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Pieces of a Story: The Black

[audio:http://dreamlandapparel.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/04-River.mp3|titles=04 River]

(Other Pieces)

He was gone. She had longed for him only to lose him.

As her crystalline sanctuary collapsed around her the gaps brightened with sights she’d seen before. In-between the quadrants known as “The Crown” and “Honesty” she’d built a brilliant lie.

The city was divided into a dozen slices, and each was equal in size and stature. Where the quarter marks concluded their titles were shapely in symbolism: The Scepter in the West, The Sword in the East, The Throne in the South, and The Crown in the North. Accompanying each were two colonies named after the Attributes of Rule: Honesty, Truth, Chastity, Benevolence, Virtue, Good Will, Courage, and Honor. Four symbols + eight attributes = twelve colonies, all named after The Council who governed them.

Within a space no one knew existed was the extra minute Brutus had been questing for. Locked with magic but breeched by blood. The sacrifice: born of a devilish art; an irreverent opening which led a goddess to whisper her name in haste.

“Surasundari.” The menacing tone fell from lips leading their master inward. “Tighten your jaw peasant. Divinity you aren’t thus you shall not speak the name of one.” The goddess arose from where she’d left her lover and stalked through the air towards her aggressor.

“Watch your step witch!” Brutus growled through the black sputtering about his teeth. Dark shapes danced about as he continued, “The Fifth is what they call you, and so I shall follow suit. Though never again will my knee touch the ground in subservience to that title. You are a necessity like water, no more or less. In this I stand firm… and so you will BOW!!!” The black burst forth from him with fury, and the darkness broke her upright assurance.

“Kneel you treacherous little slave fucker!” The blackness grew in size and strength, and attacked as ghouls and gloomy serpents.


No sun crossed the sky above the black desert, and no stars dotted the heavens. So with no markers to make the time the warrior’s travels seemed infinite. How long had he been walking? The question only inspired madness. His stay had remained as bright as noon for what seemed like many moons. Though his footsteps felt legions long his progress appeared anything but.

Earlier he’d been possessed by the vision of an odd oasis. A far off retreat that appeared man made. However, it came to him at random. Closer at times than others, but always lost in a haze of doubt and despair. He’d wondered as to why this distant vision came so curiously. Was it real? His logic led him to conclude dehydration was the cause. His spirit overpowered this deduction.

Like any broken-hearted quester his mind bounced about while his feet looked for answers. As a lost soul he found solace not in the destination, but along the silent path. With considerable analysis he surmised that the vision was connected to thoughts of Surasundari; something about her in particular. So he traversed through them all from the very first one forward; adrift in his mind as he was on the sands. There was no sense in stopping for there was no refuge to be had. Only the hope dreams would come true. And as his steps grew staggered, his thoughts of The Fifth came closer to their end. To the last words she spoke, words which began a story, the story of twelve men… twelve kings. As he worked to recall the exact details of the tale he halted. His feet could take no more and so he fell in turn.

“Twelve kings, twelve men who captured a god…” The words broke over his cracked lips as he blew them into the dark dust.

“No, a goddess.”

These words came from elsewhere.

[audio:http://dreamlandapparel.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/07-Daft-Punk-The-Son-Of-Flynn-Moby-Remix.mp3|titles=07 - Daft Punk - The Son Of Flynn (Moby Remix)]


She could take it no longer. Her limbs thrust outwards in a snap. With them followed her GHOST, and the darkness which plagued her was erased in its presence. Naked and exhausted she stood again with pride. Her domineering posture soon stumbled however, as she awoke to the world around her. During their dual time had passed where it never had before. Where once there were clarion clouds, now there existed a gaping crevasse. The crumbling remains of buildings towered around the two foes, filled with the Foundation’s flock. This poor lot had never seen their goddess in such a setting, and it frightened them in the utmost.

The earth began to tremble from VULTR’s on the prowl. Hundreds of the dragon-like vehicles hovered in the sky above. “Surrender goddess, you may have bested me, but your legacy’s in turmoil.” Brutus screamed over the noise. The buildings brittle from the explosion began to decay further. Surasundari quickly realized the predicament she was placing her people in. “Follow me to the ziggurat goddess… where we may learn to reason together.” A smirk brushed Brutus’ lips briefly. Surasundari saw the evil in it. Fearless she walked towards him, and with a touch the two of them disappeared.



Water. Black but all around him. The warrior dunked his head within its depths with the intent to swallow it all. After a couple gulps he arose from the refreshment satisfied. The voice he’d quickly forgotten returned. “The pleasure of the drink is no different than your thirst, an illusion. Welcome to the lands of The Lost Kingdom: where madness meets men to make them so.” The warrior looked up to see the body which breathed these words. There before a black wall centered with a gate was a mighty creature. His body grey and muscled, like that of a colorless man; larger in stature than any though, for his proportions were goliath. Stanger than this was his skull; curved like the demons drawn by frightened youth.

Shaken by the sight the warrior quickly got to his feet. He unstrapped Beatrice from his back and flung her into his hands. As the hilt slapped against his palms his body contorted to crack away his idleness.

“What are you great beast? And why do you desire my fear?”

“Your fear? No tiny warrior you mistake my tone. The promise of madness is no threat. For you see this was once a land? You, like it, must fade away into its blackness.”

The warrior still with sword in hand examined the speaking monolith. As a soldier his eye was a questioning one. His opponent stood before a door. Odd, for there was nothing before it or behind but more black sand. Or so it seemed. Considering the beast’s pacing the warrior knew he had to pass through it to be sure.

“Let me pass.” The monster looked back a bit astonished. He admired the warrior’s courage, but his resolve remained and was explained in speech:

This gate was entrusted to my guard a millennia ago. I am The Sentinel, ‘the keeper of the secret,’ and all that need stand before you so that you may never walk beyond. Whether your tactics be in sword or speech none shall succeed.

The warrior rushed at The Sentinel. The beast responded by wielding a mace with a striking ball as big as a boulder. Spiked and swung high it soon came down with force. Yet not fast enough as the warrior slid past its strike towards the wall. Reaching it he ran up the face and used its flat features to his advantage. Springing from it he directed his flight at The Sentinel. Beatrice raised up and came down only to meet the mace’s handle. The beast had again responded with quick efficiency. His defensive and offensive strengths were admirable.

As the warrior landed he pondered a tactical change. Numerous were made, none strong enough or clever in kind to harm the giant. “It’s clear you’ve bested me in sword, but what of speech?” As the request was spoken the Sentinel switched his stance. Stoic he stood with reply, “you request a riddle?” And after a brief pause, “beware to answer only once, for only once you shall.”

The warrior housed his crude piece of iron along his spine. “Speak your riddle,” he asked humbly. The Sentinel disarmed, stooped, and sat cross-legged. With a moan that spoke of aged bones he followed up with the query:

What has three eyes, is built of breath, and though it learns to walk will only ever struggle?


  • Anonymous

    Another good one, great pictures as well!

  • Anonymous

    Nice parallel stories, though neither of our heroes is in a very good spot right here. Brutus just gets more and more nasty, which is great. (Looking forward to possibly more about him? :D ) Am liking that giant sentry as well. He’s just doing his job – I don’t get the feeling he’s a bad guy. Oh wow, this is great stuff! (Sorry for the delay!)

    • Anonymous

      He is just doing his job… where we go next is going to be the biggest shift next. In the beginning I had an end goal involved. That goal has gained a lot more motivation and depth along the way. I really want to share my world with people so yes… more Brutus, more complexity, more theology, action, and intrigue. I am introducing a new character in the next one… and we draw ever closer to learning the warrior’s name :)

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