KingKoral

Hy, the two stories I had in my last messages are entered in the Flash fiction contest and I would appreciate all your support for my (shortened) story… in other words…

http://editorunleashed.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1660
VOTE 5 NAOW

The horses’ steps clattered on the hard gravel road leading to the village, echoing through and around the thatched walls of the farm village slowly fading away into the emptiness of the twilight engulfed fields as it pulled the wagon down the road. The ripple of sound did however reach the ears of a dozing boy.

The boy shot up with a startle, the faint traces of light drifting across the sky as he had fallen asleep were now replaced by the stark purples, greys and blacks of twilight. His day had been long as he was seen by his village when it came to work, but still a boy when it came to chores . with the cool air of twilight and a hard days work under his belt he had drifted off.

His arms, to long for his boyish frame flung him over the wall, into a stumbling run as his feet found purchase on the hardened clay of the village path. He raced down side street and alley ways he had known his entire life and up a slight incline that gave him view of the main road leading to there small humble town.

He skidded down the last incline of the hill, constantly picking at the largest dirt patches and stains from assorted meals and stood at the edge of the road waiting as the wagon drew closer carried by the even steps of an old horse.

The boy pulled himself up and sat next to the man. The man gently tugged the reigns, prompting the horse forward reluctantly as he enjoyed the rest, knowing he would travel many more miles tomorrow, or if his fickle master asked it, tonight. The boy drew closer to the pile of grey cloth and a hat patched to many times to tell its original material all latched to a frame that many would call skeletal before considering human.

“So where’s the big boy that was always with you? Might have been dumb as an ox but mighty handy in a fight if I recall, that time with the other village boys right.” A curl of nostalgia reached the boys fight as he recalled the fight and, later his mother’s scolding as he nursed many a bruise. “He has to finish repairing a scarecrow he broke a few days ago,” the hint of a raised eyebrow appeared on the old man’s face, querying this strange sentence yet also knowing sometimes ignorance is bliss.

“Well you see, he was out of the field waiting for me to come around but I had to deliver…” An inpatient tapping and a blank level look told him to move on with his tale. “So he was expecting me, and in his defense it was early, he somehow managed to see one of their scarecrows flapping about in the wind which according to him looked like me waving, so he shouted and waved back at me but I… It didn’t move.”

“So why did he destroy a scarecrow, that was not only doing its job and looking lifelike but, looked like you?” His deep wise voice held more than a hint of confusion. “Well, he says the scarecrow wasn’t even facing him, and the wind had died down so he wasn’t flapping any more either, so he felt I was ignoring him and decided to tackle me…” After several moments of silence the old man finally gave in and his mouth arched into a smile, unleashing a wave of laughter that could be compared to old parchment being stretched, long after it had started its confinement in the town storerooms.

After several minutes of laughter, followed by several minutes of coughing the old man resumed his usual stoic demeanour and finally said, “I still don’t see how a family that large, strong and as stupid as a ox needs scarecrows to keep bird’s away anyhow!” Another grin spread across his face “But don’t you dare tell them, because that’s one fight I would rather not get into.”

“But couldn’t you just destroy them in a instant with fire, or maybe a lightning bolt? In fact where have you been? Did you kill any dragons” Or maybe a witch?” The earlier facades of uninterest and maturity vanished and boyhood curiosity took its place.

“Fight a dragon? They’ve been dead for hundreds of years, and besides who would want to see a battle between dusty old spell-casters like me?” He had a air of mock surprise and if the boy wasn’t so excited he would of seen himself being lead into a conversation far from his original point. “But you would both do such wondrous things, like fly or call lightning!” The boys eye’s glazed over as battle upon battle ran through his head. Now you want me to fly AND summon lightning? Now wouldn’t you think being in the air at the same time as lightning would be a bad idea? And what of any towns or my comrades in the area?” He said this all in a matter of fact tone, hiding his amusement as the boy struggled for answers.

“Well why would you need comrades? I mean if you can shoot fire from your hands and such then why?” The wizard gazed into the darkness, leaving the boy’s mind hungry for answers. “Well if you had studied the arcane arts for years, your bones weak from age and hours spent in the dark, would you fight someone with the same powers, who could destroy you in a instant the same way you could destroy them? Or risk some peasant with a stick bludgeoning you in the back of the head?”

The boy looked down thinking of a response, the wizard let this sink in before continuing, “All magi have a unwritten agreement to attack or help our large blobs of meat, wrapped in metal and holding sharp sticks before facing each other, this helps stop the instant destruction and even if you ‘friend’ dies from some stupid mistake, wasting all those magic wards you set upon him, there is still a chance for retreat. In fact if you feel the need you can come back later with a bigger and stronger ‘friend’ and try again.”

