Tell us a story Great Grandpa!

[astralguardian]

Gimme just a bit while I play with format.... *Akthra beams and growls in joy at his listeners*

[astralguardian]

“Tell us a story great grandpa!” A bundle of energy stood slightly vibrating anxiously with his hands clasped tightly around his birthday present.

The youth had been given an old coin, the ages scraped and marked across it’s two faces describing a world unknown to historians or man. The deep gold and bronze colored coin was an uneven and worn about 3 inches roughly in diameter. One face had the weathered down face of a great warrior in a helm and carrying a lance. The other side was adorned with a cup, spilling out in lines that then curved upwards and touched two stars.

“Yes! Tell us of your folk story grandfather, the kids would love to hear it again, they just adore that story.” A young woman with bright green eyes, long flowing dark brown hair and a fancy, flowery spring dress spoke cheerfully as she cleaned up the last of the birthday cake dishes and forks.

“No, keep those far tales out of their ears. Bah! I don’t want to have to deal with their nightmares again, those dreams of dragons and wizards, bad men chasing witches to their deaths. No, none of it this time grandpa, you gave them that coin, this is enough for them to ponder their imaginations with.” Trisha rang out in disgust, her voice whining against the rushing of water from the faucet.

Great grandpa peered into the eyes of the young boy as he stood looking up a the sweeter-clad, rocking chair seated shrivel of a man. Great grandpa’s eyes seemed to almost glow to the young boy as his lips trembled with a retort, but thought better of his initial words.

“Some other time then little one, it seems your mother doesn’t believe in such stories.” Great grandpa looked up from the boy for a moment to see his older daughter frown and grimace at him.

“You’ve been telling us those stories for ages and look where’s gotten us? A short haired red head, which certainly wasn’t from his side of the family, replied tauntingly. “Just nightmares and bad omens, nothing but bad luck I tell you… just… like this table… err. Can’t get this dang leaf out! For pete’s sake, Rhonda, will you help me with this?!” Those words struck the old man in the heart, deeper than any thing in his strange past could have conceived.

“I’ll be up in the den then, keeping the boards held down with my dead weight then shall I?” The old man retorted with stinging sarcasm. He was treated with silence, only the heavy sigh from his younger grand daughter, hinting to any animosity. Carefully, the old man creaked and cracked from his rocking chair in the living room and waddled slightly bent over as the young boy looked up in wonder, oblivious to his mothers distain for such fairytales. Upon reaching the stairs leading to the attic den, the old man slowly peered at the boy, who was still watching him, with peering and mischievous eyes. He nodded his head and motioned a wrinkled hand towards the boy, who carefully looked back at his mother, who was having difficulty getting the extra leaf out of the dining room table. The rest of the family had moved to the basement recreational room to play some billiards and smoke cigars. The boy slinked to the stairs as his great grandfather reached half way up the creaky stairs, his steps getting an almost younger bounce to them as he neared the attic door.

Brandon peered into the attic den, the wooden door musty with age half open, letting a dim light shine into the landing. With a gulp of excitement, the young boy entered the room. His great grandfather picked up a large leather bound book and wiped a thin layer of dust from it. Strange objects littered the den, his great grandfather had collected them from all over the world, magical they were his great grandfather had told him, the stories behind each were full of magical rituals, incantations, and magnificent creatures.

Brandon didn’t have bad dreams, he saw them as real visions of something, but he could not understand what, he was only 10 after all! The old man moved a centuries old chair into the light and motioned to Brandon to come in front of him. Brandon had never seen this book before, he grew more excited as he knew a new story was to be told.

Philip breathed heavily, letting out a sigh as he wasn’t sure this was appropriate. He had wanted to wait until Brandon was older, but being ninety-five meant fewer and fewer reassurances he was going to wake up, which was fine with him, this world was no longer willing to hold on to such an enigma. Philip nestled his bifocals on his old, freckled nose, his glistening, almost glowing green eyes acting as windows into an unseen world beyond the realm in front of him and the young boy.

“You’ve yet to know this book, have you Brandon,” Philip’s voice crackled hoarsely, bringing a nod to Brandon with a wonderous half smile, half curious awe. “Well, this book is very special to me, it holds my memories from my previous lives.” Philip smiled at the young boy, bending closer to him, watching Brandon react in uncertainty.

