with the city’s, I cannot leave now.” He sighed, knowing, like that day long ago, she would be too stubborn to reason with. “Come with me, the enemy is going to drop a bomb on the city. If you don’t leave now, you will be incinerated like the rest of the city….please come, please.”

He hoped that if she knew what would happen to the city, she would leave, but still she said no…. Then he told her, “Come with me, and we can rebuild the city. I loved it too, and I gave it up. You can too…. Please….”

Yet she still refused. He sighed, and said, “You aren’t going to leave, are you? Just like that day…. Please come with me…. You made your mistake that day, please don’t make the same one again….”

He made a mark on the ground, and walked away, hoping she would get up and follow him, for it had to be her choice. She still would not budge. He then whispered in the wind, “Goodbye, my love, I shall miss you….”

Then, the city was bombed, eliminated from the surface of Terra….

The city stands today, tall and proud, and a plaque lay in the in the center of the park, in the center of the city. It lay on the exact place he marked, and it said,
“In loving memory of my wife, I rebuilt this city she so loved.
–Markus Grensburg”.

THE END

Story by: Zabarack

NOTE: Terra = Earth, it is the Latin word for Earth.

[Tor]

A link to my entry - trattoblessing.proboards39.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=storyboard&thread=1183239148

(I entered it as Zukozu)

[Zeth]

Dark and empty were the alleyways of the decaying city, a city that once stood proud and tall. Now the buildings were mostly beyond repair, everyone who remained – those who had not fled when the fighting had first broke out – were dirt poor and malnourished. Food was impossibility to acquire; clean water was another. Rats rampaged through the streets like they were the ones really running the place, and the vermin certainly had managed to scrape a good deal out of the disaster. The starving occupants of the one famed city were like shadows in the night. Those who could remain unseen, those were the ones who had managed to survive this long.

But there was one, in a dark alleyway. Past the rats feasting on a corpse of some god-forsaken being that might once have been called a human. Past the piles of stinking garbage, and not quite near the now open sewers. There was one, who had managed to survive the plight of the broken city. One who had a rather unique story to tell.

The man pulled his dusty scratched up leather coat closer to his body, his breath rising in misty plumes. His heavy boots almost lost their tenuous grip on the iced muddy puddle as he threaded his way carefully through the cluttered and filthy alley. He emerged, slowly, out on what had once been a proud and busy street. The shell of a car rotted by the entrance, a lamppost bent forlornly over the street, its bulb smashed and shattered, lying on the grime-covered tarmac.

The man’s steel grey eyes flickered to the left, attracted by movement, but it was only a faded and grimy sheet of newspaper that had somehow managed not to be turned into mulch in the rain before the ice. He didn’t question it, he had other things to do and to think about.

The street was clear, at least it looked it, and the tall man slipped into the street, hugging his long coat to him against the cold, his pace set at a hurried walk. He needed to get there before the night set in; night was a very dangerous time to be on the streets. Only the cleverest or the luckiest had managed to survive this long.

The sun was setting in the west, the remaining, crumbling buildings were showered in the glowing light, and the shadows were stretched to the extreme, he managed to make it to the door, just in time apparently.

“Where have you been?” A gruff voice asked from the shadowed doorway.
“Out. Looking for food? You know? The stuff we need to live?” The man answered, his leather coat ruffled in the chill breeze that brought with it the stench of rot and decay, his brown hair fell in front of his face and irritated, he brushed it away again. “Look are you gonna let me in Karl?”
The barrel of a gun emerged from the shaded doorway, cast in the blood red light of the setting sun.
“Well there’s no doubt that you’re the sarky Mitch who left this morning, but how do I know you ain’t been bit?” Rodge asked, his face appearing as he stepped into the light. He had four nasty looking scratches down his right cheek, like deep fingernail marks. His brown eyes were flinty with hardship, his knuckles scabbed from when he had bloodied them pounding on some unknown victim’s face, his hair had been shaved off and he had tattoos winding up the back of his neck and on one side of his head.

