MC #3

M(ain)C(haracter)#3 Because he's technically number 3 but number 2 isn't done yet so I'm...posting anyway.

Name: Kadri Hasenkamp

Age:16 

Hair color: Blonde/golden brownish, short.

Eye color: Soft, light brown.

Height: 5'7"-small build.

Definitely how he would be imagined in an anime perspective. Neither of these pictures are the right clothing, but oh, well.

 

Aaaaand, the closest I could find to the look I wanted Kadri to have. Taking away the coat and leaving just the scarf and the hair, earrings, et cetera, we have Kadri. I was searching for brunette hairstyles to use as a character picture for Valentijn and came upon this young man's picture...but he was more blonde/super light brown to me. >.<

Voice: Higher; still cracks on occasion. Smooth tenor voice when he sings. Can sing but doesn't like to in front of other people.

Certain points of Personality: loves people and is generally aware of other's feelings; desires to be helpful and understanding and wants the best of others...most of the time. Get's somewhat emotional, sharp, or moody when he's stressed out. He hates being alone, and can have very dark thoughts when he's left to himself for too long. Generally appears to be very friendly, outgoing, and supportive, but is very wary of trusting people with his inner thoughts and feelings. He behaves like a chameleon with others in conversation; picking up the topics they want to talk about and simply commenting on their opinions rather than expressing his own. Needs positive feedback from other people about his writing. Can't look at something from a logical or impersonal perspective without feeling just a little guilty.

 Can be somewhat manipulative but in a strange way; aka, he's very good at persuading someone into doing what he wants them to do, for their own good, or what he thinks is their own good. 

 He also will use his people skills to manipulate if he feels he needs something that in reality he either doesn't need, or should just ask for up front.

 Peculiarities: Constantly sweeping/blowing/flipping hair out of his eyes. Cooks really well. Has a fear of darkness; nyctophobia. Physically claustrophobic; doesn't like being in small spaces, or wearing tight, restricting clothing. Writes in his spare time. Doesn't like his room, house, or other people's being untidy or dirty.

 Goal: Kadri seeks only to find a place for himself in this world. Broken, with his childhood dreams destroyed, he tends to find himself doing work in the illegal trading of goods to dictator-ruled countries in the Southern Continent, or guiding persons through the countries. He has also had dealings with many a network of revolutionaries, secret police, and bootleggers. He claims allegiance to no country; he was born in Korreliso but has traveled as far west as the Saralinsey Ocean and as far East as the Tono-ari River.

 And that pretty much wraps up the guy I call the emotional one. *sigh* So dramatic...

 -Argent

MC #1

M(ain)C(haracter) #1

 Valentijn Janson

 Age 18
 Hair color: Brown, long.
 Eye color: Hazel (brown-green).
 Height 5'8"

 His hair is about this length and color. Maybe a bit more brown, but generally, just a normal color, and fine/thin like this, too. I still don't know what sort-of face to throw on the guy...*sigh* *nonchalant* we'll see. XD (And good grief this guy in the pic has a skinny neck...)

Voice: Not too deep, not too high. Just middle. Baritone singing voice. Speaks quietly but with an assertive tone.
Certain points of Personality: Does not beat around the bush-says what he needs to say. Likes to be told his work is well-done. Dislikes noise and overly chatty people. Is an avid reader. Intelligent and witty. Can be more laid-back with an occasionally appearing silly side; only around close friends. Does not trust people quickly. Not easily guilt-tripped; sticks to what he's said he'll stick to.
 Very much a rule-follower, quiet, yet generally friendly. Is not afraid to tell others his opinions. Is more shy about sharing his creative ideas/theoretical things. Dislikes fudging or long explanations of problems or issues. Not impressed by grandeur of any kind, unless it happens to be a whole room of books. Then maybe he'll be impressed.
 Peculiarties: Does not like large crowds. Is not fond of sweets. Fear of heights. Rarely a 'good judge of character', meaning he doesn't get 'vibes' about people at all...normally. When he does get one he's normally 99% correct about it, surprising many.
 Goal: This young Kashihan is on a journey; one that has so far stretched itself out into the perilous communistic country of Grenan. But what is he on the journey for? He's searching for his Kashihan bond, and apparently, he hasn't had his bond with him in many a year. 

 And that's Valentijn! ^.^

Yet Another Story

I get the feel like writing in October a lot. >.>
 Especially *cough* this character *cough*.

*Snow drifted down; white flakes against an endless gray sky. No sound but the softly falling snow could be heard in that moment, but there was one thing, though silent, couldn't be avoided. Blood...there was blood in the snow. Ailith glanced down to see her brother, eyes closed, body limp, a curled up, scarlet-stained blotch in the perfectly white snow.

There was a soft breeze that chilled her as she realized what had happened. Kyle was dead.

Slowly, she stepped back from his lifeless form, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Then, she stopped. A presence was felt behind her; she turned, hoping it might be someone who could explain what had happened.

A tall man, lanky, brunette, wearing tattered and bloody clothes, stood before her. His dirty jaw was set, with no expression, and as the freezing wind whispered, softly, soundlessly, his hair was blown from his clear gray eyes.

Hatred filled his cutting gaze, and though no words were said, she knew his hands were stained with the blood of the young man dead in front of her.

Ailith stepped back, fear taking over her. His relentless eyes continued to stare at her. She tried to run away, but her feet wouldn't respond; she opened her mouth to scream, and-*

*Ailith's eyes snapped open as the sound of her own shout awakened her. She breathed in and out for a few moments, then quickly took in her surroundings; dark room, someone breathing softly, the quiet sound of people talking below.

It had all been a dream; they were in the inn still and the person breathing was Kyle. Still, blood pounded in her ears and her breathing was panicked. After only a few moments more, she sat up, trying to settle her thoughts. The events of the dream wouldn't leave her mind, rather, she was involuntarily remembering events of the past; the image of Rurik's lifeless eyes, her last memory of home, flashed through her mind, and suddenly a sob welled up in her throat. She tried to contain it, but it was far too powerful, and though she told herself it was just a dream, over and over, a tear still slipped down her cold cheek. One after another fell, until she found herself weeping as quietly as she could in the dark room.*

Posting three times in a row would just be too much, though...
Very minor editing, btw.

