Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Eight Years

Driving home today I remembered Robert Jordan died eight years ago today. It hit me like a brick wall. What else can I say about Jordan that I didn’t say last year? His books were my companion through my socially awkward years. I stayed up way too late way too many times as a young man reading the series. In 2013 I waited for two days in line to get my copy of A Memory of Light. Later that year, after saying I could die happy now that I finished the series, I actually died. I think I would have been OK with it ending there. Just kidding.

Jordan is my hero. He was a mythological figure to me, and still is. I never met him. He’s kind of like a god to me.


The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Complete update


“Why do we keep going?”
The question shattered the silence that reigned for as long as anyone could remember. Blank faces slowly moved towards the unfamiliar sound. The speaker was barely an adult. Dirt and blood covered his face, but his stature gave his age away. The shuffling feet came to a stop as they turned to face the speaker. He lowered his face, feeling shame for being the one who finally broke. His clothing was the same as the others, burned, bloodied, and falling apart. His hair was a singed mess, with half of his head showing signs of new growth. His ribs were visible through the remains of whatever he was wearing during the attack, his face gaunt from attrition, but his eyes, his eyes had a spark, a spark that had left the others after the first day. As the group came to a halt he lifted his head and looked at them. His eyes held a light, one that no member of the group had seen for a long time. The closest shied away from the light. He saw this, and slowly turned and looked each member in the eye. Each took a step back.
“Why do we keep going?”
Silence was still king among the group. A few mouthed words but none were spoken. Heads dropped and more steps were taken away when the boy’s eyes passed them. A small portion met and held his eyes and the light they held. These men stood up straighter, their expressions hardened. They shared the light.
“Why do we keep going?”
“… for life…” one muttered.
“... for the promise…” from the second.
“… for the forgotten…” from the third
“… for revenge…”  said the final speaker.
The other stragglers had left. Of the doomed band only five remained. Silence returned. The boy turned in the direction opposite of the stragglers and began walking. And the four followed.


Tryse twitched his head to the side. A sure sign Whispers was feeding him information. He turned to face Ceecil with a small grin on his face. “They’re on this route, they’ll be here in a few minutes.” They had been positioned on one of the routes the Lord had taken when entering (city). They tried to keep it a secret, but people were seen and the People had taken notice. They had tracked one of the men employed by the Soune and found where the Lord had been staying. It was a brief visit. Their cell had been notified only hours before and given this location. They had been supplied with weapons to bring down the armored carriage he would be traveling in.
Whispers was tracking him from the rooftops. The narrow and winding streets made traveling through the city slow. Tryse and Ceecil were waiting in one of the shops run by the People. Whispers would do something to distract the driver and Tryse would plant the first bomb. Ceecil would place the second charge, and by that time the other teams would be there for the execution.
Tryse was eager. His family had been killed in one of the many purges. The Lord had wiped out entire cities based on rumor, and Tryse had somehow managed to survive. His story was a burning fire within the People. He jumped ranks quickly, eager to get into a place where he could do the most damage. He had found Ceecil dumped in a back alley as a child, left to the elements. He had taken her to the People and they had raised her. Education went right along with subterfuge and weapons training. They became close over the past few years; Tryse had lost a younger sister and Ceecil knew that’s how he saw her.
Growing up with the People Ceecil saw remarkable and evil things. When the Lord’s Soune found a cell he gave them no quarter, and then planted the bodies so everyone could see what became of the opposition. Tryse seemed above it all. No matter how bad the mission was he would always come through, and save his team along the way. After the initial infatuation with him the pettiness of the higher-ups put him back to a cell leader. He had chosen Ceecil and Whispers to go with him. This hadn’t made the leadership popular, but Tryse only spoke of remaining unified.
Ceecil had never seen Whispers before joining with Tryse. She’d heard of him, but even what she heard didn’t make sense. Their first mission was to follow and detain a suspected agent of the Soune. She and Tryse sat by while Whispers was on lookout. During this mission she saw Tryse tilting his head and mouthing words when no one was around. She thought the leaders were right in demoting Tryse, that he’d been shaken too badly too many times and had lost his mind. Tryse led her right to the agent with no problems. They cornered him in an alley away from population and got the information they needed. The agent was scared, constantly asking if they heard the voices. After this Ceecil had some idea of what Whispers could do, and who Tryse had been in communication with.
Tryse put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into the moment. “Little sister, we will only have moments. Are you prepared?” She nodded once. He gave her a smile that had warmed the hearts of hundreds, and he was off. Ceecil cracked the window and heard the slow-paced carriage seconds away. The driver was swatting at something that was buzzing around his head, cursing loudly. He didn’t notice a small form slip underneath the harness and leave a small item behind.
The explosion was only seconds behind Tryse. It illuminated the street and showed him diving for cover. Ceecil was running before he got back and placed her charge on the carriage door. It seemed to be made of poor wood, but the first blast wiped the façade away and revealed a durable steel chamber. She placed the bomb on the door and ran back to Tryse as fast as she could.
The explosion didn’t come. Ceecil panicked. Tryse waved her over, yelling something. She looked back in time to see a sickly purple glow coming from inside the carriage. She was tackled to the ground just as the entire carriage was pulsed outward, maintaining it's shape, just in pieces. She saw the Lord cowering on a bench and a being made of the same purple color floating over him. The Lord started yelling something, begging for his life for... Forgiveness? There was a flash. A pile of bones replaced where the Lord had been sitting. There were several more flashes as more bodies became bones. She watched the thing scoop something out of the rubble and float off, the carriage losing whatever power was holding it in place and falling in pieces. Ceecil saw the door, yelled at Tryse, but it was too late. The door landed and the second bomb went off, hurling everything in every direction. She felt two pieces of shrapnel land on Tryse, and he let out a soft moan. The outriders had started to come back, she could feel the hooves of their horses on the pavement. It looked at her right before it disappeared, its' anger burning in her eyes. She tried to move Tryse but he wasn’t responding. She felt his blood on her body before passing out.  