Mitch gave him an impatient look. “Aye, cause if I’d been bit I would let myself turn.” He snapped. “Look, just lemme in will ya?”
Karl shrugged, his pierced eyebrows rising slightly before he stood aside, the creak of a heavy door swinging open behind him and Mitch pushed past him into the dimly lit room.

As Mitch stepped in, he heard Karl shut the door behind him, and the comforting sound of a dozen or so locks being clicked into place. The room had a few faces in it, all of which he knew, candles burnt around the room and were the only source of illumination. They had been hiding, surviving, in here since it started.

No one knows exactly how it began, where it come from. They thought it was just riots at first, no one would suspect the truth, until they were unable to deny it. Lately, people had a bad habit of staying dead.

Whatever it was, passed through blood or saliva. Once you’ve been bitten, that’s it, in 24 hours you’re dead, Mitch had seen it for himself, only you would only stay dead for a minute or so, then you’d come back to life – if you could call it that. You’d have no intelligence, just the will to eat and devour living flesh. Humans, living humans, were becoming scarce.

This particular group of people had managed to survive through tough times due to their determination, their heavily guarded and well-picked place to hide, and just a little sheer-dumb luck. They had some tough rules which enabled them to survive for this long, no matter what the circumstance, or who you were, if you got bit, you either killed yourself or someone else would do it for you. No hesitation and no escape. A scratch was a different matter, that means you may or may not end up as the living dead, this meant two days quarantine taking your chances in the derelict city. If you came back just before sundown on the second day still alive, then you were allowed back inside. One guy had kicked off at the idea of 48 hours out on his own, but there were no exceptions to the rules.

Mitch frowned, the room had no windows, it was safer this way, and having been lit by candles all day it was very hot. He shrugged off his cost, revealing his assortment of weapons beneath. A woman wheedled her way through the scattered chairs towards him, her eyebrow raised.
“Geez Mitch, you got enough fire-power on ya?” She asked, tucking her long black hair behind an ear that was full of piercings.
“Well no one can say I’m not prepared.” Mitch replied.
She grinned, her green eyes sparking with mischief. Fiona was someone who could act as if she was weak and needed a lot of protection if it so suited her, but she was as tough as nails really, and helped Mitch get out of one or two tight situations.

“Oi, Mitch, you bring back any food?” A voice shouted from the corner, a man in a red football shirt stood up, his hair shaved, a gold chain around his neck. Mitch fought back the urge to sneer, the guy was called Rob, and he irritated Mitch at the best of times.
“Does it look like I did?”
“No. It doesn’t.” Rob said, pushing a table out of his way as he stalked towards Mitch, the table smashing into the wall with a loud smack. “So what? We’re expected to go without food for another day?”
“Well I didn’t see you out braving the stores looking for food today Rob.” Mitch growled.

The diseased did not like the daylight, no one quite knew why. But they hid inside any building that had an open door, any building they could get into, during the day. So shopping for groceries held a lot more danger than the occasional rotten apple.

Rob sneered, but turned back to his corner again.
“Hey why hasn’t Josh come back with you?” Fiona asked.
Mitch frowned, the question worried him slightly, “He’s not back already?” He asked.
Fiona shook her head. “Why wasn’t he with you?”
“Lack of food, we decided to split up to cover more ground. I was searching father a field, he should have beaten me back.”
Fiona sighed and averted her gaze. “I guess he couldn’t.”
“Idiot. You split up? What were you thinking?” Karl asked, slight venom in his voice.
“What? We need food, or we all die.” Mitch said. “Besides, if we hadn’t split up, I would never have found another group of survivors.”
“Did they have food? If not I don’t see why it’s important.” Rob sneered.
“No, but they did have news.” Mitch replied. “There’s going to be a shipment of food, clean water and supplies dropped off at the edge of the city.”
“How do they know this? Where’s this information come from?” Piped up another voice, a woman who had until then been silent. Her name was Chrissie, she still wore her army uniform, she was one of the troops that had been abandoned here after she had been trying to keep the order.

