The Deadly Dance

A clang of steel, a guttural snarl, and the dance has begun yet again

Spurs spark against rock as nimble ankles twist and spin

Fangs flash through the air, two foes each preparing for battle akin

Sword and shield clash with tooth and claw, creating a furious din

One battles for honor and glory, to show his people his heart

The other is in this fight for survival, losing would mean death

A graceful twirl and elegant strike show a stunning art

While a desperate strike and slick retreat reveal a lost breath

A classic tale unfolds, armored Paladin against scaled Dragon

The question becomes then, who will write this story

History is written by the victors, often over a full flagon

The loser might protest, but his body looks a little hoary

With a majestic flap of wings, the dragon concedes this fight

While the Paladin slumps against the rock, relief upon his brow

A trumpeting note sounds forth, a farewell as the beast takes flight

Softly sighing, the Paladin stares into sky and whispers a gentle “Ciao”

An Ominous Warning

Thunder rumbles from a distant point, but no rain clouds show in the sky. Blinking against the blinding glare of the sun, a young guard shakes his head ponderously in confusion before realizing that something else was making that noise. Turning to peer up the road, he takes a few moments to confirm that he is hearing hoof beats approaching at a very furious pace. Bewildered, he mutters to himself “The Squire and the Baronet’s people are all at the Baronet’s manor... Who else rides a horse around here?” and then decides it would behoove himself to actually do the duty that got him assigned to this gate.

Stepping out in front of the gate, he swings the heavy wooden planks closed and signals to his companion to actually climb up and man the watchtower in case it is an enemy making all of that racket. Shifting a bit to settle his clothes, the young man squares his shoulders and attempts to appear fierce as the first glimpse of the approaching animal and rider appears around the curving path. Dirt erupts in a rolling wake of splatters as the heavy horse careens dangerously along the narrow path and heads directly towards the nervous guard.

Summoning every last bit of courage he can find in his skinny frame, the young man licks his lips and calls out a challenge. Stammering, he attempts again while trying to figure out if he should draw his sword or just run. Luckily he is not alone and the guard now atop the watch tower fires a warning arrow into the dirt alongside the rider’s trajectory. Taking a timid step back, the gate guard feels a great sense of relief as the rider rears back on the reins and the horse begins to slow. In what seems like an eternity in the widened eyes of the guard, the horse slowly pulls up and slows the galloping approach to end with a snort close enough to lick the sweat off the man’s brow.

With a quick flourish, the rider drops from the horse and sneers at the presence of the guard. “Messenger Dispatch, you fool” he exclaims as he spits on the ground in disgust. “Have you lost your wits?” The guard stiffens at the insult and imperiously demands to know “Messenger from whom?” as sternly as he can manage. For all of his bravado, he receives a scornful look and a vicious retort “Are you daft? It doesn’t matter from whom, I come here just to warn this town of major events. And if you want to be the reason that your town is not ready for the King, then so be it.” And with that, the messenger turns and acts as if he is about to mount his horse and depart.

“Wait, wait, wait.” The guard hastily exclaims as he realizes just how important this visitor could be. “Uh, you have any papers to show who you are?” he asks and sheepishly explains “We have a lot of anxious people in the town since we keep being attacked, they want to make sure we aren’t be tricked”. A massive sigh erupts of the erstwhile messenger as he pulls back his cloak to reveal the markings of a Hythe City courier. “Listen,” he grumbles “I don’t have time for all of this nonsense. I don’t really care about your little Podunk town nor all of its nervous citizens and scared farmers. I am just coming to let everyone on the way to Stoneden know that the King is coming.”

Stopping to take a breath, he first demands some water for his horse and then continues as the guard scurries to obey. “Apparently the King is tired of this talk about bandits and about all of the different Houses fighting and bickering, so he is sending out a major complement of the King’s army to march through the land and put down any problems that arise.” Taking the proffered bucket, the weary man holds it in front of his horse and speaks loudly to be heard over the sound of the guzzling equine.  “Hythe was taken by surprise, and it’s not good because there was a lot of fighting going on. I was just sent to get here as quickly as possible and let everyone know so that they can get their affairs in order before someone questions things too closely and bad things happen. I have heard rumors that the Army is just putting on a show and laying down the law without really caring who is at fault or what the real story is.” 

Handing back the bucket, he grips the pommel of his saddle and swings effortlessly into place. “I must go, but warn your leaders to get ready. I feel some big changes are coming this way, at least for those involved in politics.” Turning his horse to head back down the path, the messenger offers a wry smile to the nonplussed guard “Though I fear not much will change for the common man, life just is not fair that way”.