 -Argentia

The writers pen...

At an hour past midnight
The writer's pen strikes his paper


His pen is his sword
His pen is his alibi
His pen is all he needs to continue

He's a writer
A writer of love songs
His silence is beautiful
But his voice is strong

Writer, writer, in the night
Who is it who you search for?
What does lead your endless plight
What makes your thoughts soar?

Above your head, round and round
The reason is unknown to me
But I can tell, that without a doubt
Your pen is what helps you see

All you do is search and search
And lament your plight, your heartbreak
Even your life like a boat does lurch
Back and forth, back and forth, everything at stake

You shut down, lukewarm, but "satisfied"
But your pen always tells you more
Than you thought you knew
About yourself





You communicate a feeling, a feeling that is lacing your words like silver the clouds. A feeling that is like watching someone glance at you from the corner of their eye; sharing a secret emotion. A feeling that speaks of a hidden place, a small treasure that so few can unlock, open and see, but is rewarding beyond measure when accomplished. Why is it you write so powerfully? I cannot write like that. I wonder if it simply takes time. How can I communicate my small detail? That small detail that without even describing, you manage to make come alive...

Rainy Sundays...

It's raining. At 11:34 AM on a Sunday. In September.


Where? You can figure that out for yourself.



The rain falls light, pattering against the panes of glass without too much urgency. No, rather, the rain simply blurs everything outside. Inside, you can see. Outside, you cannot. Will you traverse into the unknown?
 Go, put on your coat. Something simple. Grab your umbrella, or pull over your hood, or slap on your fedora, whatever you prefer. Or if you don't prefer anything, no matter. Slip on your sunglasses; the sun isn't shining but the light you've got directed at you might make it hard to even walk without them.
 Head toward the door, and leave the people behind.
Go out into the rainy streets and spend a little time with your thoughts. You've spent so much time doing it, I know, but now...it's raining.
It's raining on Sunday.
Sanctuary, it isn't where you've been looking and it isn't in the place you used to go.
You spot it as you walk down the street, and you stop.
For a moment, you reconsider.
For a moment, you wonder if you really want anything to do with anyone anymore.
But you do. You stay far in the background; partly out of fear, partly because of that light, and partly from shame. But besides all of this, you listen.




 I wrote this while over at our neighbors house, watching their dog. It was late at night, we were planning on sleeping over (yes, they said we could do this), so while watching television, I wrote on my computer. This is what came out of it. I was somewhat dreaming of the days when it will rain on Sunday. When it rains on Sunday, I always think deeper.

 It's going to rain on Sunday this week...

Take it Slow...

Sunday, I was talking to one of my friends, and said something that made him reply; "You sound like you've spent many years travelling outside of your body or something."
 I answered with "Well, yes, I have, sort-of."

 I fully intended to make this into something of a post, but the truth is...it just kinda flopped after that. XD I was gonna try to comprise summer, but I sort-of just want to stop writing and enjoy my good music...I hate it when I do that!!! It's like I can't do anything but listen to music!!! Urgh.
 Well, anyways...
 I'm...writing a lot recently. As any of you who read my blog may have noticed. If you haven't been reading my little story...that's fine. I hold about the same opinion of it as Mr. Lukas; it's important to him, and it's important to me, but others may just not want to read it, since it's sort-of the same as any other story you might here. Well, to myself and Lukas it is quite odd but very cliche. To others it might just be boring. >.<
 Yes, I speak of my characters like they're real people. I'm sorry! I know they aren't and I don't think of them as people with real opinions...just characters who live in a little world in my head. I give them life and opinions and faces and such...just so I don't creep anyone out, I had to say that. LOL

 So, I'm excited for NaNoWriMo 2011!!! I have characters laid out but absolutely no plot for them! LOL I can't decide....
Should I have them be really important children of a government official and get captured and held for ransom at some point...
 Or should I have Nolan be the one who's invovled with the government, and he's a genius who cracks into the computers of other countries as a sort-of spy?
 Or...or should they just be normal people that somehow get wrapped up in Erin's weird life and just turn it into a slice of life/romance comedy/shojo story?
 You know...a 'let's save Erin from her awful life' campaign...naw, that's too fragile of a plot...
 See what I go throught?! lol, I'm just throwing ideas out there.
 I also can't decide if I want any romance in there or not. I really don't think I do...
 But if there were a couple for me to want give enough attention to make it slightly noticeable...
 J.K. and Erin...J.K.'s kinda impulsive. He's smart, but he doesn't know what to do with his intellect and can be a little destructive in his spare time. He hates wasting time, but does it consistently. He's got a past, but his life has been one full of whatever he wants. He's never known Erin's life of poverty and suffering.
 Nolan and Erin...well, Nolan is 8 years older than her, so that might be a problem somewhere. But since my great-grandparents were eight years apart I'm not that concerned about age difference. Nolan could understand Erin's situation well, plus he's very cool-headed an intuitive. He's lived through hard times and he's also not been wealthy all the time, either. He sees who Erin really is...but he's also a bit of a jerk and has some nasty habits (smoking being one of them). Ahhh, what to do...



~A.K.~

In Which Sleeping Beauty Does Not Awaken

Part 2

Her eyes were closed, her expression peaceful. Light danced across her summer suntanned cheeks, her equally brown hands folded gently across her chest. Her dress was that of a peasant; her feet were bare and rough, her dark brown hair mussed.

Well, this is going to be easy. She's not that hard to kiss.

I sort-of wanted to beat my head against a wall when that comment entered my mind, but decided to simply appreciate the fact that I hadn't spoken it aloud.

The room we were in was lightly furnished; cut of the same stone as the rest of the castle. The drapes of the single window in the room, which was across from me, were pulled away to reveal a gorgeous view of the countryside. In the wall to the left was the fireplace, and besides that, the room was empty of decor.

Her bed was simple and had been moved towards the window, but was still more in the center of the room. There was a chest at the footboard, a rug on the floor, and a chair standing awkwardly all alone.

Richard pulled the chair to the side of the bed and sat there. Beckoning for me to sit on the bedside, he entered into what I suppose was an explanation of what had happened.

“You see, Lukas, I was originally intending this to happen to our princess, Aurelia. But the old, half-blind witch that I employed to execute this plan got the wrong girl. See, she only slightly resembles Aurelia.”