She was a valuable asset to the group, and had taught a few of them who had not known how to shoot already the basics to survive. Karl himself was extremely grateful for that, before he had met Chrissie, he had always used his fists, he was a mean fighter, but the most he had used a gun was in arcade shooting games.

Mitch shrugged. “That’s what I asked, they have a radio. The rest of the world knows that there are pockets of survivors, and the charities, are organising a drop off of supplies outside all the major cities. The recorded message sounds official enough.”
“Food? Why not just get us out of here?!” Rob shouted angrily.
“Because, it’s too much of a risk. Why take the chance of this spreading?”
“But we’re not like them? We’re alive! But we won’t be for much longer like this!” Rob raged.
“Yeah, but what do foreign governments care about a few survivors? They’ve got their own country, their own people to look out for.” Fiona muttered.

Silence fell over the group.

“So what do we do?” Fiona asked, breaking the silence that had ensued her last comment.
“Carry on as normal. It’s bull. We can survive here, outside? Who knows… We could get bit, we could all die for nothing!” Rob spat, shaking his head.
“But you said yourself Rob, we need supplies.” Mitch said slowly.
“If we move in daylight, we’d be safe enough. We’ve pretty much exhausted the supplies within a day’s walking distance of this place. We need something.” Karl added.
“Oh, and going on a suicide mission would solve that wouldn’t it? We’d all be dead, so we wouldn’t need food! Perfect solution from an idiotic goth!” Rob retorted.

“Hey! There’s no need for that!” Fiona snapped, her green eyes flashing. Rob was very good at creating arguments, he had lost his two allies recently, the whole group had been bigger, but the infected outside were claiming more of them each time they had to go out looking for food.
“What? It’s true though.” Rob spat. “You lot disgust me!”
“You know there’s another advantage to going to check out this supposed drop-off point…” Mitch mused. Everyone turned to stare inquiringly at him, he sat down on one of the chair, putting his feet up on a table. He smirked. “Rob might wind up dead.” He finished.

Karl laughed. “Why get the infected to do that, when we can do it for ourselves?” Karl’s hands were curling into fists.
“And here I thought we were survivors.” Fiona said, her voice flat with sarcasm. “But it seems you’re the ones who are set on death, instead of life. Go on then, kill each other. It’ll be less mouths to feed.”

“We’re getting off topic. We need food, and Karl is right, there’s no food left in the surrounding area. If we play it clever, we can make it there and back with minimal or no losses. Even if it turns out to be a false hope, we can still collect food on the way back.” Chrissie said.
“We’d all need to go, so we all carry as much as possible.” Mitch agreed.
“How far is it away? And when will the drop off be made?” She asked.
“12 o’clock tomorrow, and on top of Peter’s hill.” Mitch said, referring to the wide topped hill that was in a large park on the edge of the city.
“If we left now, we could get there in time.” Chrissie said.
“What? Travel at night? You’re insane!” Rob spluttered.
“Well if you’re too scared Rob, you’re welcome to stay here and cower with your tail between your legs.” Fiona snapped.
“No. To get as much food as possible we’re all going to have to go.” Chrissie said simply.
“So we either all go, or we all stay and starve.” Karl said. “I’m in.”
“Me too.” Fiona added.
Chrissie nodded, and Mitch shrugged. “Sure…” He said.

All eyes turned to Rob, who found himself outnumbered. “Fine!” He hissed through gritted teeth.

The next hour was spent with everyone gathering together their things, weapons were reloaded, those that they couldn’t carry with them were stashed away in hidden compartments that they had made. Eventually, they were all ready to go. The place was locked up, and Chrissie and Mitch cleared the street outside. No sign of any movement - so far.

They all slipped out onto the abandoned street, breath steaming in the chill air. Mitch gripped his gun with his face set in a grim expression. It wasn’t a question of if they could see any of the infected. It was a question of when, and how many.