Silence descends over the clearing where the path and gate intersect, both guards stand slack jawed and watch as the messenger rides off around the bend. A few moments pass without any movement before the gate guard suddenly gulps loudly and turns to stare at his fellow in the watchtower. Confused eyes meet and betray mutual worried expressions, then the gate guard suddenly yelps and races into the town looking for the nobles to pass along this most important message.

A Setting Sun

As the sun slowly fades below the horizon, the air is filled with the terrible sounds of death. A black shroud slowly descends to cloak the blood soaked meadow where thousands of bodies lie in a chaotic tangle. Moans and groans are the only sounds audible from these bodies, though the myriad birds feasting upon still warm flesh assault the ears with a cacophony of raucous calls.

Staring blankly at the carnage from the edge of a once peaceful meadow, a haggard survivor struggles to keep his composure as his mind fails to process such horrible devastation. Slowly turning a slim profile to view the warriors resting behind him, he utters soft orders. “Teratha, let’s get the wounded moving and give Last Peace to those who can’t survive the trip.” Turning from the black haired priestess, he then addresses a wounded soldier resolutely standing at his side. “Lyet, we have to get back and tell the Emperor. He needs to know that all is lost and we must sound a retreat”. The soldier’s eyes widen at hearing that; he is not surprised by the fact as it a truth that they have all come to recognize, but he is more surprised at hearing his superior actually admit it out loud.

As the small band of wound soldiers slowly gathers themselves and prepares for an arduous trek, the leader turns one last look at the ghastly battlefield. “To think, the entire might of the Arkhold people will soon be spread amongst the carrion birds. May history never know the truth of this defeat.” With that he reaches down to pick up his equipment, a battered shield and a well-used battle-axe. A moment of reflection is spent gazing at these few pieces of metal that have so defined his entire adult life. No longer is his visage keenly reflected on the polished edges of the shield, nor does his axe bear the shimmering marks of the marvelous Adante metalworking. Instead they appear worn and torn, almost as if some ancient tribe had buried and lost these artifacts several centuries in the past. Realizing that his life now would be very different than it has been in the past, he actually drops the shield in the dirt and almost drops his axe before Lyet reaches over to stop him. “Hold, my lord Baratel,” mutters the young brunette, “We still have need of your strength in arms should we meet more barbarians on our trip to the Emperor.”

Baratel hearkens to the words of his junior officer, though he nearly demands to know what point there is in fighting the barbarians. Grudgingly, the small group forges onward through the branches of the forest and sets their sights to a distant point in the east. Hours blend into days and then weeks as they journey south, each day appearing to rise only to give them less reason to carry on. The air hangs heavy with smoke, laden with the horrifying stench of burnt flesh. Countless villages appear on the edge of the path they travel, but all are ransacked and destroyed; little remains of the vast Empire which once gracefully spread across the plains and mountains. Instead they face only reminders of their great failure, evidence that the time of the Arkhold Empire has come to a close. 

Gripping his battle-axe with bitter fierceness, Baratel mentally swears to protect the last remnant of his people until they can recover from this travesty and once again fill this world with true civilization. Gentle golden rays of sunlight caress his face for a last brief moment before the sun sets, almost as if abandoning the Arkholdian people entirely. As gloom settles, it matches the feeling in the heart of all civilization, and the question is left hanging against the flickering glower of the moon. “What will become of the Arkhold Empire and its people? Will history ever know that they existed?”

Diary of a Fallen Hero -Part I

Measured footsteps fall lightly upon the packed earth, highlighting the passage of an armored figure. Clad in gear traditional for the bounty hunters operating in the territory of the Hutts, this bounty hunter patrols the top of a high earthen berm.  His current patrol is one that combines instinct and boredom, as all indications suggest that the battle is over for the day. A quick glance backwards would show the shattered remains of nearly two dozen HK-7 battle droids buried beneath what appears to be the foundations of uprooted Anti-Aircraft gun batteries. Despite the apparent peacefulness of the moment, the bounty hunter continues his smooth and measured patrol.  Battle trained senses keep his movements quick and efficient as he pulls up his rifle to scan through the scope.

Looking down from the berm, he is able to see into a major processing plant. Most of the plant is obscured to his vision, only various catwalks and machinery is visible against the backdrop of the massive smoke funnels in the distance. No threats catch his attention as he constantly sweeps back and forth with his scope watching various maintenance droids busily working to keep dilapidated machinery in working condition. Continuing his alert scan, he notes the patrolling groups of HK-7 droids on the periphery of the processing plant, marking them once again in his memory. Even as he watches for any hostile movement, his scope keeps floating back to center on a particular section of the catwalk where he last saw the flowing black robes adorning a certain feminine figure.