I nodded, slightly confused.

“But anyways, I intended Aurelia, and then for the prince to come save her. Sadly, the prince won't save a false princess when he can simply go and speak to the real one. So, I need to do something about this one.”

“Two questions,” I began, “why do you want the prince to come save Aurelia, and why do you need to do something about this girl? Why not just execute your plan and then have the prince kiss both of them?”

Richard groaned, “all these details...well, as to why I want the prince to come save her...that's none of your business. As to why I cannot go about my plans while this one is lost in her deep slumber; the witch won't curse another girl until this ones been taken care of. It's really quite simple if you understand the magic behind it all. When one person is suffering from your curse, you-”

“I get it, I get it. No need to explain. You just want me to kiss her, and then we'll be out of here, right?'

By now, I was becoming slightly irritable. I didn't understand why he had to have me do it and I wasn't looking forward to it anyway. Besides, if I dawdled around there much longer, my family would wonder where I was and I certainly didn't want them to know.

“Ah, that is, if it is a successful attempt, which is most likely, then I will most definitely be-”

“Alright. One last question.”

“Yes?” His gray eyes flashed to meet my blue ones.

“Why me?”

A sly grin that a demon could have worn slid across his face and he stood up, “Why, the answer is simple, Lukas. You are, after all, the prince's own cousin. You are the closest to a prince that they might come...have you forgotten it already?”

No, I hadn't forgotten it. I hadn't forgotten it at all. Instead, it had been continuously thrust into my face for all seventeen years of my life, and I hated it. Sometimes, I wondered if it were me that was important, or my blue blood.

Of course, it is my blue blood, and it always will be. You just have to get used to this if you're at all related to the prince, and go on living your life.

Richard began to pace back and forth, “you weren't my first solution, though. I tried it myself. When that didn't work, I had a peasant to try. That didn't work, either. That was when I attempted to get the prince to come to dinner, but he responded to my request with nothing whatsoever; not even the slightest hint of a reply. I wrestled with it for days until I determined that only a prince can break a spell meant for a princess. I didn't really want any prince but ours, so I continued to mull over it until I remembered you. Ah, yes, Lukas! Son of the king's second youngest brother. That would probably work. So here we are.” Richard sighed as he finished, and suddenly stopped pacing. He stared at me strangely for a moment. “Well? Aren't you going to kiss her?”

Well...as a seventeen-year-old male I stood dumbfounded for a few moments before I realized that I really was going to have to kiss her. I felt my face flush at my cousin's clear, honest gaze of inquiry. He definitely was a weird one...

I cast a glance at her face. Then I decided I wasn't going to think about it anymore and bent down. As soon as my lips touched hers, I felt a pressure on the back of my head and realized it was Richard's hand. After several long moments, my self in great misery, he finally allowed me to sit up. I suppose he had been worried I wouldn't kiss her long enough to break the spell.

Fury had welled up inside me, not to mention the racing of my heart and the embarrassment that I had just kissed a girl for the first time. I turned to Richard, about ready to shout at him, when I realized he was looking me up and down with great scrutiny. His eyes held a mad, angry light, and he cursed softly under his breath.

That was when I realized she hadn't awakened. Rather, she lay just as still as before. Not a sound passed between anyone in the room. It remained deathly quiet.

Then, Richard turned away. He left the room silently with a swoosh of his cape and was gone. After recovering from my stupor, I attempted to follow, but as I reached the door it slammed in my face, and I heard the grinding of a lock. In my ignorance I assumed Richard had done it. At first I called out, figuring that my crazy relative had simply pulled a cruel joke. Then I began beating upon the door, shouting and cursing at the top of my lungs. But no one came. After many hours the sun began to set and I realized that he had never intended to let me go if the plan didn't work. The look on his face when he left was enough. I didn't know why he'd decided to keep me there, but that wasn't the point. I was a captive of a madman who thought he was a wizard, with no way to get out, and as darkness set in, I crawled into a ball on the rug and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The Sarcastic Narrarator Returns...

Part 1



 I approached the castle with some hesitation. I was mildly fearful of Lord Richard, since seven Christmasess ago, when I was ten and just recovering from my accident, he'd tried to exorcise my great-grandmother and the next day she'd died. Of course, this was merely coincidental (I think), and shouldn't have affected me...but somehow, it has.
 So as I and my horse slowly made the climb towards the castle, I reread his letter, which I'd kept in my pocket. This is what it said,



 My dear cousin Lukas, son of Lord Martin of the Marshlands (My name just happens to be Henry Lukas Martin the Sixth. I go by my middle name to avoid confusion)
 I have a proposition for you. You've always been a smart lad, one with words, so I know you must be reading this letter with curiosity. Your cousin Richard hasn't contacted you in a long time. Well, to be honest, I need you for something.
 I want you to visit my castle. A maiden has accidentally been put into an endless slumber. She was supposed to be a different maiden, who would be awakened with the kiss of a prince, but sadly, this is not the case. She is not a maiden, and the prince won't come to kiss and wake her. I was hoping you might be obliged to do it. 
 I have enclosed 15 gold pieces in this package. It is only one-third of what I plan to pay you if you come and wake her.
 
 Your loving cousin,
 Lord Richard Carlton



 Before I knew it, I had reached the main gates. I tried to stifle both my unease and my now rising doubts as I surveyed the place.
  It was the picture of an abandoned castle from fairytales. The grounds were unkempt, the buildings in disrepair, and in general looked as if no one lived there.
 But Richard was, as I was soon made painfully aware, in that fortress.
 No one came to greet me, and no one was guarding the large, iron gates. Yet, creaking on their hinges with a screeching of rust, they opened as I approached. Unsettled moreso than before, I glanced around for someone who had opened them, but barely even saw the rustle of a bush or tree, or a shadow or noise.
 Did I mention this was all taking place on a sweaty, humid, late August day when there was absolutely not the slightest hint of a breeze? In most circumstances, I would have been spending the day drinking lemonade out in the garden, reading a book.
 The castle really appeared like an overgrown berry patch that a little kid would want to go crusading in, but I ignored that fact as I spotted Lord Richard off to the side. He was by himself, in a deep red tunic with a black short sleeved shirt underneath and black hose. His cape was the same color that is commonly associated with darkness, and he wore jewelled rings on his fingers. He's quite a bit older than me...ten years, at least, but he keeps his beard shaved and his raven colored hair long.
 I suppose we do actually look somewhat alike. That's what mother always said before he went crazy, at least.
 "Ah, my young cousin..." He began as I dismounted from my horse, "I see you're well as ever. Um, most of you, that is." He finished, casting a glance at the evidence of the accident several years ago. He couldn't see my pegleg under the boots I was wearing, but he must have remembered which one it was.
 I suppose it is time I explained.
 When I was ten years old, I was playing in the forest one day. And, you guessed it, was attacked by wild boars. I would have healed just fine, had it not been for the gangrene which began spreading. So, just as neat as you please, it was amputated and that was the last of it.