The first was they saw was when they rounded the corner. They carried no lights with them, which both worked with and against them. The infected were drawn towards the light, but without light it made it harder to see. Lucky for them, the half moon was out.

It was Mitch who saw them first, their eyes lifeless and bloody, flesh rotting and torn, clothes barely hanging on in most cases. There was about four of them, easily dispatched. They had smelt them way before Mitch had seen them, and as the infected saw their prey, one, what had been a woman, let out a hunting cry – which was cut short by a bullet. Mitch sneered; his other bullet had missed the target and hit the other in the shoulder. Snapping their necks or shooting them in the head was the only way to stop them. Chrissie’s shot killed it, and between them they made light work of the other two. The others knew better than to try their aim on those targets. They needed to conserve their ammo as much as possible. Mitch and Chrissie were the ones who were sure of their aim.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that there’ll be ammo in these supplies.” Chrissie muttered, as if to herself. “Come on, we need to keep moving, more of them will have heard that.”

The others needed no more encouragement. They moved, relentlessly, through the decayed city, all through the night. Not stopping, killing the flesh-craving walking corpses as they went. They walked in the middle of the widest streets possible, and dawn took too long to arrive. It seemed like an eternity, creeping through the dark streets, all senses on alert, eyes darting and suspecting that every shadow harboured masses of the living dead.

But even with the dawn there came little comfort, even in the pale light of morning it was still dangerous, and no one allowed themselves to feel safe.

They managed to reach Peter’s Hill an hour before 12, and then Chrissie allowed them to rest, Fiona collapsed on a nearby bench and immediately took off her shoes, rubbing her sore feet. Rob and Karl also settled down, only Mitch and Chrissie remained standing, guns still out, alert and ready. They were in an open spot, they could see anyone, anything, coming - there would be no creeping up on them.

“Well. Where’s all these supplies?” Rob asked.
“It’s not 12 yet.” Karl muttered.
“Where are your friends Mitch? Why aren’t they here?”
“Maybe they’re on the other side of the hill, maybe they’re not here yet.” Fiona suggested, “Who the hell knows Rob? Who cares? Just shut up you’re doing everyone’s head in!”

The minutes drudged by slowly, Mitch and Chrissie barely moved a muscle.

11.59. Everyone was getting restless, especially Rob.
“Where the hell is it Mitch? Don’t tell me you’ve risked all our lives for nothing!” Rob kicked a can in his frustration, it was the nearest thing he could vent his anger on that would not hit back.
“Patience isn’t one of your virtues is it Rob?” Chrissie asked, her eyes searching skywards for a second, before returning to scan the surrounding area.
“Ha! Rob has virtues?” Fiona spluttered, laughing.

“What are those?” Karl asked, standing now. He was pointing to the sky, Mitch looked up.
“That’s a lot of supplies.” Rob said in awe.
“They’re not supplies.” Mitch said grimly, casting a meaningful look at Chrissie. Her expression was unreadable.
“They’re missiles.” Chrissie filled in.

There wasn’t time for their shock to change to anger. There wasn’t time for anything as they watched the missiles rain down as they were doing all over the country. The foreign governments had sent help all right. The infection would be well and truly gone, but so would all other life. Maybe the foreign charities had organised actual supplies, but been overruled, but it didn’t exactly matter. They had front view tickets to the end of their world, blink and they’d miss it, but it would catch up with them in no time at all.

Perfectly timed, the missiles struck in unison, Mitch had been watching the nearest one fall lower and lower – he saw the clear and brutal logic of it all, the efficiency in which these falling bombs would wipe them all out, he saw how the rest of the world had dealt with the problem of infection, until he saw no more.



I added 2822 words.
zombies will take over the world. you'll see.

[Tarmalo]

(((ya this is my very first short story...hope you like)))

Dark and empty were the alleyways of the decaying city, a city that once stood proud and tall. Now the buildings were mostly beyond repair, everyone who remained – those who had not fled when the fighting had first broke out – were dirt poor and malnourished. Food was an impossibility to acquire; clean water was another. Rats rampaged through the streets like they were the ones really running the place and the vermin certainly had managed to scrape a good deal out of the disaster. The starving occupants of the one famed city were like shadows in the night. Those who could remain unseen, those were the ones who had managed to survive this long.

