Normative: Draft

Who likes super short stories (aka flash fiction), I do! This is what happens when you take thoughts from Soc class, and turn them into a story.

Normative

by Marshall Cain

I should notice her first, no matter what. I should approach her. I should show interest in her, I shouldn't show too much interest in her. I shouldn't show interest in her friends. I should make eye contact with her, be sure she knows I'm paying attention. I shouldn't stare at her. I shouldn't stare at her breast. I shouldn't stare at her cleavage. I should make conversation. I should be sure to ask her what she does, and how she likes it. I shouldn't want to know where she lives. I shouldn't know where she lives. I should pay attention to her line of conversation. I should laugh at her jokes. I should try to seem witty. I shouldn't try to be raunchy, unless she likes that. I should find out if she likes that. I shouldn't seem interested in sex with her, or was that I should seem interested in sex with her? I shouldn't be interested in sex with her. I shouldn't touch her, not here on the floor at least. I should try to touch her. I should touch her in a way she would like. I shouldn't force her to like it. I should get her another drink. I should compliment her hair. I shouldn't stare at her crotch. I should make sure she finishes her drink. I should invite her to my place. I shouldn't take that smile as an answer. I should take her back home now. I shouldn't enjoy this so much. I should make sure she is feeling alright. I shouldn't enjoy this so much.

Deux: Draft

Deux

by Marshall Cain

I couldn't tell you how I got there, sitting scrunched up in that office waiting room. The walls around me went out forever, and there in the center of it all was a desk with a small blond sitting at it. For the last half hour it was me and that blond, me tapping my formal shoes against the tile, her chittering away at her keyboard. We both kept our eyes off the other, and I wracked my brain just wondering what I was doing.

This interview was a waste of time. I didn't even know what the job was, what this company did. These days though, when you get a call back for a job interview, you pick up another copy of your resume, put on your best slacks, and get your ass to that office. I didn't even remember applying, but between Monster.com and other hiring sites, that didn't mean anything.

Next to the blond, at the desk, along the far off walls, there was a door. It was a big double door, the sort of door that belonged to someone important. The sort of person who could change my life with the amount of money they carried in their pocket. When I told the secretary what I was here for I tried to take a peek at the door. Yet I realized that it had no name on it, simply a number, two.

“Mrs. Dupont will see you now.”

The blond spoke to me, but by the time I looked away from my own lap and back at her, she was back to watching her computer screen. I walked to the door, my hand on its long metallic handle, and gave one last look at the secretary. She didn't return it. So I swallowed my worries, and peeked my head past the door.

“Come on in, make yourself comfortable.” Said a woman in a welcoming voice.

I turned my head and saw a woman's back, a tan business suit that was currently shoving a leather chair in place so I could sit down. With one glance, one wall lined with books and the opposite strangled by a large portrait painting, I could tell that this office belonged to someone beyond me. I stepped in, tucking the door closed behind me while looking everywhere but forward.

I tried to introduce myself, “My name is-”

She cut me off though, “I know what the hell your name is.”

Turning from her labor, Mrs. Dupont stared me straight in the eyes, and I could not help but do the same. She was without a doubt, odd. Maybe it was her name, Dupont, but she wasn't what I was expecting. She looked Asian, Japanese or Korean if I had to make a guess, I was never good at telling the difference. Her face was round and soft, the sort that could speak to a child-like kindness or a woman's intimacy. I could already feel myself sweating. Not that I only went for Asian girls, but there was something in those soft features that kicked me everywhere I needed it. All it ever took was one cute little smile, and I was trapped.

It seemed Dupont wouldn't hear of it. Her lips were locked in a slight downward curl that already made my ears burn with disapproval. She was a serious business woman, no matter how long those legs were beneath her skirt.

“Come on, sit, sit.” She said as she gave the low leather chair a pat. While the words that came out were welcoming, and her black eyes drew me forward, that expression still left me wary. Yet I still sat down, Dupont stepping back and resting herself on the edge of her heavy metal desk. Her legs crossed down at the ankle and she rested on her hands. That brow of hers furrowed.

At first she just watched me, and I squirmed there at the center of the room. I felt like the whole world bending, twisting inwards to focus on me, her eyes were the focus lens.

“You have no idea what we do here, do you?” Said Dupont without warning.

My first reaction was a hardy no, to yell it even. I was going to say anything, but instead her gaze stopped me. So instead I leaned back, gave her the best chill smile I could manage, and tried to seem in control of myself.