Since it isn't necessary to the story for me to explain everything about it, I'll just say that it's on occasion hard to get around with your right foot missing, but mostly, it poses no problem.

I greeted my cousin with similar friendliness, choosing not to acknowledge his comment.

“Well, then, since you're here, just leave your horse to be tended to, and we'll get straight to work.”

I wasn't sure where my horse would go or who would take care of him, seeing as there was no one else but Richard and I, but I decided not to worry about it and followed my demented cousin into the keep.

The corridors were cool and refreshing compared to the outside. I could hear water running somewhere; probably an underground stream.

It was as we rounded a corner and came upon a flight of stone stairs that Richard stopped. I glanced upwards. There was a landing, about twelve steps up, and then they turned out of site. The long, small window chiseled out of the stone provided faint light.

The sound of water running was to my left, and I realized that it was seeping out a crack in the wall. I turned to Richard.

“Is this a spring?”

“Yes. As you may have noticed by now, we descended several stairs as we entered this keep. We've been underground for a while. Since the castle is built into the mountain, it's natural for a few springs to be around. This one conveniently runs through here. Now, the mystery as to why the structure is still sound is one that I may only explain with magic.”

I groaned.

“Now, now, be a good lad and wash your sweaty face off, and we'll go on up and visit her.” He responded.

Finding no other options before me, I did as I was told. After splashing my face with water, we ascended.

Up until then I hadn't really believed in magic at all. But in the next few months, a battle of questions would be waged within me, and the reality of magic would definitely be one of the fiercest wars.

~A.K.~

The Sarcastic Narrarator is Introduced

(EDIT)

Greetings.
 My name is Lukas, and I am the son of the usual, filthy rich, high-and-mighty, greedy nobleman.
 I know this is the most boring opening for a story ever, but you must understand that it's imperative to the plot that you know what kind of background I have.
 Maybe it's just important that you continue reading. Either way...do whatever you wish. I won't try to convince you to go on.
 I'm a fairly average nobleman's son; lanky, with dark hair and rigid features, generally neglected by parents, tutored by the second best in the land (best saved for the prince, you know), but hating of my studies, and bearing the evidence of an old wound which...I'll explain later. Did I mention brooding and secretive?
 So maybe that is why I found myself here, at the gates of this ancient witches' fortress...it was probably a great castle once before something drastic happened, but I haven't studied history very diligently for the last year so I don't know.
 All I am certain of is that I received a letter from Lord Richard. Lord Richard is my...second cousin, I believe. Anyways, we all decided to forget about him when a few years ago he suddenly moved out to this abandoned witches' fortress and decided to begin showing some sure signs of insanity-never speaking to anyone, locking himself in his room, and having a keen interest in the dark arts.
 Coincidentally, it seems Lord Richard hasn't forgotten about me.
 He wanted me to do him a favour, on the condition that I would tell no one. There was, of course, an installment of the money he was willing to pay me if I did what he wanted included with his little package.
 I'm a normal guy, really. Money, land and reputation aren't important to me at all...I'm so normal, in fact, that I threw the letter away and never even thought twice about it.
 Ahem. So, after the brief moment (about two seconds) of considering his offer, I immediately set about preparing to go meet him.
 After all...this much in gold coins doesn't normally come to me like this.
 Who would have thought it would be as simple as just kissing a fine maiden to awaken her from a cursed, magical and accidental slumber?
 Ah...the scrapes I have always managed to get myself into...

If it were...

If it were real.


The statement lingers in my mind, a quiet reminder of the fairy tale that somehow, for that instant, didn't seem impossible.
I simply smiled, observed from a distance. I didn't feel giddy or light, but rather a rock-solid, attached feeling, like my feet would never leave the ground even if I exerted all of my energy just to jump. I couldn't move, yet I wanted to. I wanted to move, yet somehow, it was pointless. The whole thing was worth it in some sense of the word; just to watch and think-I want to remember this.


I didn't even realize I was dreaming.


I felt alive, surrounded by people in a dark, loud, enclosed space, with lights flashing only on one place of note, and that place was one I won't forget.


I can't help but contemplate my feelings. It was just a dream, but it was realistic enough that I believed it, even after the first few moments of waking up. I was calm; happy, yes, filled with emotion, yes. But I wasn't allowing it to take hold of me or determine my action. I stood there, I observed, I continued in my one persuite.
 There was something I had to say to you. Even if you totally ignored me, or couldn't understand me, I wanted you to at least hear my words, spoken for you.
 So even when I was standing right next to you, I wasn't distracted from my goal...
 I question myself now; no, I torture myself with inquiries, mulling over a situation that will most likely never be thrust in front of me. I feel so happy, trying to remember the dream that is now tarnished by time. Yet there is a dark, thoughtful, bitter thought of whether or not I would really remain so focused. I wish I could ask my subconscious some questions, almost as much as I wish I could ask you some.
 I've tried to reach you; todoke, but I still wrestle with the truth and hope. The darkness of this world, and the light that all will eventually be answered.
 So I repeat it in my head; todoke, todoke, todoke...reach you.