With no threats appearing in his scope, and his companions behind him seeming content to trust that all is well, the bounty hunter allows a brief moment for a small part of his mind to flash back to the moment when he first met the young girl that would figure so prominently in his current situation. Only a year previously in the chronological sense of time, so much was different then and the universe seemed to be smiling upon him and all of his plans. He had woken that morning with the glowing confidence of a military man receiving every validation possible and knowing that everything was safe and secure.  Recently released from the hospital after a vicious pirate attack, his new Captain uniforms had already arrived. The memory of receiving the promotion and being told that the Alliance could never do without his bravery and courage still rings in the mind of the bounty hunter. He was wearing shiny Alliance uniforms back then, of course, and not the dirt smeared jetpack and generic armor that coated his body now. A slight moment of regret flickers through the bounty hunter’s mind before he returns to recalling the events of that fateful day.

In the back of his mind, the scene plays out with absolute clarity. He enjoyed a brief and intense moment of quiet celebration with his few friends in the barracks, then moving on to join to his prestigious new post as part of the Honor Guard at the Jedi Temple. He glowed inside at the honor and glory that was being heaped upon him, and felt that his days of combat were long over. Everyone knew that becoming part of the Jedi Honor Guard meant very little fighting or intense action, as very few people would wish to attack such a mighty bastion. And so his thoughts of the future at the moment were very shiny and filled with fantastical ideas of how to live out his days in glory. These thoughts continued for most of the day and even into the evening hours, as he learned his new duties and toured the grounds that he would be guarding. It was right as he was heading back to his bunk to lay down and get some rest that it happened, he saw her.

She was only a small wisp of a thing, appearing as if she could barely keep herself from floating away in the wind. Gracefully dancing through a training regimen, she nearly glistened due to a light sheen of sweat coating her delicate blue skin. While Twi’leks have always been recognized for their beauty, there was something in her eyes and the way that she moved which set her apart from even those that were prized for their beauty. Her familiarity with the Jedi training regimens and her interactions with the trainers made it apparent that she had been lucky enough to have been in the Temple since her earliest childhood memories. Unlike the majority of her race, she had never felt the lash of a slave master and most likely did not know that most would consider her only in terms of the value she would bring on the market for be slaves.

He had stopped then, the bounty hunter recalled, and simply stared as this young Twi’lek cavorted through complicated practices and seemed to draw pleasure from annoying her instructors as she pushed the boundaries. It was the life that positively glowed from her eyes, he decided during this reflection, that was what had so captivated him. He had met driven people before, people who had a purpose and goal and marched forward relentlessly to achieve it. However, never had he seen someone who seemed to demand and expect the very most out of every breath and who enjoyed bending it to her will. A sudden urge swept through him and he found himself pacing over towards the training grounds and pretending to inspect a security terminal nearby; his eyes soaking in every detail of this young female apprentice.

Even infatuated Alliance Troopers know their role and how to act, however, and so quite a few days passed as he went about his duties and tried not to think about the young Twi’lek. It happened that one of his patrols found him steadily marching down one of the silent corridors of the Temple when he overheard a stern reprimand being issued by a Jedi Master. “Beq,” growled the distinct voice of Master Dan-ki, “You must practice balance and equilibrium. You must control your desires and emotions. A Jedi has no place for emotion when dealing with others, you must cleanse your mind and your thoughts. Focus on the force and meditate, do not simply reach out and grab what you desire. Work for it, find a peaceful solution.” The girl’s response is lost to the trooper, as he mentally dances in joy. He finally knew her name, and that very knowledge brought with it a great longing to know more about this mysterious young girl.

Back in the present, the bounty hunter scans the catwalks and watches the perimeter once again as he silently resumes his self imposed duty. Traveling in the presence of very powerful Sith tends to make a bounty hunter and his guns feel feeble by comparison. Movement captures the bounty hunter’s attention and he zooms in to watch as one of the stealthy infiltration party suddenly floats up the air and crumples on top of the catwalk. Recognizing the Imperial uniform, the bounty hunter can only chuckle as he realizes that the poor man was helped by a rather inexperienced Force user. Lowering the angle of his scope, he attempts to spot the dark robes but the object of his desire is hidden by the corner of a building. His attention slides back up to the catwalk and he watches as another member of the party joins the Imperial. Sliding his sight across the catwalk, the bounty hunter suddenly catches a brief flash of movement heading towards his companions. Activating the zoom, he alertly attempts to find the source of the movement but it was simply a blur in his vision. After a moment of thought, he decides that he did not see enough to know if it was a threat. Focusing his attention back upon the visible party of the party, he stands at full alert and attempts to monitor the situation from afar.