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i read deh second chapter! 4laugh i really really really really really really hate perdicas 4laugh anybody ever see deh movie waitress?

Oh dear Eli, Differing shades of grey is sad.
I've only read the first two chapters, because my eyes can only take so much.
But damn.

yea fenny! hang in there! it gets better! surprised *only read deh 1st 2 chapters too*

ninja ninja ninja ninja ninja
yea.... all my stories....... ninja where did i put those......? *pretends teh look* woops looks like i lost them 3nodding shame too cuz there was so many. and um. they were long and written all good and junk ninja

Damn ninjas are infesting the guild! -gets out her slaying sword- GET OOOUUUUT!!!


Er.... Back on topic, I had a lot of stuff planned for Darkening Rays of Light but I just haven't been able to move on from the last chapter I wrote. I mean, I've tried writing the next one but everything seems forced and makes me want to punch myself in the face.

Since Skillsys is complaining about being the star of attention in the literary field, I decided to post the introduction to a story I never continued. (Like all of my bloody novels)
It's actually about the middle prince, who is not mentioned in this chunk I'm going to paste on my post, named Theodore, who is always overlooked and unnoticed. Although he doesn't mind. While his brothers are creating their fortunes/fame/glory, he's wandering through life getting caught up in the after math of what his brother's did to achieve those things.
So, yeah.



It was near dusk. The landscape of this now forgotten valley gleamed brilliantly in the rays of the setting sun. Each wavering grain dancing, as if they knew it was the only thing worth doing in life. Their short life, before meeting the sweeping scythe, before they get crushed into wheat, baked in breads, eaten with cheese, and discarded when moldy. Before their day of judgment, they danced. And in the softly red sun light, it was beautiful.
Yet this field was nothing more than a setting for the arrival of Peter. The youngest of his brethren, Peter was the most confident to be the king’s successor. And, as the stories usually go, he was right. His face was naïve, his heart proud, and his eyes too curious. His birth right drew an uncanny luck with all things magical, and in the end they worked to his favor. Rescue a beautiful maiden, perhaps break an ancient curse, and eventually return home to collect the reward for his gallant deeds. That’s the way it went for generations. For it seemed taking advantage of senile crones’ reaped great benefits for young princes.
As he rode through the opening of trees, there was a look of smug triumph on his face, while his dirty blond hair frolicked in the breeze. A slightly uneasy woman sitting on the horse behind him, and the tail of a great wolf tied to his saddle bag, still sticky with blood. He was on his way, no doubt, to claim his father’s crown.
Underneath the powerful hooves, the gentle grains danced no more.




At the same time, and on the other side of the kingdom’s palace, upon a marble stool sat another prince. Francoise, the fourth born, is holding his blonde locked head in his hands. If only that t**t Peter died in childbirth, the kingdom would’ve been his for the taking. He had the charming repertoire to be fitting enough, but who ever thought twice about the second to youngest prince? It was true that his looks were nearly irresistible, and if it weren’t for the gambling, or drinking habits, he would’ve made a husband nearly no father could refuse their consent to. Alas, he wasted away his name with trivial nights rolling in the hay sack with very well anyone willing or drunk enough to do so.
But today he just so happened to be wearing a somber mood on his otherwise light and charismatic face. He was waiting on the edge of a secluded garden, bordered by a never ending forest for someone, or something. But what matter of importance could this scandalous prince possibly be concerning himself with? He fidgeted and fretted in his seat, his brow furrowed in deep lines, obviously a great deal worried about this appointment. A twig cracked nearby, and he nearly fell off the stool it shocked him so. He readjusted his posture, and held his breath anxiously. He looked as if he were awaiting the arrival of death itself. Like any second now, it was to simply stroll around the bend, and greet him casually before claiming away his life. But that was not quite the case tonight. In the distance, he noticed a faint figure gracefully bounding through the air. And then another. And still another. The creatures resembled human, but were far too fragile and nimble to be so, and in the distance, you could swear blue tinted light bounced off their skin. Francoise glanced around the courtyard to check for any witnesses as the three creatures glided closer towards him. The sight of their approach did not startle him. After all, it was their arrival he awaited.



Smoke erupted through the stone crevices of a small room, hidden in the deep shadows underneath the castle. A coughing and frantic man batted away the sooty air as he stumbled to find the door handle. Once he submerged himself in the damp air of the basement, he dropped to his knees taking in whooping breaths of it. “God damn.” He muttered to himself, once able. “I knew he was a no good lying b*****d.” This man, with his black hair hanging in unkempt hanks, was Damian, the second born prince. And who he was referring to now with various vulgarities, was a merchant he encountered just the day before. He traded a rare and powerful amulet in exchange for the recipe of a supposed hex. Of course he followed the instructions precisely, and used ingredients of the finest quality, although he did feel a bit uneasy towards the end when it required a lethal amount of phoenix ash. But so hell bent on the success of this spell, he threw it in anyhow. Thus causing the explosion which damaged not only his lungs, but also Damian’s equipment stored in that stuffy little room.
After recovering from another spell of coughing, he raised his pale face, twisted with the lust for vengeance on that poor dishonest merchant. But he was in no state to pursue him now. His sensibility got the best of him, and he decided to assess the damages first, and plot the man’s slow death over dinner, and a good night’s sleep. Yes, that seemed much more reasonable.



“There. That’s where we’ll advance.” The enticingly gruff voice giving these order belonged to the Eldest prince. He raised his head from the map he was studying, letting his gold fleece hair fall just above his soft rugged eyes. With his strong posture, his unshaven cleft chin, and a scar running across his left cheek, he emanated the aura of experience.
He was standing in a war tent, strewn chaotically with parchments when a sprightly officer rushed inside towards him. “Roderick, we have lost two barracks lining the border. They were overtaken by the enemy, sir.” The poor officer was distraught to deliver such news, but Roderick took it calmly. “Under whose command did this take place?”
“Nobodies, sir, for it was thirty paces towards the setting sun, and twenty towards the moon. It seems as if our treaty has been broken.” Roderick’s nostrils flared as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was caught off guard, and was now trying to keep his usual nerves of steel steady. “…Very well. You, fetch me my horse.” He barked towards the nearest man of low rank, and then nodded towards the officer. “Take me there.”
Roderick stepped out into the suddenly brisk air (just a moment ago it was hot and humid, a normal august day) and started pacing. The moment his appaloosa stallion was in sight, he ran towards him, and jumped on with agile grace. The officer caught up to him riding a younger bay, Roderick looked him in the eyes once, and they were off.

I'm such a cheesy sap, so I do too.
gonk

I could've told you that. Hahaha.