-Argent

Justin from Westmark

Justin...an indescribable presence. The angel and the devil; that's how Florian put it, and rightly so.
 In the very essence of his being there is an anger, a hunger for revenge, for answers, for something to satisfy his endless plight. His violet eyes flash with fury, a look that many cannot understand.
 It's no wonder Rina fell for him.
 His past haunts him; he's his own ghost, as Theo remarked. He drifts along between the Justin that could have been, could be, but still is in between. A madman, but neither grovelling in self-pity, nor embarking on any killing sprees. Simply there; he does what occurs to him to do at the moment, and that can be one of many things, each dependant upon the past and his vengeance. He can only trust himself to carry out this vengeance, because no one else understands it.
 Perhaps Florian understood it best. Either that, or he just allowed it to carry on without stopping Justin, which was as good as understanding.
 His scar adds to his lack of sanity; a rippling, brightening and darkening mark down his forehead and cheek, reinforcing the expressions that cross his face, and telling a story without any words; a story of thoughtless, crazed valour, near-death incidence, and the reason behind the sandpaper dividing himself from Theo.
 Things drop into Justin's mind and disappear, Florians says. His mind is an endless labyrinth; doors opening to hallways. Some are easily passed through, others haven't been opened in years and probably never will be opened again. He allows himself to forget those awful memories. They drop down into the darkness and are never seen again, or, they are changed; morphed into something at least half-better than it could have been. He has an uncanny ability for that, and after a while he loses track of when he started to believe his story as the truth.
 He wants to destroy the monarchy. He wants to destroy the world. He wants his vengeance. He can't be contained until he has it. He's the devil.
 He smiles and laughs and talks to people, with a winning 'charm' that most can't escape. He doesn't feel like he's hiding anything, because he isn't. He's the angel. 


He's Justin.




 Westmark rant. >.< I absolutely cannot get over Justin as a character. He's amazing in a way that I can't quite get out.

 Complex characters for the win.


-Argentia Krystofel

Tag from The Shieldmaiden at Wordpress!

Do you want a hug?
Adrian: Depends...if I know you, maybe, if I don't, of course not...if you're a pretty girl...sure!!!
Misti: I am now weirded-out. No.
Alastair: ...please don't.
Do you have any kids?
Adrian: *looks around* Ummmmmmmmmmmm...no...
Misti: No...but I love 'em.
Alastair: That's a very...impossible question. I'm fourteen years old. Why would I have children?
Have you killed anyone?
Adrian: Uh-huh, I have.
Misti: Once; only because they tried to kill Adrian.
Alastair: Yes. Several.
Love anyone?
Adrian: …maybe...*mischievous grin*
Misti: Yes. I love the person more than anything in the world.
Alastair: *sigh of annoyance*
 (Adrian: Don't ask him^ personal questions unless you're prepared to be answered with either silence, or a sigh.)
What is your job?
Adrian: Find the shards, prove I can use them well enough to say I'm royalty, and then take my throne back.
Misti: Self appointed-Protect Adrian. Given-Protect the forest...and do laundry.
Alastair: Puppet ruler.
Favorite season?
Adrian: Summer! All the way!
Misti: Tough one...probably spring, when all the flowers bloom.
Alastair: I hate just about anything other than Mid-October. That's the only time it's even at all reasonable outside.
Who’s your best friend?
Adrian: Don't have one, don't need one.
Misti: *quietly* Adrian.
Alastair: Royale.
Hobbies?
Adrian: Reading, practicing with my shards, and riding my horse, Orion. Sometimes, I just lay around, especially at home, daydreaming or playing my flute.
Misti: Exploring! I love to explore the unknown parts of the South. Then there are so many other things I love to do, I can't really name them all.
Alastair: Piceus, reading, and becoming more skilled in dual-wielding.
What are you going to do when this tag is over?
Adrian: Writhe in agony and utter boredom as Argent has be recover from poisoning for the SECOND TIME in a row.
Misti: Return from my walk with Alas and check up on aforementioned Adrian.
Alastair: Finish the ice cream Misti and I just bought.
What is your eye color?
Adrian: Green. Emerald green; quite rare I've heard.
Misti: Aqua-colored.
Alastair: Normally, gray. They grow darker in dim light; glow red in darkness. It's a night vision thing. I don't like explaining it and I hate talking about it; most people count it as a 'curse'.
Are you good? Or bad?
Adrian: I attempt being good most of the time, but I on occaision...make people cry. I don't try to, honest!!!
Misti: I'm on Adrian's side. Him getting his throne back IS a good thing...to spite how it might not seem like that right now.
Alastair: Depends who you are.
What is your greatest fear?
Adrian: There's no way on earth I'm telling you that.
Misti: I won't protect the forest, like I always have, or that one of my friends will die.
Alastair: ...no comment.
What do you think of your parents?
Adrian: Well, technically, I never knew my birth parents, but I have adopted ones; Callan and Shane Kempf. Mother is...okay, I guess. A little eccentric, and sort-of protective, but it doesn't bother me. And Father...he was taken by the plague when I was fourteen. He always kept his distance; waited for when I wanted to come to him, instead of smothering me. One thing I remember very well is that his smiles were infectious; when he was happy, everyone was.
Misti: Let's not go there.
Alastair: I cared for my father...deeply. My mother...another story entirely.
Any siblings?
Adrian: None.
Misti: I wish! Starr's kinda become like a little sister, though!
Alastair: Two older half-brothers, and a younger half-sister and half-brother. Four in all...there might be more that I don't know about.
Was it fun to answer all these questions?
Adrian: Anything new is welcome.
Misti: All but a few...
Alastair: It was indescribable. In a really bad way.
Do you have any weaknesses?
Adrian: You gotta be kidding.
Misti: Let's see...I can't really count them all, but I'd say the greatest is when a certain someone gives me a certain smirk. I can't say anything, much less disagree with them. (Adrian: This wouldn't happen to be any of the guys in the village, would it? Misti: I never said it was a guy and what makes you think I would tell you?!)
Alastair: You just never give up, do you?
Your favorite element?
Adrian: Definitely fire. I love the stuff.  It's bright, warm...and truly beautiful.
Misti: Ummm...foliage? Trees and rocks and the ground and stuff? Do those count?
Alastair: Darkness; night time. Quiet, solitary, and safe.
Do you care what others think of you?
Adrian: It's SUPPOSED to matter to me, because I'm a prince and all, but honestly it doesn't. (Me: It does!!! He'll just never admit it!)
Misti: Duh. Doesn't everyone, somewhere, worry about what others think?
Alastair: No...not anymore.
Your theme song?
(None of my characters have one decided yet. There are different ones that I listen to, and some of them are more for the character than others. ^.^ I can't write without music, though. LOL)

What’s your species?
Adrian: Completely human!!!
Misti: Part forest spirit, part human.
Alastair: Half Wood Elf, half Dark Elf.

