Darwin

So far, these are the working titles of The Prophecies of Tyrestia:
The Secret of the Hidden Land
The Phoenix War
The Blood of the Beast
The Red Knights of Myth
Rebelling of the Lands
The Undying Evil
The Child of Malgassa
The Sword of the Sworn
There might be one more, but maybe not.
Chapter 14: Betrayal Righted
Yawning with his muzzle wide, Weyn smacked his chops together loudly. He stood, having to crouch, and stretched his arms and legs. Life hidden aboard the ship was starting to grate on him, and he pined for the open fields, the rolling hills he called home. But he would likely never see Deroth again. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought, but forced the emotions down. Sadness was a weakness, one he would not tolerate. He was a N’ald, of Bloodstorm descent. No matter the sickening fact that another of that descent slew many wolves.
As much as he hated the man, Weyn still wondered how Logain was doing. If the man truly was the Naldinar incarnate, then perhaps the stories were true, perhaps Yurick nearly turned N’ald…and in his defeat and anger went on a rampage, killing wolf and N’ald alike. Until he was called on my the famed Phoenix. Then he was never seen from again in the N’ald realm.
The boards underneath him creaked as his weight shifted. He walked across the cramped quarters and sat back down on the bed that was still too small for him. If Logain couldn’t perform whatever task he was kidnapped to do, then life would soon be getting more interesting. Weyn wasn’t sure how exactly the group was supposed to escape, with no Wielders on their side, and a whole lot of water to traverse before getting out of range of both projectile and Wielder alike. The boy, and the captain both had Breakers on, stopping their ability to Wield, although Weyn didn’t even know the captain could Wield, and he suspected the boy still could—just barely. If that were truly the case, then perhaps there was still a chance for escape. Weyn hated to even think that his hopes rested solely on the man who was once Yurick Bloodstorm.
A knock at the door roused the N’ald, who realized that he was previously so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear the footsteps or the incessant creaking of the deck boards.
“Weyn, you okay in there?” a curiously worried voice carried through the thick door. It was Masc. Further, now that he had come to his senses, he smelled roasted chicken, or some sort of poultry, along with various steamed or baked vegetables, and bread, what smelled like fresh bread, with some herbs.
“Aye, come in,” Weyn grunted with a voice that was only a few steps above intelligible. These folk had a much smoother language, though Weyn spoke rather poetically in his own language. As Masc entered quickly and closed the door behind him, the smell of the food he carried in a box wafted stronger in the air, causing Weyn’s nostrils to flare and drool to begin to at his muzzle. He quickly wiped the drool away and waited for Masc to set the box on the small wooden table bolted to the floor. Odd, Weyn thought. The Brothers, as the crew called themselves, convinced the man to grow a goat’s beard—a tuft of hair on and under his chin, though not connecting to the sideburns he also sported. For some reason, it looked right on him. Goat’s beards were what ship captains wore in Revillion, Weyn understood.
“Thought something was wrong when you didn’t offer me in before I could knock,” Masc said with a weak grin underneath that garish hat and high collar. The scars covering his face were noticeable to Weyn from here, and he knew that, though Masc certainly enjoyed the garish hat and high collar, he started to grow weary of at least the hat.
Unbuttoning his coat and taking his hat off, Masc seemed to be taking his time about coming around to the food, which with every sniff made Weyn’s stomach grumble more and more. Soon his eyes became locked on the box, and as he heard Masc laugh, he knew he got his point across even without speaking.
“I suppose I don’t have to tell you what is in there, do I?” Masc asked, and Weyn shook his head. “Well, the bread is a new things, filled with garlic and some other herb. It tastes like a piece of heaven. I also got some greens, though I understand your distaste for them. They did have some healthy potatoes though, which I got for you.” As Masc described the food, he opened the box and handed Weyn a plate that resembled more of a bowl, which was common for ship dishes. On it was what Masc described, the chicken, the greens, the potatoes, and the bread. The chicken and the potatoes were smothered in a gravy that gave off a great aroma, and Weyn, as usual, didn’t bother with silverware. His hands weren’t accustomed to the silverware of man, and they had nothing similar for the N’ald folk. Masc took his food out and ate as well.
After the first plate, Masc drew another for him, this time the greens were gone, and more potato and chicken compensated the loss of space. Weyn finished both his large plates before Masc finished his one plate, but that, too, was normal. After wiping the last of his gravy with the herb bread and savoring the taste with eyes closed, Masc sent a fiendish grin in Weyn’s direction.
“Well, Master Bloodletter, we finally have some good news. First off, I, as well as my brother and the boy, are allowed off ship to collect things, and basically roam free in the town. But we are checked when leaving and boarding my ship, to make sure we do not have anything that could help us escape, and I fear since my brother and his woman friend tried to escape, we are being watched when we leave. But at least I can get good hot meals from somewhere other than the poor inns near the docks. So at least we will eat well.”
“Any word on the Naldinar?” Weyn asked, using the old name Yurick received through total irony. Masc shook his head. “No, nothin’ so far.” Masc paused. “I’m confused. You want him to succeed, or to fail?” he asked.