“That doesn’t seem very honourable…” His eyes faded slightly as he was robbed of his image of fearless, honourable magi. “What is honour?” The wizard said, his mouth curved into a smile as the boy was drawn along on strings. “Honour is… It’s standing your ground even when you may die!” The boy almost shouted, eyes rekindled. “So if I stood my ground against a peasant with a stick, who may kill me and fried him with a bolt of lightning it’s honourable?” The mage almost smiled as the boy was frustrated as his words betrayed him.

“Honour is fighting for what you believe in and never giving up!” The boy said again seeing no fault in this new declaration. “Does the thief that murdered a kind king and stealing his jewels and being chased through the streets and finally being cornered in a alley, then forced to fight the guards because he knows he will be executed and still believes he has done right in his life, is he honourable?”

The boy stuttered at his infallible words turning against him, he stared blankly at his feet until the wizard finally spoke again, “I will be travelling on tonight, this is the edge of the village so now I must bid you farewell.” The flare of his words had returned but fell on a almost deaf ear as the boy struggled to define honour, once again the wizard spoke “Now next time I come I want you to tell me what honour is and truly mean it, or else you will become my apprentice.” The mage’s smile was concealed in the darkening light, lit only by the quarter moon.

The boy slid off the cart, already deep in thought. He stopped and said finally “And what if you cannot refute my definition of honour?” he looked over his shoulder at a empty road, no carriage or horse in sight even as a voice, almost a echo came to him “Then I shall be your apprentice and we shall both be fools wrapped in steel!”

The boy’s eyes searched around the already dark town for the source of the voice, a neigh and nostalgic laughter was all he found before walking back to his home deep in thought.

A Wizard’s Ramblings

The last of the horses steps echoed as it descended from the gravel strewn path way onto the dry and dusty clay roads of the village, patted down and firm from the millions of foot steps to have fallen over it in the hours of work the townsfolk had done each day. The echoes carried by the wind reached past a low lying fence and reached the ears of a boy, almost a man but in the villages’ eyes still a boy who, even as the quiet autumn twilight had bidden him to sleep had waited for that very sound.

His long arms propelled him over the wall, that so many times had been a castle to his young mind now even less than the time worn barrier that is was, and onto a running start with legs scraped and scarred from work and play and still too long for his boyish frame.

He ran through the twilight world and onto the streets ahead of the old carriage drawn by the old horse carrying the old man and stood patiently catching his breath, not wanting to look eager in front of the old man. The carriage slowly moved down the path, every pace evenly measured by the horse who knew he still had many miles to travel tomorrow, or if his fickle master felt it tonight.

The carriage stopped next to the boy, horse stopping even without need to be told. A face looked down from the cart, shadows engulfing it from the over sized and over patched hat. A wrinkled hand was the only guess to the owner, he might even have looked menacing to anyone else except this boy who had grown up with his frequent visits.

The long arms of the boy reached out again and pulled himself onto the carriage as it lurched into movement and sat down next to the large figure but slowly edged closer to the robe that seemed comfortably warm even in the chilled autumn night.

The man’s gaze had returned to the road and both sat in silence before he spoke, “So where’s the big boy that was always with you? Might have been dumb as an ox but would surely been a help in a fight.” The boy listened and remembered the voice, touched with a youthful nostalgia before replying to the deep but jestful tone “He had to finish repairing the scarecrow he broke a few days ago”, a long brown eyebrow rose into a query half wanting to know half knowing that ignorance is bliss. “Well you see, he was out on the field waiting for me to come round, but I had to deliver…” A inpatient tapping from the old man’s hand and a blank level look told him to move on with the story. “So he was expecting me, and in his defense it was very early, but somehow he managed to look up and saw there scarecrow flapping about in the wind, which according to him looked a lot like me waving, so he shouted out and waved back but I… The scarecrow didn’t move.”

“So why did he destroy a scarecrow that looked like you?” His deep, wise voice held more than a hint of confusion, “Well, he says that the scarecrow wasn’t even facing him so he thought I was ignoring him and decided to tackle me…” A large smile broke under the constant shadow of his hat and then a laugh, strong but crinkled like old parchment, stored to long in farm town vaults.

After several minutes his laughter died down and his usual stoic composure covered his face “I don’t see why a family that large, strong and stupid needs scarecrows to keep birds away! But boy you better not tell them I said that because that’s one fight I wouldn’t want to get into.” He said this in a tone of a man who had helped these very people raise children and keep cows healthy for years.

“But couldn’t you destroy them in a instant with fire, or a lightning bolt from the sky? In fact where have you been this time? Did you defeat any great evils? Maybe a powerful witch? What was it like?” The earlier facade of uninterest and maturity had vanished and boyhood curiosity had welled up.