“What in the name of the Lord happened?” The man screaming woke Ceecil, who found herself in a dark room bound to a chair. A flickering torch – No, that’s no torch, that’s one of those lights that doesn’t burn – gave her glimpses of her confines. She was in a corner, tied to a thick wooden chair. There were grooves below her hands, grooves that came from the constant strain and rubbing of rope on wood. The room, cell, was stone. There were no windows. Three men were standing over a body, one that had been badly burned and had limbs missing. You were there. You remember the light, oh Tryse… Ceecil began to lose consciousness when a hand slapped her. She tried to jump out, to run out of this place and back to the streets. The ropes burned into her wrists and ankles, causing more pain.
“Shut that one up. I need answers!” The angry man, the one yelling, the one dressed in a nightgown that was embroidered with a familiar seal. Oh Gods, the son. The one they talk about, who takes people in the night and then never brings them back. Oh Gods… He was flailing. His whole body was flailing. Rolls of fat bounced every direction whenever he threw up his arms or started screaming. He turned at looked at her, his eyes were sunken behind a twisted face. He had no hair but for a small patch below his lower-lip. “What is this urchin doing here?”
“Lord-heir, this is the only witness to what happened. There was another urchin with her, but he was killed by debris from the explosion. She’s young, scared, we need her to calm down so she can tell us what happened.” This man was the complete opposite of the lord-heir. He was in uniform, with his helmet held under his right arm. His left hand wrested on the handle of a pistol clipped into his belt. His hair was cut closely, his face looked scarred. His eyes were prominent, holding his unobtrusive nose between them. They were a light blue, and Ceecil felt she could trust this man. She stopped whimpering and tried to pull her hands up to her chest, but felt the rope burning through her skin instead.
The nice man walked over and knelt beside her, setting his helmet on the ground and resting his hand on her shoulder. “Lass, we need to know what happened. You were the only person alive when we found the carriage. Were you there with others?”
Don’t let them know about Whispers, they’ll kill him. “I… I was with my friend, Tryse. We were hoping to see the carriage after we heard it was coming through our part of town. Right as it reached us there was an explosion… That’s when I saw Tryse... laying on the ground with blood pouring from his eyes-” she couldn’t stop the cry that exploded from her. She tried to pull her hands up again, but this time they made it. Ceecil saw a faint glint off a knife the nice man had just sheathed. His arm came over her shoulders and he was holding her, combing his hand through her hair. The kindness just added to the emotion Ceecil had been hiding and she didn’t stop sobbing until they left her in the room.
______________________________________________________________________________
The Lord-Heir was the first through the door, followed by the region’s Suone, chief intelligence agent, and, after a moment or two, the head of the Lord-Heir’s bodyguard. They all went into the same carriage and when the door closed they were moving. The Lord-Heir was still having one of his fits. The Soune, Milo, attempting to calm him while Josav, the body guard, sat passively.
“Lord-heir, you must regain your senses! That urchin child in there is the only person who knows exactly what happened! If you can hold off for only a few moments so we can figure out what kind of an attack this was we can…” He trailed off as he looked at Josav, who was idly trimming his nails. “Does this not concern you, Josav?”
“No.”
“Then, please, enlighten the lord-heir and I about what you saw.”
He stopped trimming his nails, then looked at both of their faces. The Lord-Heir looked as though he was going to have a mess for one of his many servants to clean after he departed the carriage. The Soune was glaring at him, but within that glare was a cry for help. “It is not my job to question a current investigation, just to protect, so I have nothing to say.”
The Lord-Heir began screaming again. “You stupid bastard, I am your ruler now and I am commanding you to tell me what happened!”
“This concerns the safety of the Lord-heir, please, tell us what you think.” Milo had managed to calm the Lord-heir down with a simple whisper in his ear.
Josav returned to cleaning his nails. “I was one of the first at the blast site. The horses and driver were blown into pieces, what happened in the carriage was much more contained. It was a bomb that killed the horses and driver. This explains our urchins being there. Tryse, the dead one, set off an initial charge, one meant to slow them to a stop while Ceecil, yes, our lovely street rat in holding, was supposed to run under the carriage and set the second charge. Here’s where things get a little fuzzy. We found Ceecil behind a makeshift barrier, not in pieces like the rest of them. Tryse was there too, but his luck had run out as a secondary charge blew the top of the carriage off, killing, no, vaporizing most of the inhabitants. Our magi identified what remains… err, remained. Lord-heir, your brother is missing.”
Josav looked up from his retelling. The Lord-heir was flapping again, and the Soune was, again, trying to calm him down. It’s really inconvenient the Lord had to go and blow himself up while leaving this buffoon as the standing ruler. He finished trimming his nails and put the smaller knife back in one of his pouches. The Lord-heir was breathing normally, and only a small trickle of sweat was coming from his brow. “I need to see the remains.”
“All that is left are piles of bones. There’s nothing more to be seen, Lord-heir.”
His right eye started twitching. Despite this sure-tell of an oncoming rage his voice remained level. “Bring the Magi back and have them show me who the bodies belong to. This deals with the Lineage. We need to assure the people they will have a leader, despite this… atrocity. Josav, after you send the message I want to in charge of this investigation. Do not let me down.”
“They had left, back to Sklosburg. I’ll send a runner to bring them back. We may as well keep the area cordoned-off and find a place to rest for the day. I believe the Lord’s premises are off limits due to the investigation, so let’s find someplace relatively unhostile to spend the day.” The Lord-heir and Soune nodded in agreement. Josav told the carriage driver to take them to the nearest reputable inn.
______________________________________________________________________________