Weyn shrugged his massive shoulders. “Both, really. He is who we will end up following, if he is who he claims to be, but that is a grudge I cannot forgive for some time. It is known that, eventually, the N’ald shall follow Naldinar into battle, and since in his past life he was known as the Naldinar, it is he who we follow.” Silence engulfed the two like the night swallowing the last rays Sol cast upon the sky outside. Weyn didn’t like to speak much, though he spoke to Masc and the boy the most, and only because Masc brought his food and the boy was a Mystic. He must have Storm blood in him somewhere. He was in Zemm’s company, true enough, but not for long and not for convenient reasons. Zemm was to take him to Myth, to speak with Logain Nomev, but more importantly, to a T’oln named Shytok Windar. Windstorm, the letter wrote, by the time Weyn would reach the forest. It was a letter by a Mister training Windar to be an Elder. The letter was old. Likely Windar was close now to claiming Windstorm, perhaps still a Dine or two off.
After nearly half an hour of silence, every so often the captain seemed poised to say something, he stood, bowed shortly, and made his leave. Only minutes after he left, a small man Weyn knew as Biguer stepped into his quarters without knocking, frantic and pleading for help.
--The Blood of the Beast
Okay, new description. I'm Wayne, duh. You probably didn't stumble onto this page by a total fluke, so why pretend I don't know you vaguely somehow. You all should know how to get a hold of me (you're on a site that allows that much at least).
I'm easy-going, and not easy to anger. I try not to argue, but enjoy complaining about various things. Some people call me funny, some call me smart. Some call me neither.
I love to read books. I love to write books, too, as you will see by the quotes below. I tend to write fantasy novels (fantasy/sci-fi) though there are only three fantasy series: The Wheel of Time (rest in piece RJ), The Dark Tower, and some trilogy that I cannot remember anymore, that I've read. I mainly read fiction novels. I've read many of the classics, Jules Verne, Mark Twain, H.G. Wells, Edgar Allen Poe...
Philip Jose Farmer starts his series off well, but they tend to peter out near the end. I've read a few math books. Not learning how to do math, but books about math. I blame my high school math teacher for that. Now I'll gab about my own books:
"And the Cursed shall rise again, and Ragnarock will ride the pages of the Prophecies." -The Secret of the Hidden Land, The First book of The Prophecies of Tyrestia.
"By the end of the Phoenix War, both pillars of light shall fall, and all four pillars shall rise in darkness." -The Phoenix War, The Second book of The Prophecies of Tyrestia.
"Woe as his coat, and tears as his drink, pain and misery will grow in the footsteps of the Beast." -The Blood of the Beast, The Third book of The Prophecies of Tyrestia.
The quotes above are from a book series I'm working on. I enjoy it, hopefully some of you will, too.
The Prophecies of Tyrestia is a series about three Creator Gods, Sol Di'Rhed, Sactuise Di'Shad, and Vera Di'Mhid: the War Slayer, the Peace Slayer, and the Slayer of None, respectively.
In the first book, The Secret of the Hidden Land, Galam Tryton sets out from a hermitic life to the only city he's ever been to, Galius, in the middle of a jungle-forest. It would take him near a month or two to make the trek, but his father always taught him to visit it once a year, more or less. Of course, being the main character, he gets sidetracked.
The two oldest known Houses in the land of Tyrestia are the Bains (Those of the Over Lords[later renamed Emperors]) and Stronbirds (the filthy Vurnier) want Galam Tryton dead. Galam doesn't want to be dead. Galam soon finds out that the Prophecies of Tyrestia dictate that when a member of his family overthrows the Over Lord Herigm Bain, that is the sign that Ragnarock will come. Ragnarock is the end of the world.
So, after finding about how much of his family actually lived (a father and brother) Galam is intent to stop his father from overthrowing the Over Lord, while trying to find who the Cursed is, the Cursed being the man or woman possessed by Sactiuse Di'Shad, the Peace Slayer. Antics ensue
The second book, the Phoenix War, is all about Lirest. Mostly, at least. Sactiuse obviously attempted this whole taking over the mortal world before, so he comes back with cronies. His Lord General, the last one at least, Szetyc Moor, has entrenched himself in Lirest, and it is up to Logain Nomev to get him out of there. Logain Nomev is an incarnate, with a lot more intriguing things about him that I won't write here (nobody will get this far in reading anyway). Logain and Szetyc have animosity toward each other, and in fact, Sactiuse has a very high price for the head of Logain, Yurick-that-was, for it was Yurick Bloodstorm who thwarted Sactiuse last time.
If you've made it this far, you probably skipped ahead. So be it.
The third book, the Blood of the Beast, takes place some months after the Phoenix War. People have gone missing, problems are rising. No matter how many times good gets a victory, it seems like evil is gaining two more steps. Sactiuse's henchmen are springing up everywhere, stirring up trouble.
The world is divided in to four, north, south, east, and west Tyrestias, and the Towers of Thirteen have arisen. Dhe'lan--Keepers of the Fate--start to appear, and the Prophets of the Faith start to warn the Dhe'lan about the towers. Can't really say more without giving too much away...oh well, only a select few will read through the series itself, but I still like to write.
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