“I’ve listened to you tell stories to me of those, were they real?” Brandon murmured in his high voice. Just then a roll of thunder echoed outside. Brandon jumped in his shoes. Great grandfather chuckled and rested a calming hand on his Brandon’s shoulder. You’ve nothing to fear out there boy, nothing at all. Thunder is voice of the gods telling us they are still there… nothing to be afraid of at all.” Philip reassured the boy with a bright, almost mystical smile.

“Will you tell me of them great grandfather? I want to know everything!” Brandon broke through his initial fear of the thunder, somehow understanding what great grandfather was saying. He just understood him. No one else seemed to accept his aunt Rhonda. His mom was always scolding him for reading the stories his great grandfather had written. He didn’t care, something pulled and beckoned to the young boy.

Smiling and huffing a hearty laugh, then realizing how loud it was, subdued the laugh with a clearing of his throat and rested his lips together, resting his chin in a hand.

“Well I think it is time young Brandon, Though your mom thinks otherwise” Philip watched Brandon closely.

“It’s ok great grandfather, mom won’t know, she just yells at me anyway and lets me go off and play.” The young boy pulled over his favorite story stool and plopped down for the long story. Both of them knew the rest of the family would forget about them and continue their activities in the basement.

“Very well then young Brandon, it is time for you to hear the story.” Philip sat upright and adjusted his slippered feet upon the wooden floor. A few breaths, and the old man took out a key looking object from a necklace around his prune-like neck. With perfectly steady hands, Philip unlocked the clasp that bound the book from prying eyes. He let out a deep breath and lifted the cover. A heavier rumble of thunder brown the otherwise silent den. Philip looked up at Brandon, the old man’s face taking on a serious, yet compassionate expression.

“For this story, Brandon the Great,” Philip spoke in a low and powerful voice, the name he had given to Brandon in another story on his 8th birthday. “you will call me by this name, Akthra.”

“But why Ak…” Brandon was shushed by a waving finger.

“No questions at this point, young one, Akthra is the name.” Philip smiled at his pupil. Brandon nodded silently with a curious face planted deeply in his great grandfather’s aura and the book in front of him.

“Long before man came to reason, there was a world unknown to most. Reason is relative Brandon, keep this in mind.” Philip had always been straight forward with Brandon, the young boy was far smarter than most his age, which also concerned his mother with Philip’s fanciful stories. Brandon nodded. “Before the coming of the one god, magic was the life breath of all things. Life was magic, magic was life. But, there were those that felt threatened by it, needed change to subdue their fears. This was the Changing, Brandon. It is just before this that our story begins.” Philip turned the first page, Brandon just caught a glimpse of writings and strange symbols that he remembered being carved or scribed on to his great grandfathers other possessions. Rain drops pummeled the roof and water poured down the single window in the attic and den. Brandon remained still and began to feel himself slip into his great grand father’s story.



Birds raced over the tree tops and scattered randomly across the limbs of majestic trees rooted to moss covered earth. The soothing rush of the wind brushed against the green leaves and thin branches, the squeaking of the trunks and thick branches replying in harmony to the symphony of bird songs and the wind’s rhythm.

[astralguardian]

Ooo, it worked.... here is the start of my primary project. I am not sure of a name yet, I kinda liked the title of the subject line for a Title ehehe Let me know what you think...

[astralguardian]

No editing, so no grammar or spelling edits... just thoughts rolled out. Just thought I'd mention that here (mentioned it in another therad here as well).

[astralguardian]

I don't know... I may not keep the entire story telling thing with the boy and great grandfather... it's kind of cliche'...... hmmm... I do have alternative ideas to it...

[Calibri]

No it's a great start AG! Keep going, and don't pick a title til the end.... I really got a good feeling for the environment and the characters! :-)

[seleena]

I like it to. It's a great start. I agree with Calibri.

[seleena]

I can't wait to hear the story myself. It's a great beginning.

[goldmother]

*shivers*

tell us more....

[phoenix]

Every story has to have foundations. You can not build on foundations from the future as they yet have to exist. So the young and the old build a good foundation weave you tale .....