Ceecil was still bound to the chair by her feet. When the men left the light, leaving her in near darkness. She managed to stop crying after reliving the entire event in her head, and finally looked around her cell. She could clearly see the outline of the stone door. It had light coming from the other side. Ceecil quickly looked in hopes to find something she could use to cut through the rope on her ankles. She and the chair were the only things in the room. She started moving her feet back and forth, hoping one would someone slip from the binding. All she managed to do was create more injuries on her ankles. She buried her face in her hands yet again, softly sobbing, recognizing she would never escape this new hell.
A light started coming through her fingers, a light different from the not-torch on the wall. It was purple. It’s the light from before, from when…Tryse… Darkness came to her yet again.
______________________________________________________________________________
After leaving the Soune and Lord-heir to deal with the politics Josav started heading back to question the girl. She was in a tough spot, and he hoped she’d be more willing to cooperate and answer the questions instead of falling into an emotional wreck. She had been holding back, using the sobs as a cover. These urchins ran a tight ship, usually three or four members. Ceecil and the dead boy weren’t the only two running this job, there had to be one more. A spotter. Something to look into after questioning the girl.
He walked into the holding area, and found two piles of bones, similar to the ones in the carriage. Josav drew his pistol and began slowly moving towards the cell holding Ceecil. More bones were neatly piled along the hallway and outside the holding cell. The door was shut. A strange purple glow was radiating from the door itself. He reached for the handle and felt an intense pain. He screamed as he pulled his hand away, cradling it in his arm. He looked at the door again, realizing it was not a door, but a field set up by a magi. He pulled his hand out and saw the skin on the inside of his hand had been burned off. He let out a frustrated grunt. All he could do was wait.
______________________________________________________________________________
She came to panting, screaming, crying, and wanting anything or anybody to make that light stop. It was growing slowly, until it stopped in front of her cell. The door vanished and a puff of dust blew inside the room, coating everything. The thing was here. Ceecil tried to hide behind her arms as the thing approached her. The glow went through her arms, through her eyelids, and into her mind. She gasped, throwing her arms to the side. Her eyes were forced open by some unseen force and she saw the thing that killed so many that night. It looked into her eyes, into her soul, then nothing.
______________________________________________________________________________
Each second felt like an hour. Others came trickling in, none of them had the Sight; they all had to wait without knowing what was happening. A screaming child grabbed all of their attention, coming from the other side of the barrier. Everyone stood up, weapons drawn. A burst of energy threw them all against the wall. As they regained their senses the door dissipated. Josav rushed into the cell. A small pile of burned bones was around the chair, the ankles still bound to it. He stared for a moment, then let out a scream and threw his helmet across the room.

“Everyone get the hell out! Go!” The other people began leaving as fast as they could, leaving Josav running his hands through his hair. The girl was dead. This investigation was dead. The Lord was dead. Soon the country would know, and chaos would reign. He finally sat down in front of the chair, examining it. Magi would find something to lead them to the killer. Something to show the country they knew what was happening, I just need something…

Monday, April 27, 2015

First real attempt

I'm my own worst critic when it comes to my writing. I've started and stopped several stories because I felt I did a horrible job and other things that make me upset. I've decided to share something I've been working on. Let me know what you think. Oh, I've taken to crossing out the parts I want to remove instead of removing them outright, just in case I go back and like them. C&C wanted


“Why do we keep going?”

The question shattered the silence that reigned for as long as anyone could remember. Blank faces slowly moved towards the unfamiliar sound. The speaker was barely an adult. Dirt and blood covered his face, but his stature gave his age away. The shuffling feet came to a stop as they turned to face the speaker. He lowered his face, feeling shame for being the one who finally broke. His clothing was the same as the others, burned, bloodied, and falling apart. His hair was a singed mess, with half of his head showing signs of new growth. His ribs were visible through the remains of whatever he was wearing during the attack, his face gaunt from attrition, but his eyes, his eyes had a spark, a spark that had left the others after the first day. As the group came to a halt he lifted his head and looked at them. Those who saw his eyes stepped away from him, as if shying from the light they metaphorically held. The closest shied away from the light. He saw this, and slowly turned and looked each member in the eye. Each took a step back.

“Why do we keep going?”

Silence was still king among the group. A few mouthed words but none were spoken. Heads dropped and more steps were taken away when the boy’s eyes passed them. A small portion met and held his eyes and the light they held. These men stood up straighter, their expressions hardened. And the spark had jumped into their eyes. They shared the light.

“Why do we keep going?”

“… for life…” one muttered.

“... for the promise…” from the second.

“… for the forgotten…” from the third

“… for revenge…”  said the final speaker.


The other stragglers had left. Of the doomed band only five remained. Silence returned. The boy turned in the direction opposite of the stragglers and began walking. And the four followed. 


(there is supposed to be a sequence here that happens before the characters talk about the events that had happened. I've written it several times and was unhappy with each version, so I excluded it.)


“What in the name of the Lord happened?” The man screaming woke Ceecil, who found herself in a dark room bound to a chair. A flickering torch – No, that’s no torch, that’s one of those lights that doesn’t burn – gave her glimpses of her confines. She was in a corner, tied to a thick wooden chair. There were grooves below her hands, grooves that came from the constant strain and rubbing of rope on wood. The room, cell, was stone. There were no windows. Three men were standing over a body, one that had been badly burned and had limbs missing. You were there. You remember the light, oh Tryse… Ceecil began to lose consciousness when a hand slapped her. She tried to jump out, to run out of this place and back to the streets. The ropes burned into her wrists and ankles, causing more pain.

