A piece of writing

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Perhaps many do not know, but in my free time, when I’m not too busy being a bitch or plotting the demise of the world, I enjoy writing. And I am currently working on a book. So I decided to share a very small piece of it, with you, the world. Here it goes… (comment are very welcome!)

Lurking in the dark corners of the mind are vicious creatures and shiny treasures. At times, they fold together and become one. Things we hate, things we love, things we hope to forget, we just keep stuffing them in and hope they fit. Yet sometimes we lose the things we cherish. They slip through our fingers, and we don’t notice until it is too late.

The body is a vessel. Its memories are the broken bones and the hardened muscles. The gentle step of a ballerina or the quick reflex of a fighter.

The mind has the memories we are all familiar with. Facts, data, faces and names. The smell of home and the taste of mothers cooking.

The soul bears memories of its own. Coded, hidden more than anything else, yet smoldering inside and waiting for a gasp of air so it can burst into flames. They become nightmares that torment us or dreams that leave us gasping for more. When you finally catch one, the moment you start remembering, your skin electrifies.

Somewhere, in a distant plane, lies the home of my soul.

It lies within a forest, deep and dark. The yellow leaves rust on the ground as they rattle in the wind. It whispers of past glory and new beginnings. In a world where everything has a story and all you have to do is listen to hear it.

Yet darkness, ancient and damned, plunged the world into war. As the races united against it, they shed blood in the waters and burned down the temples. The spirits of war would rage upon the land, leaving nothing unscathed.

Heroes reunited to find ancient artifacts and forlorn powers to defeat the blight.

The elven would steer away from the battles, gathering allies, forging hidden alliances and collecting knowledge. The prince would travel to distant lands to collect the remaining pieces of the Laglard – the spawn of the Tree of Life – and seek the prisons of the titans and gods so he could begin “The Unchaining”. In his quest he was joined by three old friends – the red-headed warrior-princess of the Tribes of Sun and her wyvern, the genius djinn with his vast knowledge of arcane lore and the gentle elf-priestess who possessed the ability to divine the future.

The angelic would bring the fight to the blight, with sword and holy fire. A race against the very scourge would begin, as both sides attempted to search for and gain control of an ancient God of Death. He was found slumbering in the form of a marble egg, deep within the mountains at the edge of the world. Quickly captured by the winged ones, he was sealed within one of their own, daughter of Light, under the chimes of the Floating Cathedral.

The daemonic fell into civil war as they splintered into factions and could not converge on whom to support in the war. This would soon be their downfall, starting to fight between themselves and not paying attention to the corruption that started grasping their land under the command of the blight. As the sword of doom drew closer to cut the throat of their race, the Asura – ancient daemonic denizens of their territory – awoke and warned them all of the threat they could not see. Under the new banner of ancestral power, the daemons managed to reunite and forge a strong army that would march to the very core of their enemies.

The Ang’Ur – one of the few races that I could find no recollection of in this world – underwent perhaps the most dangerous path they could choose. Keeping for themselves for centuries, they tried to maintain neutrality but soon the wind of war would be held away from their land no more. With careful though they would choose to side with the blight, and under their steely arms and grey eyes, hundreds would be slaughtered. Rising in the ranks of the blight, they soon could behold the very top of the legion. And in that very moment, they would betray the blight and strike at the very heart of it. Very few outsiders knew what they were doing – a handful – and no many more of their very own. Only a race so obedient and trustful in the laws and decisions of the elders would have put so much fate in their destiny and embrace it like true warriors.

Some races retreated into other dimensions or beyond their seemingly impenetrable walls. Other would come back from long exiles and once again fight for their land of birth. Plots would twist the very nature of the world, betrayals would rein havoc, yet, ultimately, we were fighting a losing war…

You must understand that I am not a medium – I do not become possessed by powerful memories or spirits. Knowledge does not simply flow into me from some unknown source. I gather knowledge in bits and pieces.  For this reason, some seem incomplete, some lack entire episodes. Some will, undoubtedly, prove to have been false all of this time. This human body, with all its insecurities and fantasies, corrupts my memories with things it would want to have happened. If there is something that I have learned, it is that humans do not prefer the hard cold truth – they wish to be oblivious to reality if it dares not to conform itself to their wishes. A Sisyphean battle.

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