“We're a family company,” She said as she stood up from the edge of her desk, “Old as shit too.”

I found a chance to respond, “You've done very well.”

“Thanks, it isn't our fault really.”

I opened my mouth to say “Oh,” but found that nothing came out.

“I don't even know what we do anymore,” She said as she found her way over to the corner of the room. There was a small fridge on a black table. She opened the door, then leaned forward to take a look inside.

Saying I didn't look would be a lie. She definitely left herself hanging back for me to see, pressed there against her desert-skinned skirt. If I had to work with her, there was definitely going to be trouble. This interview was a tease, but between that glare, those legs, I would go insane.

“This family, we've been around for so long that I can't be sure what really happened and what is just conjecture.”

She pulled out a bottle of water and with a strong turn the crackle of the cap coming free was heard through the room. I turned my eyes away from her rear in an attempt to convince myself I'm not that shallow, and more importantly to avoid being caught if she happened to turn around.

My eyes finally passed by the painting on the wall again, and then I couldn't look away. It was large, at least twice my own height and I wasn't exactly short. The borders along the edge were a shimmering gold appearance, yet didn't give me a sensation that someone was showing off. Instead it seemed the portrait couldn't be framed any other way.

It was a figure, sexless and cloaked in a large piece of cloth that covered its body well enough to hide any hint of the body underneath. The cloth was of two colors, split down the center of the head down to between the feet. One side, along the left, was a violent red. The other side was a passive and dark blue. The figure had its hands held out to its sides, held up to present two items in pale fingers. A jagged wooden club on the red side, and a draped piece of cloth on the blue. The painting felt enigmatic, almost mystic. There was something about it that kept my eyes focused, it felt alien, yet familiar. It was just like a painting he would see in some old book, yet not like anything I ever saw before.

“My job,” Mrs. Dupont began, “Is to connect people. To make sure that some little sap like you doesn't blow up our older-than-dirt track record.”

I turned back to find her looking at me, her lips held at the edge of the bottle. She had taken a swig already, yet she didn't look satisfied. She hadn't even told me what she wanted yet, what sort of job this was, yet those glaring black eyes of hers already found me lacking.

“I won't disappoint,” I said in a practiced interview voice. Confident, spunky, yet willing to learn. What else could any employer want, what did she want?

“I know you won't,” Dupont said before taking another drink, “because you're a keeper.”

I couldn't help but smile. She didn't return it.

“Look, I'm going to give you one shot, one question,” Dupont put her bottle down, “you either get it or much more likely, you don't.”

Maybe it was something in her eyes. They were black, yet not dull. I wouldn't say they were shimmering, glowing, anything of the sort. Yet there was something there. It was like a pair of well polished stones, ancient and common, remarkable when you truly stop to consider them.

Dupont pulled up her sleeves, and then turned her head to the painting. Her mouth sat open for a moment, and for a second the picture and her seemed to have a moment. I was afraid that she forgot I was there, she didn't say a word.

“Mrs. Dupont?”

She didn't look at me before she started speaking, “In Anaheim, there's an older woman named Theresa Nguyen that works at a small Chinese food place in a mall. She's only worked there for a year, one of many jobs she has to bounce between to keep her small yet functional apartment. She is 52 years old, she hasn't dated in 5 years, and has two children that don't know how good their life is.”

Dupont spoke like she was reading a script, this was a story she knew. Yet there was something else, a touch of emotion that spoke of something that I didn't think was rehearsed.

“One day a man arrives, one of many that day, to order food. The man is older, White, and his face is covered with the folds and creases of someone who has seen a lot. His name is Duncan, his friends call him Dun. He comes up to order some food, but first he asks Theresa what all comes with the lunch special. She tells him, and Duncan's face curls up with a look of disgust. He tells her, he can't understand a word she said.

“This isn't the first time this has happened to Theresa. She came to America from Vietnam when she was young, yet she spent a lot of her time speaking Vietnamese with her family, her accent was still there. This was something she always stayed aware of when working. Yet this man, who she didn't know, or know the name of, he was just that certain age. Theresa didn't know for sure, but she was right, Duncan was 54. He fought in Vietnam, lost friends in Vietnam, and did things he would tell you he 'wasn't proud of' in Vietnam.