“Shut that one up. I need answers!” The angry man, the one yelling, the one dressed in a nightgown that was embroidered with a familiar seal. Oh Gods, the son. The one they talk about, who takes people in the night and then never brings them back. Oh Gods… He was flailing. His whole body was flailing. Rolls of fat bounced every direction whenever he threw up his arms or started screaming. He turned at looked at her, his eyes were sunken behind a twisted face. He had no hair but for a small patch below his lower-lip. “What is this urchin even doing here?”

“Lord-heir, this is the only witness to what happened. There was another urchin with her, but a piece of the carriage went straight through her head. She’s young, scared, we need her to calm down so she can tell us what happened.” This man was the complete opposite of the “lord-heir.” He was in uniform, with his helmet held under his right arm. His left hand wrested on the handle of a pistol clipped into his belt. His hair was cut closely, his face looked scarred. His eyes were prominent, holding his unobtrusive nose between them. They were a light blue, and Ceecil felt she could trust this man. She stopped whimpering and tried to pull her hands up to her chest, but felt the rope burning through her skin instead.

The nice man walked over and knelt beside her, setting his helmet on the ground and resting his hand on her shoulder. “Lass, we need to know what happened. You were the only person alive when we found the carriage. Were you there with others?”

Don’t let them know about Whispers, they’ll kill him. “I… I was with my friend, Tryse. We were hoping to see the carriage after we heard it was coming through our part of town. Right as it reached us there was an explosion… That’s when I saw Tryse... laying on the ground with blood pouring from his eyes-” she couldn’t stop the cry that exploded from her. She tried to pull her hands up again, but this time they made it. Ceecil saw a faint glint off a knife the nice man had just sheathed. His arm came over her shoulders and he was holding her, combing his hand through her hair. The kindness just added to the pent-up emotion Ceecil had been hiding and she didn’t stop sobbing until they left her in the room. 


The Lord-Heir was the first through the door, followed by the region’s Suone, chief intelligence agent, and, after a moment or two, the head of the Lord-Heir’s bodyguard. They all went into the same carriage and when the door closed they were moving. The Lord-Heir was still having one of his fits. The Soune, Milo, attempting to calm him while Josav, the body guard, sat passively.

“Lord-heir, you must regain your senses! That urchin child in there is the only person in the land who knows exactly what happened! If you can hold off for only a few moments so we can figure out what kind of an attack this was we can…” He trailed off as he looked at Josav, who was idly trimming his nails. “Does this not concern you, Josav?”

“No.”

“Then, please, enlighten the lord-heir and I about what you saw.”

He stopped trimming his nails, then looked at both of their faces. The Lord-Heir looked as though he was going to have a mess for one of his many servants to clean after he departed the carriage. The Soune was glaring at him, but within that glare was a cry for help. “It is not my job to question a current investigation, so I have nothing to say.”

The Lord-Heir began screaming again. “You stupid bastard, I am your ruler now and I am commanding you to tell me what happened!”

“This concerns the safety of the Lord-heir, please, tell us what you think.” Milo had managed to calm the Lord-heir down with a simple whisper in his ear.

Josav had returned to cleaning his nails. “I was one of the first at the blast site. The horses and driver were blown into pieces, what happened in the carriage was much more contained. It was a bomb that killed the horses and driver. This explains our urchins being there. Tryse, the dead one, set off an initial charge, one meant to slow them to a stop while Ceecil, yes, our lovely street rat in holding, was supposed to run under the carriage and set the second charge. Here’s where things get a little fuzzy. We found Ceecil behind a makeshift barrier, not in pieces like the rest of them. Tryse was there too, but his luck had run out as a secondary charge blew the top of the carriage off, killing, no, vaporizing most of the inhabitants. Our magi identified what remains… err, remained. Lord-heir, your oldest son is missing.”

Josav looked up from his retelling. The Lord-heir was flapping again, and the Soune was, again, trying to calm him down. It’s really inconvenient the Lord had to go and blow himself up while leaving this buffoon as the standing ruler. He finished trimming his nails and put the smaller knife back in one of his pouches. The Lord-heir was breathing normally, and only a small trickle of sweat was coming from his brow. 

“I need to see the remains.”

“All that is left are piles of bones. There’s nothing more to be seen, Lord-heir.”

His right eye started twitching. Despite this sure-tell of an oncoming rage his voice remained level. “Bring the Magi back and have them show me who the bodies belong to. This deals with the Lineage. We need to assure the people they will have a leader, despite this… atrocity. Josav, I want you to take charge of this investigation. Do not let me down.”

“They had left, back to Sklosburg. I’ll send a runner to bring them back. We may as well keep the area cordoned-off and find a place to rest for the day. I believe the Lord’s premises are off limits due to the investigation, so let’s find someplace relatively unhostile to spend the day.” The Lord-heir and Soune nodded in agreement. Josav told the carriage driver to take them to the nearest reputable inn.


Ceecil was still bound to the chair by her feet. When the men left the light, leaving her in near darkness. She managed to stop crying after reliving the entire event in her head, and finally looked around her cell. She could clearly see the outline of the stone door. It had light coming from the other side. Ceecil quickly looked in hopes to find something she could use to cut through the rope on her ankles. She and the chair were the only things in the room. She started moving her feet back and forth, hoping one would someone slip from the binding. All she managed to do was create more injuries on her ankles. She buried her face in her hands again, softly sobbing, recognizing she would never escape this new hell.