But there was one, in a dark alleyway. Past the rats feasting on a corpse of some god-forsaken being that might once have been called a human. Past the piles of stinking garbage, and not quite near the now open sewers. There was one, who had managed to survive the plight of the broken city. One who had a rather unique story to tell.
Telgra was tired of what the Empire had done to his home country. The once proud city of Hjeimlotus and its once bustling metropolis. Telgra planned on leaving this place, and living out on a new, Empire less land. He needed to find the right equipment to manage by himself incase he ran into any fiends. He had secretly scheduled a meeting with Balthier the weapon smith, for he owed him a large favor for saving his god-forsaken life. He would meet him in Sub-Hjeimlotus the underground sewers where some of the survivors took refuge. Telgra walked observing the decaying bodies that lay strewn all over the once main road into Hjeimlotus. He walked thinking back to when it happened; the fall of Hjeimlotus, when the Empire invaded.

It was early, about three thirty in the morning, and Telgra was on guard duty, patrolling a once beautiful ornate castle. He was beginning to get tired, and he thought it wouldn’t do any harm to sit and rest, if only for a couple of minutes. He sat down in a medium sized marble chair that had rubies, and emeralds embedded in its stone. Relief flooded through his system when hind met chair. He sat there only thirty seconds when a loud explosion took place where he would be standing if had he not sat down. Sirens were suddenly wailing a red glow suddenly engulfed the whole city as a barrage of airships suddenly unloaded their missiles upon the grand city. The whole city, nay County was caught off guard as their supposed allies suddenly stood at their doorstep with sword in hand. Enemy soldiers suddenly flooded the city mercilessly slaughtering everybody and anybody who was caught in their path.
It took twenty two minutes for the home-guard to properly respond to the threat at hand. Every thing went from bad to worse as suddenly a large mushroom shaped cloud suddenly erased three quarters of the city almost instantaneously. Telgra remembered nothing after that. Nuclear radiation had poisoned and what the blast had missed causing mutation and disease, walking zombies, riots, mutated animals that only knew violence…. They all became known as fiends.

Telgra had reached the safest part of the north end of the city, still devoid of life; he was close to the fiend ridden areas. He best be equipped with his gear before he go anymore north, no matter he was close to Balthier’s hideout. He turned around and backtracked twenty yards until he reached one of the alleyways, although one could hardly call it an alleyway. It was more of a small road that was somehow devoid of concrete debris. Telgra continued to walk along the alley way searching the landscape for a manhole that would lead to what was left of the survivors.
The once grand city, with its towering buildings, beautiful gardens, diverse bazaars, huge fountains …it was all gone, laid bare, totally, and utterly flattened with of course the occasional half standing building or house scattered about here and there. Telgra continued walking until he had reached his destination. A half open manhole decorated with the lost kingdoms seal; a raven on the hilt of a sword that was half way in to the ground. Telgra reached down to opened the man hole, and begin his decent down on to the sewers.

The stench was like a blow to the nuts. It literally knocked the wind out of him. When he reached the bottom he saw peasants hunkered down trying to hide thinking him an enemy. They were all dressed in soiled rags, and stunk of human manure. Telgra then thought of the way he looked…tall and slim he stood at a firm six foot. Medium length raven black hair. Slim, and tone; his mythril armor outlined, and enhanced his physique. Clearly distinguishing him from the others, like a shining star amongst the bleak darkness.
He decided to not to linger. He quickly left turning westward down the sewer tunnels, looking for Balthier’s hiding place. As Telgra walked he fell in to a depression just watching the peasants cower before him, why did they think him an enemy? His armor was clearly different from that of the Empire; his armor being of silver color and hints of blue here and there, while the Empire’s was a distinguished red and black. Telgra continued to walk down the dank fetid sewers carefully searching for Balthier’s hiding spot. Pretty soon Telgra reached a sign across the sewers that said “Balthier’s hiding spot” it was directly pointing at the side of the sewers.