Not that the average Vietnamese immigrant had anything against soldiers of that war, and Theresa didn't either. Yet, not everyone that went to Vietnam was all that kind to the people there. That, with Duncan's comments, and Theresa found herself feeling defensive, offended. She apologized, and repeated herself. She tried to enunciate, and pointed to the dishes she referenced. It was no use, Duncan shook his head, scrunched up his nose, and told her it was okay. Then he walked away.”

Dupont's head turned back to me, then a moment later she seemed to realize where she was.

I realized I was holding my breath, and took in a breath.

“The question,” Dupont started, “How do we resolve the issue, or prevent future cases like Duncan and Theresa?”

The question seemed silly, vague. What was the 'issue', or the 'case'? Yet Dupont looked at me, waiting in silence.

If the issue was the fact that the woman felt offended by the man's reaction, wasn't the issue perceived racism? Maybe the problem is the lost sale, the fact that Theresa's accent pushed away a customer, regardless of the man's possible bias. Yet there was no sign that the man even knew Theresa was Vietnamese, or hated Vietnamese people, Duncan could have been a generous and hard working man, like so many soldiers.

I took another deep breath, and realized my face was getting a little moist. Even if the question was vague, it was deciding my future, my financial livelihood. Plus there was Dupont, what would she want to hear? Was this about the company, about helping their bottom line; or about helping an employee and customer interact better?

Clearing my throat, I looked Dupont in the eyes and said, “Nothing.”

Her eyes widened and she leaned forward, “Excuse me? What did you say?”

My confidence was shot just like that, but I had no choice but to repeat myself, “Nothing, there's nothing we can do. I mean, we don't even know if the man was hard of hearing, or a bigot, and-”

“Exactly,” Dupont said. Her lips curled up, a smooth crease that turned to a soothing smile. I knew I would like it, “Duncan really is a racist, mind you, but thats besides the point.”

She opened a drawer behind her desk, and pulled out a lighter and cigarette.

“So, I got it right?”

She made a shooing motion with her hands, “Come back for work tomorrow morning.”

I rose, and tried to thank her. She turned away from me though, looking once again at the portrait that hung high upon the wall. Her cigarette lit, she let out a puff. So I left, walking to the large double doors out of the room.

As I got out to the secretary desk, the blond was up and moved past me to speak into the office.

“Mrs. Dupont,” She said, “Zed is on the line.”

I didn't stop. My interview was done and I finally had a job. Now I just needed to figure out what my job was.

Ride Astride the Beast: Myrdo's Humble Start

The time was now, and what a time it was. I did not know much, but what I did know was that a great beast struck our borrowed home, that even the barren land we Orcs called home was ruined by the mere stretch of its wings. I also knew that now was my coming of age, and that today I truly joined the horde, no longer young and wet, now a strong young blood. Soon all would know the name of Myrdo Reargut the Rogue, son of Tarn Reargut.

So I struck out to the North, to find the Valley of Trials. There I hoped to put to the test the axiom of my father, That any situation could be solved with the proper application of a blade to a spine. Of course Pa always said it as "Wrench guts, win lots". A practical man my Pa, a trait that won him the nicest grave in town. 

As I trekked the Valley to its center, I crossed the discarded shells of the spoils of others. Spent men, empty carcases. I did not see another Orc there in those fields, but it was obviously many trampled the ground in front of me. So I continued on.

There in the center of the Valley I found my mentor, a small and angry man, prone to repeating himself in identical blood thirsty yells. He seemed keen to make a man of me, and it seemed the best way to do so was to dull my blade against the backs of many beast. Very many beast. First were the boars, doing the work of some peon who looked on in slack toothed glee as I slaughtered his pigs by the dozen. When this was enough, I moved to Scorpids, a beast that before I only killed for desperate meals. Now I made a feast of them, and a river of their venom.

When I found my brow wet with sweat and my stiletto slick with gore, I was finally given a true task. Thazz'rill, or Old Thazzy as he was so often called, told me of a secret. The humans, who we so recently made peace with, were in our lands again. There were scouts from Northwatch scattered across the Valley of Trials, and I was to introduce them all to my Pa's particular creed. The sun set early on many men, some carrying boxes, some carrying boxes with big crosses on them, and others shooting faulty guns, yet each found their death before my blade. Though they cut into me as well, some with blades, some with lead, I found myself invigorated by the exercise. Every time the battle found its climax, so did my being, and I was renewed. 

I was not alone though, and I do not think I could have finished the trials without friends both old and new. Old Zigglez Strumdoom, or just Zigg for short, a true shot who could calm any beast. Witrig Shadeheart, a frightening warlock whose introduction to the hordes forces fell on the same day. Then finally Mahou, or Little Miss Mahou as she preferred to be called, an enigma of a caster, driven yet queer.