After leaving the Soune and Lord-heir to deal with the politics Josav started heading back to question the girl. She was in a tough spot, and he hoped she’d be more willing to cooperate and answer the questions instead of falling into an emotional wreck. She had been holding back, using the sobs as a cover. These urchins ran a tight ship, usually three or four members. Ceecil and the dead boy weren’t the only two running this job, there had to be one more. A spotter. Something to look into after questioning the girl.

He walked into the holding area, and found two piles of bones, similar to the ones in the carriage. Josav drew his pistol and began slowly moving towards the cell holding Ceecil. More bones were neatly piled along the hallway and outside the holding cell. The door was shut. A strange purple glow was radiating from the door itself. He reached for the handle and felt an intense pain. He screamed as he pulled his hand away, cradling it in his arm. He looked at the door again, realizing it was not a door, but a field set up by a magi. He pulled his hand out and realized the skin on the inside of his hand was missing. All he could do was wait.


The light coming from the spaces changed. It’s the light from before, from when… Memories started to return. She was sitting behind the cover, waiting for Tryse to come back when the first explosion rattled her. Tryse was sitting next to her, grinning. “All right little girl, now it is your turn. Once I have the driver further distracted you need to place the second charge below the carriage. This will be the one to end the Seirve line once and for all, and we will finally have a government that cares about us!” He was about to speak again when a purplish light started shining from the windows in the carriage. Tyrse looked up to see what was happening when his head flung backwards, a whole the size of an arrow replaced where his eyes used to be. He tried to get up again. Ceecil was in shock, just staring at her brother as he was flung one last time, but this time he had a hole right through his chest, right here his heart should be. Ceecil ran over to the lifeless body, hugging it and hoping he wasn’t dead. The purple glow had gotten stronger. She turned around and saw a translucent figure rising from the carriage, holding a baby. It did not have eyes, but she could feel it staring at her. It turned it’s attention to shouting coming from further down the road, and vanished….

She came to panting, screaming, crying, and wanting anything or anybody to make that light stop. It was growing slowly, until it stopped in front of her cell. The door vanished and a puff of dust blew inside the room, coating everything. The thing was here. Ceecil tried to hide behind her arms as the thing approached her. The glow went through her arms, through her eyelids, and into her mind. She gasped, throwing her arms to the side. Her eyes were forced open by some unseen force and she saw the thing that killed so many that night. It looked into her eyes, into her soul, then nothing.


Each second felt like an hour. Others came trickling in, none of them had the Sight, so they all had to wait together. A screaming child grabbed all of their attention, a scream coming from the other side of the barrier. Everyone stood up, weapons drawn. A burst of energy threw them all against the wall. The barrier was gone. Josav was the first inside the cell, and a small pile of burned bones was around the chair, the ankles still bound to the legs. He stared for a moment, then let out a primal scream and threw his helmet across the room.
 

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Read this Series: The Black Company

There's a lot to say about this series, so bear with me as I attempt to show you how amazing it is. Then go out and get a copy!

First, a quote from Steven Erikson:

“With the Black Company series Glen Cook single-handedly changed the face of fantasy—something a lot of people didn't notice and maybe still don’t. He brought the story down to a human level, dispensing with the cliché archetypes of princes, kings, and evil sorcerers. Reading his stuff was like reading Vietnam War fiction on peyote.” 

This series is one of the first major undertakings into a mash of high and low fantasy. It doesn't quite fit the mold for either, but it doesn't dive into dark fantasy. High fantasy is usually the big named authors from the past: Tolkein, Jordan, Sanderson, Lewis, Brooks, etc. These characters have strong morals, usually good morals, that they follow to a fault. Even when it looks like they're doing something bad they really aren't. Low fantasy has jumped further into the world view with A Song of Ice and Fire. George RR Martin has the market cornered, but that won't last long as he'll stroke out soon. Joe Abercrombie is an established low-fantasy author and is an exponentially better author than Martin. Low fantasy shows humans using their base nature. Everyone is an enemy and everyone will kill for no reason whatsoever. 

The Black Company is about a mercenary group that has no qualms doing what whoever is paying them tells them to do. The Company becomes a character in itself as the story goes on; it's a really interesting literary tool that isn't used all that often. The story is told through a series of Annals from the perspective of the Company Historian. The story is precise. No useless words are used. 

My favorite part about the first three books are the Ten Who were Taken. These are some of the most evil soulless villains ever created. They are, loosely, controlled by The Lady, who was the wife of an ancient evil named The Dominator. Thankfully the Dominator is currently imprisoned and The Lady is the evil subjugating  the world's rebellious factions. 

The stories are fun, some character you'll love, others you'll want to see die in a fire, but when you reach the very last section emotion will come at you from all angles and hit you repeatedly. It still hits me hard, and I have to take a day just to unwind. 

The problem with recommending this series is I want people to just read it. If I say, "It's good, read it," well, dammit, read it! I would challenge everyone to read the first four books: The Black Company, Shadows Linger, The White Rose, and The Silver Spike. It is completely worth completing, but I understand some won't like the writing style. 

Here's a list of the books in chronological order:
  • Books of the North
    • The Black Company
    • Shadows Linger
    • The White Rose
  • Books of the South
    • The Silver Spike
    • Shadow Games
    • Dreams of Steel
  • The Return of the Black Company
    • Bleak Seasons
    • She is the Darkness
  • The Many Deaths of the Black Company
    • Water Sleeps
    • Soldiers Live
Read this series. You can trust me because I read more than you. Oh, I'm willing to answer questions that will spoil the series. 