No Doubt [Reprise]

No Doubt, Reprise


A rush of air as I step forward
Starving for realism
The sudden truth that this isn't hard
And that this is the last moment

We didn't need any words at all
A silent conversation
Bright lights, cool wind, yellow wall
And I see that this is the last moment

I grip tighter; pain pounds in my feet
A constant beat in my head
The imperfect row like a city street
And I come to terms with this last moment 

The summer days are full of light
A hint of coffee and cologne
The memories swing with our flight
Like a whirlwind; this is the last moment

My heart throbs inside me
Now the world is full of color
Wrapping my hand around tightly
I seek to hold onto this last moment

The darkness, the fear, the contemplation
The support of one thing takes them
And away they go without need of explanation
Frozen in time, this last moment

I can't explain it; don't ask me to
It's a feeling, not a word
And a security; I can rely on You
Even in this crucial, last moment

The single song, the only way
Am I a hopeless thief
For trying my hardest to make it stay
That sweet, last moment

A picture of the past to the present
Completed, not framed, painting
Nothing needs added, nor asked for consent
And I find peace in the last moment


Things change, so do these places
Where you can cry 'I am safe!'
Not meeting any time-hunted, cruel gazes
Forever, No Doubt, last moment

So I stand, gazing at the banners in rows
And the lights, gently bright
Calling me forward, where my heart goes
The end of the last moment.


 -Argentia Krystofel

Without Words (sort-of)

Sunday-Told By the Past

 Hint-Read the song names. And, I haven't heard a single one of these so I can't speak for the content.

(I didn't mean for my window to look like a cross reflected in this...it kind-of gives the impression that Christ is a Highway to Nowhere...I wanted to say please don't take it that way...but you could take it that Life is a Highway to Nowhere without Christ!!!)

If you were with me Sunday you probably will have to 'organize' them to have chronological order...some won't make sense unless you know me very, very well. The shots after this are just little random ones I wanted to try...I thought they looked good.

I'm such an artsy geek! Hope you had a wonderful Lord's day~!


~A.K.~

No Title

I ran out of titles. After 130+ posts...you stop being able to come up with something to describe the weird mood you're in or what you're writing about. Then again, maybe "No Title" will describe this?




 His body was tensed as he stared over the table. His bright blue eyes darted about, yet they wouldn't meet mine. His tongue curled around the words he was saying with such great sarcasm I was slightly surprised. The long, dark, uneven bangs that fell into his brilliant blue orbs swished with every movement he made; and that was quite often. To spite his scrawniness, the boy was lithe and strong, and every emotion he was feeling was expressed through his movement; the anger, the fear, and the acknowledgement.
 I was vastly opposite. Arms crossed, I kept my eyes on him and tried to not waver. I didn't feel angry or even afraid. Just so, so guilty.
 For the record, I hate the feeling called guilt. I've done enough messing around and acting out in my life to fill the king's treasury with all my guilt-and there might still be some besides.
 The young man sitting across from me was like the final act in my commitment-lacking life. Oh, the curtains are far from closing; at least, if I don't die tomorrow or something like that. But this is the latter part, even if it could be a pretty long ending.
 The boy's eyes flash up to meet mine, furious.
 "I'm not gonna ask why, because that's just way too cliche."
 I nod.
 "That's fine; I really don't know why myself."
 "Good. So, do you know exactly what kind of torture to call this?"
 He didn't gesture at anything, but we both understood what he was talking about-his entire life, I had been shirking my duties. It was, rightfully, his time to take vengeance. I wanted to apologize, but would it really help? Not likely. Yelling at him like I had any right to was a bad idea; grovelling was even worse.
 "No."
 "Gosh...I would think you would have some smoother words than that after everything you've done."
 "I could say the same."
 Okay, so maybe I was pushing the sarcasm a little bit now. But who on earth did the little guy think I was?
 A lowlife, I guess. He might be pretty right if he were talking to me twelve years ago, but now? I like to think I've changed, at least a teensy tiny amount!
 "Wha-? Don't compare me to you! I might've stolen a little something here or there, or maybe some selfish noble's money once or twice, but I never, ever, ever even thought of doing what you have."
 I sighed.
 "Give yourself a few years, and you might."
 "Shut up. That isn't even funny."
 "I know. I'm telling you the truth."
 A pause as he took a few deep breaths to control his nearly boiling-point fury. We were sitting in a tavern, and there were people standing around. I cast an idle glance around the room. A man in the corner who looked slightly more than just shady, a silent father with his talkative daughter near us, and a young couple with a small baby. Each thing seemed to direct me back to where I was or where I'd been; the irony that always made me wonder if there were a way that someone was trying to make me more miserable.
 My attention snapped back to the business at hand as my young friend spouted off, "Do you actually think I want to be anything like you?! I've abandoned my life of thieving."
 "One likeness right there."
 He laughed scornfully.
 "The only reason you gave up using people is that..."
 "That I started feeling bad about it?"
 "Yeah." The blue-eyed fellow sniffed, defeated, but not about ready to admit it.
 "You know, I didn't 'use' your mother. The feelings we had for each other were mutual. There wasn't anything cruel or abusive in our relationship." I answered blandly, trying to not get as worked up as this boy was.
 "Except that you left!!!" He blurted, and all the heads in the room turned. I tried to give a sympathetic look before turning back to him.
 "Shhhhh...I know already. I made a bad choice; I realize that. But you also left your aunt. After returning and searching for your mother I would have been able to find you if you'd been agreeable...but I suppose it's in your blood. My parents couldn't find me for those years, either."
 The kid glared at me. "I'm not anything like you."
 I looked off to the side, "If you're not going to admit it, fine...I don't care. The point is that I came back for you. Do you want to come with me?"
 "No way. I would hate to ever be introduced as your son, much less live under your roof." He answered indignantly. He would never know it, but that thrust like a knife into me. I didn't want to hear that out of his mouth.
 "Alright. Well...here is the town," I answered, scrawling the location on a small scrap of paper. "That way, you will know where to find me. I come here to London every year to trade; you may come home with me then, if you wish. If not, a tradeship to Greece would get you there; though I would prefer if you wrote to me before you left so I would know where to meet you." I knew my instructions were probably lost on him, but he took the paper quietly and nodded.
 I stood up to leave; I had miles to travel before I could turn in for the night. As I exited, I felt a tug on the cloak I was wearing, and turned.
 There he stood, head bent, feet shuffling from side to side...not barefoot, like I remember him, but well-clothed. Acknowledging all this, it was still the same way of standing.
 "Peter...thank you."
 Letting the words sink in, I was surprised. I didn't have much experience with kids, and he was no exception, only that he was my own, whether I believed it or not. Stopped by the queerness of his gratitude, and the fact he used my first name, I had to ask, "why?"
 "B-because....that time...when you visited. Those men were going to hurt me. So...thank you for at least doing something respectable."
 I couldn't quite believe it, but I smiled anyway.
 He groaned, "Don't look like that! It's not as if I look up to you or anything...so go back to where you came from! Like you'll ever see me again; I don't care about where you live or whether you come back or not or anything." He finished, turning away and marching off, up the stairs of the inn and probably to his room where he friends were. I still smiled, even though I knew he would never be normal because of what I did.
 Heading out into the rain, I saddled my horse and rode away; the burden gone from my shoulders at last. Squinting in the downpour, I sighed as the curtain did close on my commitment free life, and hopefully opened to something new...something right.