Telgra reached out and with a commanding voice he said “Be noct torn soum kampa lootsatctru.” There was a bright flash, and as seal appeared upon the door. A half man, half dragon walked out that had bright green scales, broad snout, and over all looked like a man, but with dragon features.
“Who goes there,” he shouted defensively. “Who dares pulls me from my abode unwillingly.” The dragon man stood tall, a full foot and a half taller than Telgra. He looked down finally seeing Telgra.
“Why hello my small friend,” he exclaimed happily. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Yes I believe my smallness is quite the necessity among fiends though,” said Telgra. “It is however good to see you Balthier,” said Telgra. “I have come to full fill your promise on some free equipment,” said Telgra in a matter of fact tone.
“Oh…I see,” said Balthier in a hardy tone. “Always straight to the point with you is it…well are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” The green human dragon named Balthier than turned around and walked through the seal…walking through solid concrete wall. Telgra quickly followed suit; the inside of Balthier’s house was unlike the sewers…it was more homely. It resembled the inside of a large cottage, and smelled of Indian sage mixed with sweet grass, and cedar. The smell comforted Telgra; making him forget about his oncoming troubles.
“Ok,” said Balthier. “What do you need?” He then pointed to the counters and hangers that held nothing but swords, axes, spears, bows, and much more.
“What could the captain of the guard possibly need?”
“Please,” said Telgra. “Don’t remind me…I failed to save my king and my country…I deserve to die.”
“Oh, come on,” said Balthier. “Don’t be so hard on your self… you know it wasn’ your fault.”
“That’s not the point Balthier, my job is to PROTECT king and country, and I failed to do both…I do deserve to die, and I would kill myself if not for Christi.”
“Oh ya I forgot about her,” said Balthier. “Telgra how IS she doing?”
“She was kidnapped by a necromonger,” said Telgra. “I have come to arm myself, and hunt down the fiend.’”
Telgra began walking over to the neat wooden shelves that held the equipment that he desired. Flame Tongue sat in one corner; it looked like a ninja sword except the blade was bathed in a deep blood red maroon color, and the second sword: the Fire Brand, which looked exactly like a broad sword but with the same hue and saturation of the Flame Tongue.

“Oh no,” cried Balthier. “Not my two best swords,” said Balthier as he ran in vain to protect his treasures. “Why must you pick my best and only powerfull swords?” Telgra didn’t answer he only stood staring at both of the swords sizing them up. He knew of their prowess, he knew of their destructive might.
“I would like these two swords,” said Telgra quietly. He picked them up completely ignoring Balthier, and walked over to another shelf opposite to the one in front of him. He picked up a pair of white scabbards; they both had straps to put on the waist or behind the back. Telgra put the Fire brand in one of the white scabbards and put it behind his back and the second one with Flame Tongue at his waist on the right hand side. After he was finished with outfitting himself, Telgra bowed to Balthier.
“I thank thee for thy gift,” said Telgra.
“Don’t mention it,” mumbled Balthier. “Really, I’m serious…you really do love her don’t you…Christi I mean,” said Balthier. Telgra turned around to answer him.
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “Yes I do.”

He turned around, and instead of going out the way he came; he merely raised his arms and closed his eyes. He began to think of when the last time he saw her, and where that was. The grasslands of Kanoba the one that lay just outside the ruins of Hjeimlotus. He continued to raise his arms over his head until they were fully above him.
“Bien som pooka non shoeba last peik lout bjuim,” he said as he began to lower his arms till they were directly in front of him. He raised his palms so that the front of them faced the wall he continued with his chant being in deep consitration. "Lost yoom Christi gemba noth ren lot us Kanoba bein PARTHA!!!" The air around him suddenly lost all heat, and gentleness it once had. The air was now completely and udderly frigid. Telgra thrust his palms in midair, and the space in front of him shattered like glass revealing the seal of the fallen kingdom of Hjeimlotus. Telgra looked back at Balthier again and bowed. He rose and walked throught the seal...dissappearing into nothingness.