Monday, November 3, 2014

Another funny paper

This is the paper that made me realize that I can be a smartass when I write. Context: this was the first paper in my AP Psych class my senior year. I went in to take the test and blanked. I could not remember a thing. I somehow managed to pull this out, and, despite getting a zero, my teacher loved it. She reads it to her classes every year. The parts in parenthesis are comments she wrote on the paper.

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Mean, four letters long, two consonants, two vowels, one syllable. It can mean a lot of things, most of which I don't care for. Median, three consonants, three vowels, three syllables. Break it down it's me-di-an, and if you put together di and an you get me-dian, or me dying, which is what I'm doing. Mode, two vowels, two consonants, one syllable. When I think of mode it turns into mold, which is what is growing on my brain at the moment. (You are at least clever when you don't know)

A skewed distribution is, well let's break it down. Skewed is something random, so completely random it looks like an explosion. Distribution, root word is distribute, which means to put out, not necessarily a good thing to do. So if we put them both together we get randomly putting out.

To relate mean, median, and mode to normal distribution is a grand feat in and of itself. People worship those who can do so as gods, and as what my friends and I call "GALFers," people with absolutely no life. (I am laughing my head off. I wish I could give you credit for creativity!)

Now, relating them to a skewed distribution is something most people can do. Mean, median, and mode are three words randomly chosen to contain meaning of incomprehensible power. Now, if somebody has a skewed distribution or is "randomly putting out," they too are being randomly powerful.

All I read on this next part is intelligence test. I don't care to write on it. If you don't know why read the four paragraphs before this.

Two normal distributions, since there is no such thing as normal this question is invalid and hurtful to a good deal of people, myself included. 

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Assorted Papers

I wrote Hatredy way back in 2008. Our multimedia teacher told us if we weren't working on our project he'd give us a 2-page paper to write. I was working on my project and he handed me the writing prompt. It was bullshit, as he didn't give it to his favorite students. I was a smarmy asshole back then, and this paper is a product of that. Yes, I actually turned this in.

Hatredy


There is no multimedia project that I would be interested in, ever. To be honest I don’t even know why I am in this class. All careers and other such items to due with multimedia make me gag and want to smother a small child with a pillow.

I especially hate the aspect of video production. Why on earth would anyone want to take the time to do some filming and story boarding and lighting and end up with a crappy movie that no one likes? I’ll tell you why, they’re insane. All the producers, directors, lighting crew, etc… are insane. No one in their right mind could ever do this for a living. In fact, I hate people that do. They are the people that think they are better than everyone else cause they can move a little camera around and make a movie whoop-de-do. It’s not that hard, a 2 year old could make a movie that could sell billions of dollars, and it’s the baby one the toilet taking a dump.

Filming alone is pathetic, humans at our lowest. You get a half drunk guy to yell ‘action’ and ‘cut,’ along with several people who are probably high or on acid, with some cars and girls that are easy on the eyes and you have a blockbuster. Not only that but then the actor “accidentally” overdose’s on crack balls and everyone worships him as a martyr, when, ipso facto, there is only one martyr that should be worshiped, Jesus. These actors are taking away the Christian morals that most people consider to be their lives to this day. Back in the middle ages if you were to do such a thing then you would be hung and stoned, have you entrails pulled out, burned in front of you, then have all of your appendages removed and fed to the common people! But I digress.

Story boarding is what stupid people do to make plans. “Hm lets see I’m gonna draw a bunch of crappy stick figures doing what I want them to do and write a description of the scene below it.” All I have to say… is wow. What a waste of perfectly good time that you could be using to save the environment or write a gay essay. Now careers in multimedia are what my friends and I like to call “welfare epics.” Welfare epics are items you can get without doing any work, ergo multimedia careers. You don’t contribute from society, you take away from it, and make millions doing it, and you know who else did that? Adolf Hitler. Yes, Hitler took away the lives of people for his own personal gain, so do directors, producers, light guys, etc… But once again I digress.

Next to utter ridiculousness are producers. They are the borderline mentally retarded people that take credit for other peoples work (me!). They are the likes of Mel Gibson, Ben Stiller, and other ugly faced cool guy wannabe’s. Instead of doing real work (like recording for a video WHICH I WAS DOING!!!!!!!!) they sit around and take credit for things they didn't do.

I once met a lighting guy. He went into all this babble about flip switches on and off and how he got a degree in it. I asked him if I could do it for one scene and he laughed and told me good luck. I got his job. They fired him. I was much better than a college educated student at doing what he did for a living. Move the switch up, then down, maybe to the side, then back to the middle. This is by far a person’s dream job. It’s so easy they have monkeys doing it now, and soon they will be having ex-lab mice doing it.

Now for a recap, I hate multimedia. I would rather be the taint of a camel than do anything for a multimedia career. It attracts prostitutes, Jesus wannabe’s and half drunk bisexuals for career opportunities only for them. It offers some of the easiest and dumbest job options in the career out there. Multimedia is an enema, one so massive you have to use a plunger to get it out, and afterwards be sure to burn the plunger.

Effective v. Responsive

(I wrote this paper in a 2 hour sitting and on painkillers. I got 94%. I'm kind of proud of that.)

I think the main concern for establishing a government should be the effectiveness of the government, rather than responsiveness to the voters. I will first go over the arguments each side presents: why the Anti-federalists disliked any branch of government that was not directly, elected or responsible to the people, and why the Federalists liked the idea of a government that is able to keep the people in check when they attempted to do something stupid. My reasons for wanting an effective government over a responsive one is that, overall an effective government would be more intelligent. As a group people are stupid, that an effective government can protect the rights of minorities while a responsive government could lead to a tyranny of the majority, and by having a government further away from the people it will be more efficient.