[Bear the Mystic (and cuddly)]

I find it absolutely enthralling. I caught myself uttering choice words at the end...I'm impatient

Great start, AG

[astralguardian]

A leather gloved hand caressed the locket of blonde hair bound together by finally spun silver cords and silver links forming a necklace. The clasp had been broken some time ago, but the necklace and locket never left Brannon's person. A thought wandered back to the lovely memories of his wife-to-be. The bronze and black hued armor adorned man closed his eyes for but a moement to catch the scent of her as she gazed upon him with her mystical light blue eyes. They were crystals of beauty to Brannon as he gazed back upon them, a smile shuddered and broke past the dirt painted across his weary face. Those eyes poured upon him a cool and refreshing waterfall of love and peace.

Brannon awoke rudely from his vision by the clammor of armor and weapons passing him by, causing his smile to dimish to a scowl. Brannon cleared his throat and wiped the watering eyes with a battered, war-scorned bare hand. The dirt and grime smudged against his chiseled features. A solid, wide jaw acted as a foundation for his powerful eyes and high cheeks. The war horse under Brannon's control became unsettled as soldier upon soldier marched past with pikes and spears held at their shoulder.

Brannon took on last look at the locket, then tucked it safely back under his chest plate. He looked over his right shoulder to the calm and serine meadow lined with calm woods, but the birds had gone and the even the wind and leaves, seemed to have been silenced or vanished at the sounds of the inevitable.

[seleena]

What next! What next!

[astralguardian]

The gods watched from a distance, not lending insightful hand upon the battlefield this day. Brannon felt the lack of spirit upon these lands as if something had driven them away to the safety of their graves and heavens. Commands rose from the ranks, scores of soldiers responded like a massive seething snake of pike, steel and shield. Nothingness filled the span of grass and meadow before Brannon. Calm and peace had evacuated long ago with the spirits. The new spectators of nature were coming to watch the madness from above as thunder rolled ominously across the hills now covered in the gloom of the sun-blocking blackness.
“Brannon! Assemble your men and take them to the right flank. Keasar awaits you.” The soldier broke Brannon from his observations. The young Brannon nodded and steered his horse around.
Rain began to pelt the armored men as if preparing them for the slickness of the blood that was to flow.

[astralguardian]

(not in order )




Aloneness was not something new to Brannon, but this was within him. It echoed against every facet that he held dear, every memory of happiness now tarnished with a haze of anger and abandonment. Cold water poured down from the grey, soaking his very soul as he stood at the grave. Her stone wet with his tears, now washed away by the rain and mixing them with the soil- The ground that locked her away, hid her from his grasp. He felt the strength just to stand, slip away. His knees landed in the grass and mud, his heart pounding in absence of love and hope. Sobbing, Brannon gripped the locket in anger and despair as deep as the realm of the spirits spanned. His chest heaved, his soaked black hair dripping rain into his eyes and upon his cold, pale cheek. Brannon fought at the despair, but it had penetrated him so deep, filled every part of him. Everything he held dear was buried beneath him.

“Why did the gods take you from me? Why did you leave me?” Brannon muttered and sniffled against the cold water and thick air. Everything I had went with you. My heart, my life, my will, my very soul is now hidden from me. I can’t breathe at night, you’re not there. I’m so lost you know, lost without you to hold. Lost without you to kiss and cherish. My hands tremble without you in them,” Brannon’s hands fell to the mud and grasped at in agony. “The beauty of the world is so dark now. It’s black as the loneliness you’ve left inside of me.”

Brannon turned and slumped up against the cold, wet head stone. His exhausted and scarred face fell to the side, his hands shivering against his painfully beating chest. His boots slid and pushed outward, covered in mud.

“The battle was lost, I’ve nowhere to go now.” Brannon tried desperately to feel his lost wife next to him, if only for a moment. “How am I to breathe now? How am I to continue.. who’s skin do I now feel? I’ve so much to say to you now, but does to matter…. Do you hear? Do you hear the cries from my soul? From my heart?” Brannon sighed heavily, his breath became short and the tears stopped. The rumble of the thunder brought with it, heavier rain.
“Tonight, I’ll stay with you. Tonight I stay with you hoping you’ll hear me. My Lost heart.” Brannon shut his eyes to the cold rain and gloom, gripping into the mud with his clammy hands. Just to his right stood his horse, always the companion.