Together we flew across the red landscape I called home, and slay anything with a back to prove our worth. At the end Old Thazzy gave me a letter, a recruitment letter to join the Hordes forces defending the barrens. That was a place I knew by name, yet not by sight. Its reputation proceeded it by miles, and my body quaked in fear, while my blade quivered in anticipation.

Ride Astride the Beast: Prologue and Explanation

Among those who call themselves gamers, by social permission or through an equal transcendence in respect of the medium, there is a great distinction between persons. A gamer either plays WoW, that is Blizzard's World of Warcraft, or they do not. At 12 million subscriptions, WoW's numbers outrank all the state of Ohio, and dwarf my own home state. Its players range from the light-hearted social player who takes the game an hour at a time, to the hardened warrior who ranks the in-game raids just below breathing and right above defecation. With its large audience, wide appeal, and addictive framework, WoW is the behemoth of its genre, the kodo beast in the room if you will allow me to get into the mood.

It is also a game that I have never played, and had no intention of playing. Between my arrogance, ignorance, and need to hate on anything more popular than myself, I have never given World of Warcraft its fair chance. I have judged the game on its players, on its culture, and any other object I could use to differentiate it from myself. But as with the motto of the Royal Society, "nullius in verba", I realize now that I should "take no one's word for it". I will confront the beast first hand, and though I dangle myself before its horrid white flesh, my hope is to come out with limbs and sanity intact. This I do out of a sense of duty, pride, and boredom. 

As a man of 23 years, I was playing video games before I stopped wetting the bed. Mario was my babysitter, and Dragon Warrior 3 my tutor. My genre of choice are Strategy and RPGs, the second rather important to this exercise with WoW placing itself within the 'Role-Playing Games' genre with its MMORPG subgenre classification. My MMO credentials run a range of games, recent and old; Ultima Online, City of Heroes, Guild Wars, Warhammer Online, Planetside, Dungeons and Dragons Online, and trials of Lord of the Rings Online, Pirates of the Burning Sea, APB, and the Matrix Online. These games usually have similar buildings blocks, mostly the prototypical MMOs of Ultima Online and Everquest, yet all have their own twist.

To come at this game, I will play as one character for a 10 day trial, possibly more if the game warrants it. I will play with as many friends as I can manage to play with, to create the proper setting and social interaction an MMO requires. My server of choice will be Destromath, my faction Horde. From here I had to make a hard choice, since race and class will definitely warp my playing experience. Yet I have played enough MMOs to know what will interest me, and to know how to overcome in game challenges. So because of this I will play an Orc Rogue, not because this is a particularly good combination, but because it is what interest me.

This page will chronicle my time in the game. I will at times post in character in a fashion I hope will be considered humorous, others I will post out of character to summarize my experiences from that of a man who has played games for over 15 years of his life. I hope to have everyone's support in this, both during and in the aftermath of what will be my greatest flirtation with darkness since I, as a teetotaller, took a shot at a christmas party.

I cross my fingers that this all goes well, for the love of the game, for the sake of fairness, and most of all for the horde.

Lord Uertu: Part 2 (Rough Draft)

I truly struggled with this one, likely because of the time of writing this. I think some pieces really require a nemesis, someone who stands against. Religion is definitely not an exception to this rule, and so I go about the task of working up my dark figure. Yet a character you cannot sympathize with, is not one you will believe in. Though that begs the question of who can be sympathized with here? Oh well, enough digestion on my part, here is Kno's Ledge.

As man lived and died, they found no purpose in anything except the subtle words of Uertu's children. Man or woman, all ate, slept, lived, the echo of Uertu's divine will.

Then a leader emerged. One man above tribes, respected by many and honored for his dedication to the betterment of his fellow man. The tribes crowned him as King of men, above all local tribes, the first of his kind, King Kno.

His kingdom's walls did not reach far, but his word spread well beyond. The great city of Triel served as the seat of power, a land of learning and exchange, where many men of many sorts convened. Triel was a calculated work, a plan come to life. Within it, understanding was fertile, enriched to grow mighty.

The city itself was set along a great cliff, the castle up against its ledge, a perilous drop to rock and rapids far below. Kno nested there where he could not be easily assailed, but could not retreat once found. Kno's ledge was his badge of confidence, and contention.