The Anti-federalists were in favor of a government more responsive to the people. They viewed any branch of the government not directly put into power by the people as bad. On the Judiciary: “… those who are to be vested with it, are to be placed in a situation altogether unprecedented in a free country… No errors they may commit can be corrected by any power above them… nor can they be removed from office for making ever so many erroneous adjudications.” (121) On the President: “To whom is he responsible? To the Senate, his own council. If he makes a treaty bartering the interests of his country, by whom is he to be tried? – By the very persons [the Senate] who advised him to perpetrate the act.” (97) And on the Senate: “… is it not a monster in the political creation, which we ought to regard with horror?” (71) They also had problems with the House of Representatives, but it was due to the amount of officials, not their position in the government.

The Federalists were in favor of an effective government, one that could provide a sufficient check on the people. On the Judiciary: “In a republic it is no less excellent barrier to the encroachments and oppressions of the representative body. And it is the best expedient which can be devised in any government, to secure a steady, upright and impartial administration of the laws.” (136) On the President (pertaining to the veto): “The propriety of the thing does not turn upon the supposition of superior wisdom or virtue in the executive: But upon the supposition that the legislative will not be infallible: That the love of power may sometimes betray it into a disposition to encroach upon the rights of other members of the government…” (114) On the Senate: “They may restrain the profusion or errors of the house of representatives...” (78) The Federalists had worries about the experience of the members in the House of Representatives, that they would be “… more apt… to fall into the snares that may be laid for them.” (58)

As a group people are stupid. We can look to their reactions to anything bad, such as any riot. Something will trigger the public, be it a murder, police brutality, or a natural disaster, and they will begin to indiscriminately destroy anything, even if it was in no way tied to the trigger. They are equally stupid at the polls, mostly due to misinformation. Anyone can run a campaign that compares their opponent to Hitler or something equally bad, and people will buy it. Take the Birther movement for instance. It was a racially motivated campaign to paint President Obama as a non-citizen who obtained the office illegally. Sadly there was elected officials who went along with this, but not all of them. There are enough intelligent elected officials to know that it was complete bogus. If a government were to respond to even one-tenth of the allegations voters bring up it would be even more useless than it is now. They need to be able to ignore the general foolishness of the loudest part of the public and do their job. One of the issues the Anti-federalists had is how the President was to be elected. He was not to be elected through the means of a popular election, rather through electors from each state, who were elected by the people. The further removed from the people the less likely the one being elected is going to be an imbecile. Tench Coxe says (in reference to how the President is chosen), “Further, he cannot be an idiot, probably not a knave or tyrant…” (103) It is incredibly important the one being elected is elected by semi-intelligent people who can sift between misinformation and real information. People are dumb, and there needs to be a protection against their idiocy.

One of the problems that comes from a responsive government, and a democracy, is producing a gauge that can actually measure what all the public wants. As it stands elections are not an accurate measure of this. The 2012 Presidential election had a 58.2% turnout rate. (McDonald, 2013) The highest turnout rate by state goes to Minnesota, with 75.5%. (McDonald, 2013) How can a government be responsive if there isn’t even a 90% turnout rate? Another problem that comes from this is that the loudest people are generally the ones that are listened to, and if their views are more extreme it would throw off any chance that a government could be effectively responsive.

An effective government protects the rights of minorities and a tyranny of the majority. This ties to the above point that people are stupid. We can see the suppression of minorities throughout history, anything from slavery to banning same-sex marriage. Large groups of people see anything they don’t consider normal as a threat. Take the example of same-sex marriage. People of the same sex have had relationships since the dawn of time, and other creatures do the same. But because it is seen as different the majority of people do their best to crush it. They cherry-pick the details, spreading false information that same-sex couples make worse parents, that they are destroying marriage, that they are abominations in the eyes of God. There is zero evidence to support these claims. The majority doesn’t like it because it is different. There has to be a protection for the rights of minorities, and, as stated in the previous paragraph, the further from the people the officials are they better they are at looking past prejudice and avoiding the mistakes of the majority. In Utah it wasn’t the people who voted to allow same-sex marriage (and by doing so giving equal rights to a minority), it was a Federal judge, a non-elected official that is far removed from the base voters, and it was the people who voted to keep these rights from the minority in the first place. Alexander Hamilton said, concerning the Judiciary branch, “In a republic it is a no less excellent barrier to the encroachments and oppressions of the representative body. And it is the best expedient which can be devised in any government, to secure a steady, upright and impartial administration of the laws.” (136) There must be a check to insure that all men have the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.   

For a government to be effective there needs to be intelligent people in control. Unfortunately intelligent people seem to make up a small portion of the population. Part of the reason for needing intelligent people in the government is their ability to know what needs to be done, regardless of what the people want. In our current form of government we have a branch that is entirely devoted to the responsiveness of the people: the Legislative branch. Originally the government was further separated from the people, with the House being the only group directly elected by the people. The senate was a degree away from the people, being elected by the state legislature; the president was similar, being elected by electors elected by the people, and the Judiciary was the furthest away, being appointed, not elected, by members of the government already a degree away from the people. The closer the elected official is to the people the more likely they are to give into the whims of their constituents, who, as a group, are idiots. For a government to be effective there must be some people in it having some level of intelligence. In the old form of the senate, “No ambitious, undeserving or unexperienced youth can acquire a seat in this house by means of the most enormous wealth or most powerful connections…” (78) A person must have wisdom in order to use their power appropriately. “It is evident that there would be greater danger of his not using his power when necessary, than of using it too often, or too much.” (115) If every election were a popular one we would only have idiots and knaves in office, people unwilling to do what is needed, fearul of upsetting the population. “These are men, who under any circumstances will have the courage to do their duty at every hazard.” (115) Duty isn’t something a politician can have if they only care about what people want, duty is what a political ought to do.