“Why on earth would you want to hear about a battle between tired old spell-casters like me?” He had a air of mock surprise and if the boy wasn’t so excited he would see he was being lead into a conversation far from his original point. “Well you would both do such wonderful things, like summoning lightning or fly!” The boy’s eyes fell into a half gaze, running through battle upon battle of magic. “Now you want me to be flying while summoning lightning clouds? If I called lightning while up that high it would destroy us both, and any poor town under us, And what of my comrades?” He said this in a matter of fact tone hiding his amusement as the boy struggled for answers.

“Well why would you even need comrades, I mean if you can call lightning and such why?” The wizard knew he had the conversation and the boy’s mind exactly where he wanted it now so he stopped, and gazed out into the darkness. “Well if you had spent your life studying the arcane, your bones weak with age and hours spent in the dark, would you fight someone with the same powers, who could destroy you in a instant as much as you could destroy them?”

The boy looked down thinking of a response, the wizard waited a few moments before continuing “All mages have a unwritten agreement to attack or help the large blobs of meat wrapped in armour with pointy sticks before facing each other, this helps stop instant destruction and even of your ‘friend’ dies from some stupid mistake, even after the magic wards you’ve placed on him for his protection, there’s still a chance you can escape and return with a new ‘friend’ and fight again.”

“That doesn’t seem very honourable… ” His eyes faded slightly, robbed of the illusion of great, heroic mages. “What is honour?” The wizard said, his mouth curving into a smile as he drew the boy along on strings. “ Honour is… It’s standing your ground even when you might die!” the boy almost shouted, eyes rekindled. “So if I stood in the middle of the road and was killed by a speeding carriage it would be honourable?” All of the wisdom seemed stripped from the old mans face in that instant, frustrating the boy because his words betrayed him before this wizard, who may have betrayed his dreams.

“Honour is fighting for what you believe in and never giving up!” The boy said again seeing no fault in this new declaration. “Does the thief that murdered a kind king and stole his jewels, finally cornered in a alley, fighting the guards because he knows he will be executed and still believes he has done right in his life, is he honourable?”

The boy stuttered at his infallible words turning against him, he stared blankly at his feet until the wizard finally spoke again, “I will be travelling on tonight, this is the edge of the village so now I must bid you farewell.” The flare of his words had returned but fell on a almost deaf ear as the boy struggled to define honour, once again the wizard spoke “Now next time I come I want you to tell me what honour is and truly mean it, or else you will become my apprentice, just don’t let that ox headed friend of yours do anything ‘honourable’ for he may become your knight one day.” The mage secretly smiled, concealing it in the growing shadow over his face, his master had always said words were the strongest magic.

The boy slid off the cart, already deep in thought. He stopped and said finally “And what if you cannot refute my definition of honour?” he looked over his shoulder at a empty road, no carriage or horse in sight even as a voice, almost a echo came to him “Then I shall be your apprentice and we shall both be fools wrapped in steel!”

The boy searched around the already dark town for the source of the voice, a neigh and the nostalgic laughter before walking back to his home deep in thought.

By James Boyd

I did a drawing in the corner of a school book, and originally called it Smile! your dead, but after saying goodbye to my Japanese homestay I felt a asian approach was needed.

Inspiration - School? Ryota?

Font - Primafont

Image - James Boyd

Yo image for Zane first draft

Made by James Boyd inspired by Zane Davis

This is a draft of a image I’m doing for a friend

This is Forte inspired by Zane Davis, Font by Last Sound Track and made by me

I will get a better copy up soon.

Made by James Boyd

Hello all my avid fans,

I have been very busy lately, as of 2 weeks ago I had a Karate Comp in Auckland, it was my first time in Auckland so I was excited.

We left on Tuesday by bus leaving later than we hoped and tempers frayed as we had a long, cramped ride through mountians. Arriving very late and very tired we settled knowing the rest of the week would be a living hell.

Wednesday started like all good karate trips should, early wake up shouts from a angry sensei, blackbelts getting first showers and a brilliant breakfast by Chris, our resident cheif. The rest of the week continued in this fashion.

Comp day came and as me in my bragging predicted I walked home with gold for kata, gold for kumite and silver for team kata, oh and Alec’s dignity as a bonus prize.

I may expand later but for now that is all

Untill next time peons,

James

Kingkoral.com is back and will be better thn ever!

Anyway back to what i’m sure your all here for; info on my life…

This weekend was NZs southern Regional JKA karate championships and also a grading. I managed to get my new 4th Kyuu Purple belt, a bronze, a silver, a gold AND a shiney trophy to top it all off ^-^

Anyway i’m gonna fix the site now cya.