Cloistered within, Kno sat facing Gealla's advice. For as Kno stood to rule over many tribes, not all respected his word. In Uertu's name, Meret called for action among the tribes who wished for Uertu's grace, which were many. These Meret tribes moved among those that crowned Kno, and between them there was talk.

“They say,” Said Gealla, “You seek and seek, yet you will never know Uertu.”

And so they did, the people whispered amongst themselves at his futility.

“Meret claims you must stop your search, relinquish your crown,” Gealla continued, “There is no Lord of men but Uertu. Meret unites the people in his name.”

That King thought hard, yet still his words were, “A world lead by Meret will not stand.”

Kno's reply was spread on the wings of words said, each man and woman whispering to those close. Till Meret, among the people, heard the message clearly.

A crowd waited on Meret, to see his reaction to Kno's arrogance. The child of grace did not flicker, or turn, he merely spoke among those present.

“Does he not know Uertu's word?” Meret asked the listening many, “We cannot seek him, he will find us.”

These words echoed in the others. Their Lord was distant, but within they knew that proper fealty was the path to Uertu, his Crystal Haven just beyond the clouds. Why would Kno take on such a journey? One he knew you can't complete? Maybe Gealla's words confused him, or quest engaged him, but his kingdom stood on a dark precipice.

“I will go to him,” Meret offered, “So he may see Uertu's light, and spread it as quickly as he spreads his words.

So Meret did, Uertu's tribe his escort. They walked to the city, then through its walls, to the castle then to the hall. Kno waited there, just him and Gealla.

“Speak,” said Kno, “So your wishes are clear.”

Meret stayed among his crowd, “I do not come here to speak of my own wishes. I come to warn you.”

Kno stood, “So I do not make a habit of speaking to those with no stance of their own, I ask that you are quick.”

Eyes in the tribe fanned between the King and the Son. Whispers spread, a wave of hushed thoughts.

Then Meret spoke, “You take on a fool's quest, to understand what you cannot experience.”

A sharp cry of agreement assaulted the King, and harsh words rained from the tribesman.

Kno raised a hand to silence them, “Any lord I cannot fathom, is no lord of mine. I wish only to grasp what I can.”

“You have what you can grasp,” Meret said, “Yet you clamor for more. These people know Uertu's wish, they know how to serve Uertu's will, so I wonder who you serve.”

With this the crowd grew angry with Kno, even those undecided turned against the King and his Gealla. Kno took one step forward, yet none respected his motions. Only his aide stood by his side, besides this he was alone.

Meret turned his back to the King, yet still he spoke, “You may decide what you wish. Though if you do not drop your foolish search and your rule, I would not be surprised if these tribes wished for war.”

Then Meret left the hall, the crowd's rage following with.

Alone again, Kno was left to decide. He believed in Uertu, and Kno's learning was in his Lord's name. Yet the more that Kno found, the further Uertu's light became. If he continued his reign as King of Triel, it was only in hopes that grace would be revealed, no matter how far the light seemed to have gone.

Kno dismissed Gealla, so he could be alone. Then he spoke out to his Lord, in one last hope to be heard.

“Uertu the great Lord, who brings light to this world, why do you hide from us till its too late?”

The room lay silent.

Yet Uertu heard, and Uertu listened. This man's case was quite different, as first King of men, so Uertu made plans of what to do with him. Kno's kingdom was strong, yet their leader was lost, his actions lead many away from Uertu's cause. They sought purpose where Uertu meant nothing at all, and devoted themselves to learning and knowledge.

Kno's words went unanswered that night, yet the next day he called for Meret in his hall yet again.

This time Meret came alone, so Kno dismissed Gealla. They met as two leaders, one for his people, the other for Uertu.

“I know you have questions,” Meret said as they met, “Your words to our Lord did not fall on deaf ears.”

Kno stood silent, defiant before proof was submitted. Yet Meret spoke truth, for the night before he visited his father Uertu, upon request. All of Kno's words were spoken back to Meret, and Uertu requested Kno be given one last chance.

Meret continued, “You cannot know your Lord from here, for this is the test of life. If you are not worthy, you will not pass on.”

Kno's brow furrowed, and his heart hardened up. He believed he was being fooled, played with by this leader of tribes.

“Enough,” Kno snapped, “You have no proof.”

Meret did not falter, “I need present none, you will believe me soon enough. Either drop your crown now, or forsake your Lord and all those who follow you.”