An effective government is a much better form of government than a responsive one. Anti-federalists would have a government answerable to the people in every aspect, and in doing so would cripple a government, filling it with people who only care how they look to their voters, fearful of doing anything that would alienate them and lose their office. Federalists would have an effective government, one that is able to ignore the idiocies of groups of people and do what is needed to succeed. When people are in a group they are stupid, and would demand stupid things, and the only way to combat their absurdities is to be able to ignore them. A responsive government would require a certain level of voter turnout. Majorities will disregard the rights of minorities, and the only way to destroy a tyranny of the majority is to, once again, be able to ignore the majority, something a responsive government would not be able to do. Finally, for any government to succeed, there must be intelligent people at the head, people that can view a situation and, as usual, ignore the whining of the population in order to do what needs doing.  

Friday, September 19, 2014

The Wheel of Time

I’m off by a couple of days, but what the hell, I wanted to write this. For those of you who don’t know, Robert Jordan passed away on September 16, 2007. He’s the author of an epic-fantasy series called The Wheel of Time, a series which I have been reading since I was 12. 

My first exposure to The Wheel of Time was on a trip to Mt. Rushmore with my family. My mother checked out The Eye of the World on cassette so I could listen to it during the drive. I was hooked. The problem was the version I had was only half of the book. It drove me nuts. I wanted to read more about Rand, Mat, and Perrin, learn what these Aes Sedai were, what a Trolloc was, and how a Myrdraal can cause a man to piss himself.

When we got back the first thing I did was go to the library and check out some of the books. I devoured them. I blew through the ten books that were out at the time in a few months, and then I had to wait. In the three years before book eleven came out I probably read the series three or four more times. Knife of Dreams was one of the first books I bought with my own money. Rand, Mat, Perrin, Egwene, Elayne, Aviendha, Lan, and all the other characters had become a part of my life. They were my friends.

Fast forward another two years. Only one other book came out in that time, New Spring. I was leaving school and a friend came up to me and said, “That author you really like died.” I didn't believe him. Robert Jordan had been diagnosed with amyloidosis, a rare form of blood cancer. I had recently read a blog post that said he was doing well, and things were looking up. I jumped on the computer and went to dragonmount.com, a fansite, and there was the news. He was dead.

A part of my world collapsed. A man I had never met, who had affected my life in such a strong way, was gone. In a matter of minutes I didn't know what was going to happen to my friends that I had known for so long. There was so much to still be answered, so many stories to be told, and it wasn't going to happen. It was, and still is, one of the saddest days of my life.

I've always loved to read. I burned through the abridged versions of the classics around first grade, then started tackling the actual classics a few years later. Then, for some reason I cannot recall, I wanted to try fantasy. My mother brought me home a few books, they were from the Shannara series and the Legend of Drizzt. I burned through the books and fell in love with the genre. In these books authors created worlds from scratch. Original ideas, magic, and sword fights were a drug to me. These books were more in line with the Tolkien legacy; dragons, dwarves, elves, mages, etc. They were not epic fantasy.

Jordan blew the lid off of the genre. He wasn’t the first to do it, but he’s one of the best known for it. There are no dwarves, no dragons, no elves, no sorcerers; he had Aes Sedai, Aiel, Seanchan, Damane, Trollocs, Draghkar, and Myrdraal. He created unique cultures, a world with an actual history, a history that, essentially, never ended. I read snippets of the Age of Legends and the wonders they created. But there was more than that. Jordan’s world was our world. His stories were based on our own legends. Lenn flying to the moon in the belly of an eagle was Glen going to the moon in Eagle I. Artur Paendrag Tanreall was Arthur from the Excalibur legend. There were so many intricacies that you didn't pick up on the first time reading it. The more I read it the more I loved it.

And then he was gone. His world ended, despite there being no endings in the Wheel of Time. I had no idea how much these books meant to me. It made me depressed. But then hope came in the form of Brandon Sanderson. My friend Cody had been trying to get me to read his books for a few months before the announcement came that he would be finishing the series. He was a small author at the time, with only a handful of books published, but they were damn good books. I was hooked.

Then Tor announced they would select fans to help with the signings for the last three Wheel of Time novels. The Gathering Storm was due out in 2009, and I was selected to help. Out of everyone who applied I got to go. I got to have dinner with Brandon and be a part of the series I love. I was on cloud nine. He’s such a great guy, and remained humble even after being selected to finish one of the best-known fantasy series. He still, at signings, talks with fans for hours, answering questions, cracking jokes. He really is a good person.

I've only missed one of his book signings in the past seven years, and thankfully I have a great friend who went to the one I missed. Of course, I was the one who got Corky hooked on the books, so I have to take some responsibility for his actions. I was in Stockholm for the release, and I went into a bookstore and saw the staff unpacking the books. It killed me a little inside, but Corky had my back and I got the book right when I returned to the states.

Last year it finished. I camped out at BYU for two days, and those two days were cold. It was worth it. I was originally the twenty-second person in line, and I was incredibly happy with that. The series was finishing. Harriet, Jordan’s wife, even came out for it. I missed the first day of classes, but I could not have been happier. At the last second a person ahead of me asked to switch numbers, and I went from twenty-two to fifteen, the number of books in the series. When I went up to get the book personalized I could give a teary-eyed thank you.

Finishing A Memory of Light was bittersweet. The Wheel of Time had been my companion for eleven years, and I finally got the ending I needed. The great thing about the Wheel of Time is that there are no endings, and there are no beginnings.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.