So, a story I came up with while sitting around not doing anything...I hope it's good-no names were mentioned and that's a feat for me. =)

Blah blah blah...

I changed my profile picture to a self-portrait, since Sasuke was getting REALLY old. *grin*

 So today I ended up getting my contacts "fixed" (they're STILL bugging me...maybe even more now!!!). I'm still going to wear them but not as frequently as I had hoped. I can't believe I walked in there and thought-Yay, contacts, I won't have to wear glasses and everything will be just perfect~!

 Yeah. My life doesn't work that way, sadly.>.<

 The good, uplifting, joyful news today-I baked banana bread. Two loaves-one just banana, the other with chocolate chips included. It was a lot of fun though a tad bit tiring in the summer heat...I'm sooooo thankful for our AC.

 Lately, Lineage has been bugging me. I totally feel like I'm not writing anything up to par (and let's face it; I've been writing for an hour or so every TWO WEEKS) and that the storyline...well, is a flop.

 The story of my story is...cliche. Cliche is loosing it's feel to all the different, amazing, never cliche in the slightest stories out there...so maybe it isn't so bad to be cliche?


 The Western places of the continent are ravaged with disorder. With no king, the people have been living in chaos with no intervention for sixteen years. By this time, the government has totally collapsed; every noble that would take the place of the king would be killed off by his fellow man, and the cycle continued until the people no longer care who claims to be king-it doesn't matter if they possess no power or authority. 
 Adrian Kempf-Amundr is a young man from the Southernmost reaches of the continent. Here he grew up, and here he learned of the ways of the strong, freedom-loving, semi-self governed peoples; a picture of what the West once was. From a very young age he wanted to change things for the struggling people; imagine his surprise when he finds he has the ability to unlock a strange power from a glowing rock which could, in the long run, benefit this goal. Formally known as the Shard of Dreams, Master Kempf soon becomes skilled in this 'magic'. About this time, Adrian, at age twelve, overhears his parent's conversation one night. He discovers the troubling truth-he is the rightful heir to the empty throne of the havoc-ridden Western lands. 
 Now with many questions, but no answers whatsoever, he decided that as soon as his parents allowed, he would set out on conquest to reunite the lands so they may prosper again.
 An unexpected event takes place after leaving at age sixteen. Adrian meets a street urchin named Starr; she doesn't know her last name or even her exact age, but she does share one single thing in common; a power that no one else understands nor can describe.
 Both determined to find answers to their many questions, Starr and Adrian decide to journey together and along the way pick up many others; Royale Watershed, a man who is strangely loyal to Adrian and associates himself with being a servant to him, Alastair, a dark elf of the east, and Misti, childhood playmate and lifelong friend to Adrian.


 That I would say is the synopsis...a little long, yeah, I'd need to shorten it for a book cover, but in a beginning-storyline sense this is it. I KNOW it's totally cliche...but I need to keep writing. I want to finish this thing more than ever now that a friend of a friend has finisher HER book...and it took her two years. I'm pushing the two year point right now-December will mark two years of "writing" in my story. I put writing in quotations because it's really been so off-and-on that it makes me wanna hide. I have a lot set up-I mean a LOT. I even have last names for almost all my characters! (and I am a stickler on last names...names in general. It took me the first year to come up with Alastair a name-thankfully he comes much later in the story. He still doesn't have a last name. I'm going with something Scandinavian or Celtic I think, but it's hard with all those accent-marks and stuff).


It's just a matter of bucking it up, facing the fact that I'm not perfect, and plowing through the thing. It all looks so crisp and clean and perfect-fantasy-like when I look at it from the outside-when I start writing it out I don't do the mental image justice. >.<

 Anyway...if anyone feels like commenting with advice or even just telling me in person/on chat, it would be greatly appreciated. Even without advice...even just cheering about my banana bread...please, someone!!! lol (I'm totally exaggerating!)


~A.K.~ (doesn't anyone notice I have Adrian's initials? *huge grin with hugs for Adrian*)

P.S. Some of you will notice that I did a "little story" on here back in either 09 or 08 with characters named Starr and Adrian. Yes, that is the same story...sort-of. I must say there has been so much changed in my mind and in a few edits (I don't like editing as I go-prefer to review the whole thing) that it barely resembles what I have now. :)

Don't Cry for Me

Don't cry for me.

 She looks up, the tears running down her cheeks. No one is there, and the sounds of people in the streets continue. A shout, a call, and an animal's cry, all come through the open window and grace her ears with the knowledge that the whole world is moving on without her. No one knows her pain in full.

 Don't cry for me.