Kno was ablaze in his rage, and he stepped forward with purpose. He stepped past Meret, to the great doors behind him. To the steps of the castle, where many stood waiting. Then Kno raised his voice, his words spreading far on the quick moving wind, and he told all the people his dark decision.

“I rule from this place, by the allowance of these tribes. I rule for the sake of the people, and of our advancement now in this life. I have been told to choose now, to continue or back down, my grace the forfeit. Let every man, woman and child, know I will not drop my crown.”

As many men cheered as there were that rained jeers on that crowned fool.

Uertu watched from above, his head shaking in shame. His first King had chose wrong, and a special case needed to be made. It would be a lesson for all, they would learn then who was wrong. So Uertu reached down and cast Kno from his light. The man was yanked up and flung far away, set down in the shadows the great Lord's light created.

Kno fell to his knees in confusion and fear. Then Uertu spoke to him, creating great awe.

“You could have grasped me, experienced me, the thing you wanted most.”

In the night where he stood, Kno saw his mistake. Yet he stood, in contention.

“Lord,” He said, “I only wished to have you here and now. If that is my crime, I will not be the last to commit it, I assure you.”

“Your impatience was your downfall,” Uertu replied, “You want your reward before you have earned it. You lead your fellow man astray. Many more will follow you into this darkness, but you will be the first cursed stay.”

Kno's eyes tried to glow against the blackness, but he was refused.

“You will never know me, nor those that followed you,” Uertu said, “Let this be your final lesson.”

Then Uertu left him, King of shadows, from the far side of the light to the dark side of the moon, King Kno.

Lord Uertu: Part 1 (Rough Draft)

The task here is one I take far too lightly, to recreate the image of god. I will use the little 'g' here to limit my offense, since no matter how you look at it, this is simply fictional. I will try to do everything with purpose, from names to actions to words, so know that this is not simply idle blasphemy. For those of you that enjoy idle blasphemy, I guess you can appreciate this too. Though this, the first part, is rather bland. But it is necessary, like the opening cinematic to an adventure game.

There was chaos to begin. A swirling void of blackness without end, no order to be spoken of with no one to speak of it. No mortal creatures stirred, no bodies moved, there was only the void and its occupant.

Within that endless darkness there stood one hard light, emanating piercing warmth through the vast nothingness. That light came from power divine, that went where it pleased, did what it pleased. That light was Uertu, majesty without origin. Uertu's light shined from his domain, a Crystal Haven in the dark of chaos. From there, the gem-hued walls spread Uertu's light to every corner he wished it, split back chaos with its very presence. Yet there was still only him.

Despite Uertu's great power, there was no one to know it. No one drew benefit from his vast light, which concerned him. Standing over chaos, there was nothing but his light, and its dark. For all his light, there was still much more darkness.

Seeing this, Uertu spoke, “What is Uertu with no one to know him? If I am good, then let there be beings to know me as good.”

The light grew bright, peeling back the folds of chaos as Uertu began his work. With great grace came the matter, and with great energy it became the cosmos we know. Chaos cradled it, that unwanted dark held out by Uertu's great energy.

Within the cosmos sped bodies, molten, frozen, hurtling and spinning, all centered on the Crystal Haven.

Then one of such bodies out of many was chosen, for its shape and size pleased him, and Uertu rested above it. To Uertu, creating life was a small task, but to create future subjects took forethought. So others were brought before him, his own children.

When his many children came before him, Uertu spoke again, “Know that now I create life, with purpose. These beings will live, love, and lose to learn of me. I wish that they will seek me, and through seeking their Lord they will gain entrance to the Crystal Haven. To such as them my power will be infinite, my knowledge will be infallible, my actions will be everything. Through their trials on this rock, let them be tested for worthiness, and let you test them my children.”

Uertu pointed out three of his children, “You Meret, let them act for you without knowing what you wish of them my son. They will risk death and the eternity of chaos in hopes of your rewards. You Morallite, They will seek you, want you, yet never know you. Hide among them my daughter and be the untouchable treasure. Lastly you Iustys, chiseled from the stone, let them beg for you, yet fear you. They will not want the touch of your hand, yet seek your mighty fist.”

The three children understood, and this pleased Lord Uertu. Then life was created. First the plants came , sprouts of lush life that colored the world. Then came the creatures of all sorts, smallest first to biggest. Then time passed, as Uertu's subjects were not among these.

With ages passed, Man appeared, and Uertu's children went to them. The trial of life was to enter its first chapter.

Next Chapter: Enter King Kno's Ledge, and Meret