A Bright and beautiful sun shone down upon the grasslands Kanoba. Its tall grass slowly swaying gently in the cool breeze, untainted animals still lingered here and there, but the Kanoba Grasslands were known for their mass infection of devilish fiends. The land seemed peaceful despite the fact that if anybody who ventured to far would be brutally murdered by the fiends that lingered about. The wind began to die down, and eventually halted altogether. The color drained from the land becoming a bleak balck and white version of the land, time seemed to halt...freezing everything. The seal of Hjeimlotus ripped out of thin air and out of stepped Telgra...he wore a strong yet grave expression that clearly spoke of the troubles going through his mind. Telgra looked examining his surroundings; he was about thirty two kilometers from the ruins Hjeimlotus, about the position where he last saw Christi. He began walking following the invisible trail his mind had wrought when he last had been out here.
Then he heard a sound that chilled his blood to the bone; a blood curdling scream came from a depression in the ground, and it came from the women his heart so desires: Christi. Suddenly giant troll like zombie necromongers materialized all around him, and a human necromonger in the middle. He had Christi in chains, and by the look of things she would would be dying VERY soon if she did not get the proper help. She mouthed to him the words "help me."
"Well," said the human necromunger in a sneering tone. "Does thou bringith thy money?"
"I have right here," replied Telgra. He then proceeded to cut a off bag that was hanging off the midsection of his armor, and tossed it at the necromonger. The bag was filled to the brim with gold.
The necromonger then signaled to one of the undead trolls and walked off. The troll walked over and picked up the petit human women and walked over to Telgra with the women strewn over his back like a hunting trophy. The human necromungers voice than said "thas balk khan" which meant kill her. The troll picked up the women and snapped her body in half then twisting, and ripping her in two. Her blood drenched his skin, dying it temporarly red. Telgra lowered his head, and with a great sweeping motion he pulled both of swords simultaneously. The red swords emediatly erupted in flame, but the flame did not stop at the end of the blade. No the flames crept up his body completly consuming body and soul. Telgra went into a complete rage...nothing could stand in the way of his fury. He cut down the large trolls like their skin was butter, they hardly put up a decent fight. After slaying the trolls he continued to go to his next objective...kill the necromonger. The magic in the swords increased his magics one hundred fold, allowing him to track the necromonger with ease.
The Necromonger lay in wait for him, sword in hand. He held a long slim black sword, he wore a black cloak that shrowded his entire body. Only the deep and horrid face stood out from the rest of his clothes. No words took place between the two as one consumed by flame began fighting the other who resembled death. On and on the two fought perfectly laying blow after blow, counterblow after counterblow. It was like a fluid dance between the two, almost perfectly matched they kept battling. Striking and retreating, countermeasure after blow. On and on it still went they battled for hours yet none dhowed any sign of weakness. That is until Telgra pushed his foot out more than he was supposed to on his counterblow, and he knocked the necromonger off balance. Quickly realizing his oppertunity, Telgra brang his swords in one long sweeping arc, and promply chopped off th enecromongers head. The necromonger fell to his knees.. his body turned to ash, and was scattered to the four winds.

Telgra walked back to his brides corpse...hoping in vain she would not be dead. She was in peices. At the sight of the remnents of her corpse. Telgra fell to his knees and broke down to tears mixing the ground with blood and salty tears. He sat there on his knees for more than an hour crying and cursing at the heavens. Finally when he had no more tears to shed, he stood up and unsheathed his sword Fire Brand and began examining it.
"Whats the point," muttered. He than took the sword and shoved it throough his chest embracing the heat that suddenly fired through his body. Telgra then unsheathed Flame Tongue, and shoved the sword through his neck....ending his life. All he could see was red, and then nothing.