 The golden sunlight creeps over the floorboards, bathing the room in the light of an otherwise perfect day. But her heart is torn.
  One last attempt to keep herself. One last attempt to rebuild those walls around herself. One last attempt to find kindness through her own. And it's thrown away.

 "Why?" She chokes out, before burying her face in her hands again. She's young now. She doesn't realize what else is in store for her; how much this time will strengthen her in the future.
 That's what the older girl thinks, as stoop to peep through the crack in the attic door. Part of her feels for the younger. There is something in her tears that she relates to, something she can understand fully.
 Yet the younger girl was so foolish. How could she stretch out her hand to someone who was bound to swat it away?
 The older brushes her black hair behind an ear as she stands up. Knowing that comforting the other won't help, she makes her way down the stairs.
 "Is she coming?" He asks.
 "No. She's not."


 The younger opens her eyes to find she had fallen asleep. Darkness had settled. She turned to the window to close the shutters, and as she looks up she beholds the sky. Stars, billions of them, all blinking and winking down at her.
 I'll never let this happen again.
 Is the quiet thought that enters her mind. She's surprised by her own boldness. Never?
 Never. Never again.

~A.K.~

A Moment In Time...

 For a moment in time, he stands there, his gray eyes cold and unforgiving.
 For a moment in time, she begs of him, pleads that he will pardon her wrong. She never meant to hurt him; reopen such deep wounds in his soul.
 For a moment in time, afternoon sunlight covers them both, warming things ironically. Yet, down below, she can hear the powerful waves beating against the shore, cold, firm and resolved, like his gaze so scornful.
 For a moment, everything hangs in the balance, neither willing to break. But that moment is fleeting; time must always go on. The floodgates are let loose; their waters pioneer streams down her flushed cheeks.
 For a moment, she contemplates how lonely it is to cry alone.
 "Crap." He says defiantly, then sighs. He holds out his arms to her, a look of resignation on his face. She races into those arms, burying her face in his cotton t-shirt.
 "I'm sorry!" She chokes out, the tears unrelenting.
 "I know...me, too." He says quietly.
 For a moment...nay, longer than that, they stand together with arms about each other, taking joy in the glory of forgiveness.


-Argentia Krystofel ♥

Oh! The Exaggeration (And thoughts on geeks)

Oh, the exaggeration I go through.

Oh, the exaggeration I create.

Oh, how funny it is sometimes

Oh, wherever can it originate?

^Random poems are fun things. I almost want to write one about geeks. Lately, I feel, and remember, a girls second calling is to exaggerate, that they are on the rise. No, wait. That they have almost conquered. Like a massive wave they have come upon us, and they have been recognized for their competence, their techiness, their intelligence, and their awkwardness.
 It's been seen throughout history that people with a cause they feel passionate about, no matter how ostracized, are generally excepted by the majority at some point. This, I am afraid, is what has happened to geeks.
 Just think about the comedy Chuck (which I wouldn't recommend to ANYONE aka not a good show in my opinion). See what I mean? Geeks are being widely recognized as cool and, since our culture has a habit of feeling that everyone and everything (no matter how odd or vile or just plain stupid), needs to be accepted, geeks are being, well, accepted.
 What happens when a group so proud of their differences, their oddities, and their weirdness suddenly become mainstream? Why, they lose their set-apart nature and become normal, making room for another thing that has gone out of style to come back in.
 Now, I will confess that computer geeks (as I am referring to as just 'geeks' in this post) are definitely *different* when compared to other groups that were/are considered different. They work with computers, something we never had before the 20th century. That's definitely ALWAYS going to set them apart from past 'weirdos'. But future ones? We'll see.
 I also wonder what the next wave of strange to popular will be...

 I guess I have to let you know that this isn't geek-bashing. My 'older brother'  (aka, best friend) is a comp geek and proud of it, too. This post is simply getting out a thought that has been on my mind for about three hours...and I hate to have things linger on my mind for too long when it's okay to let them out.
 So, enjoy the rambling....sorry if I stepped on toes, I didn't mean to. I just meant to meditate for a while on the constant cycle of culture...how some people long for acceptance, and are accepted, and how others don't, and yet still get brought into the big circle of happy, loving and totally crazy people. >.<

Also, I've been thinking about my serious male characters lately and realized they aren't serious enough! I also realized that Adrian and Alastair's conditions are redundant, not similare, yet all I've written so far and all I will write further relies on their pasts. *groan* I guess I must keep plowing on...even if I hate the web I've weaved for myself to work with. =P
 On the other hand, Royale and Ayame are doing well...even if Ayame is a bit cold with Royale right now. Hopefully she'll start to like him (and eventually love him) once he saves her life a few times. Hahaha
 On another note, I like double chocolate brownies, and birthdays of other people (I don't like my birthday; it's annoying) and I also like staying over at other people's houses.

So there. *smiles*

-Argentia Krystofel ♥

Christmas? Christmas?

Snow! Holly! Every radio station but the rock one playing Christmas music from the forties!

So, we all get it. It's Christmas time. Winter time. Freak out and wish everyone a happy new year for no particular reason time.

And we're not going to the annual Christmas party at my grandparent's house. We never send out Christmas cards.

And I'm loving it.

This is the quietest, most enjoyable time of year right now. I'm sitting back, forgetting about Christmas presents and shopping carts and checking the labels on every box of cake at Mumsie's house, just to find out that the same knife used for the pecan pie was just used to cut the only cake I could eat. No, I am thinking about baking my OWN cookies and my five-star (Dad awarded) lemon poppyseed muffins. I'm thinking about spending this weekend relaxing and this coming weekend at a friend's house. I'm thinking about how wonderful the Lord is to give me all this warmth and all these opportunities. I'm trying to stay focused on Him, even though these days are sometimes depressing and a bit frustrating, laced with a tinge of worry and doubt. But overall, I want to be happy. ^.^ And I am, indicated by that happy face. Also...

My best-ever muffin. In the background are a few flops, and our advent candles. >.<

It's snowing here!!!! ^.^ Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!

-Argentia Krystofel ♥

She is a cold wind, touched with crystalline beauty. She quietly keeps everyone locked up inside, forcing them to stop and contemplate the meaning of the season and their own lives. To some, she is a curse, to others, she is the greatest show of Winter. 

Thoughts on Snow by Argentia Krystofel (Pen Name).