$%(&@#&%*@

note: This is a tough one. The lyric jumped out at me and then was enforced much more in the last 2 days. I still feel like I am just whining or bitching instead of trying to craft a point. Also had a hard time titling it.

"Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me" Teenagers - My Chemical Romance

Wisdom is a curse. I don't know a better way to describe it. Being different is not always the best thing. Everyone can tell you how important it is to be your own person, until it puts you in the position that every wants something from you. This curse is no new development. In my almost six years with my company, I have always been a go to guy, a source of knowledge. It is only recently that I have realized how much of a curse, a burden, an albatross around my neck this has become.

Being the golden child at work has offered many benefits. I am usually given free rein to run things the way I want to. When I speak, people listen and my thoughts are highly considered. Those are things most people can't claim at their jobs.

Still this week has especially irritated me. I've become the resident expert on a new project not only with my building, but the entire company. I was brave enough to go first with this project. I was smart enough to hurdle us through the obstacles the change presented. I was strong enough to lead my team through the change, teach them to think on their feet and succeed through the change.

It would seem I am the only person of this skill set. Buildings out West are whining before they even start. All they see is insurmountable obstacles and evil change. The group out in the East at least tried to take on the project. But now it seems they have stumbled into the obstacles and are seemingly throwing in the towel.

All this leads back to me. I am drug into every conference call. I am e-mailed and called constantly with questions. I have been repeatedly asked to defend the merits of the project to every other whining manager in the country. No one helped my team, we figured it out. I knew it would work and I taught my people how to figure it out. We adapted and excelled like the human race has been doing for thousands of years.

I have no issue helping people. I only have one prerequisite, they have to want to be helped. No whining, no saying this will never work. Guidance, assistance is gladly given to those wanting to learn, those stuck in the project but want to succeed in something new.

I am trying to keep this from a diatribe. I am not whining about people coming to me for help. My door, my knowledge has always been open for sharing. But I cannot stand whiners, the negative people that only see the problems with everything. I do not understand how these people operate their businesses with this attitude and seeming lack of ingenuity. I have never believed that I could be this far above my peers.

This will certainly continue to test my patience elicit numerous curse words of various languages emanating out of my office.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 21 – The Litany of Life

Note: After 20 parts of teasing, we finally get to the point where the witch and Oan palaver on the meaning of everything. I could not contain everything that needs to be said in one part. I think there is one more to go with these two before they must part, but I think this answers some long lingering questions. I am sure this is a part I may need to revise, rethink and redo as the story continues. A lot hinges on this. I thought about making the entire section a dialogue. I may still when I rework some of this later.


Disc 1
Track 21: Real World – Big & Rich

“And in my real world I’m a little messed up and broke, don’t you know.”

Unbeknownst to Oan, snow flurries were starting to whip around outside the cave. Winter had been living a long time in the mountains already, but the snow had not migrated all the way down until now, but it was going to hasten its journey south with one giant leap that evening.

Inside the cave, there was not a hint of cold. The darkness serving as a wall to the cave’s opening held out the cold and the fire that the witch had sprung to life with a snap of her fingers was already warming the entire cavern. She was watching him closely, since he had sat silent since her revelation about his parents. Nestor had not nudged a single step closer. Even in Oan’s haze of confusion, he could almost smell Nestor’s fear of the witch. Fear was not an unreasonable reaction to her, but the man should not let it rule him so.

“I feel you weeping inside, my love,” the witch handed him a mug, inside was some sort of ale she had warmed over the fire. “Despair if you must, but make haste. My time grows short.”

“You will not rule me.” He could not fight back the tears any longer. Kekur was draped over his knees, and he clasped his hand tightly around the hilt.

“Rule you? I could not if I wanted to,” she folded her hands on her lap. “We palaver because you have come to me with questions. We palaver because I have answers that I can give only once. Here and now.”

“Why did they do it? Why did they jump?”

“Because you are the second. When the second comes, the world must end. So is it written, so it is spoke, so it has come to pass here and in worlds unknown.”

“I am through with your riddles,” he jumped back to his feet bringing Kekur up, but as he did, she floated up, eyes glowing and a great gust of wind arose behind her. The sword boiled in his hand till he was forced to release and it shot straight up, piercing into the cave’s ceiling. There it hung above his head. He looked back to Nestor, the man was on his back blown over by the wind.

“I am through with you grieving over the loss of what was never yours,” the witch’s voiced boomed. “We have not the time for this. The hour grows short, my time grows short.”

“You made me this, not them. You did this to me!” He leapt over the fire at her. Before he made it half the distance, a green flame shot from her hand and struck him in the chest and cast him backward. He landed with a thud on his back, a rock cut deep into his skull. The skin on his chest melted and he could smell his hair burning. He waited for the healing to start, but it was slow. Her powers were not like being struck with a dwarf’s ax; though, healing this was difficult even for his gifts. Finally, he felt the tingle of repair as new skin formed, but there were blisters from the intense heat. His eyes focused back upwards where she loomed over him.

“You have always been Oan Stoneheart, my love,” her words were crisp. “The blessings I gave you were only done so to keep you alive. Your destiny was set upon the mountain, when a girl, a beautiful girl, grew full with babe without the touch of a man. The wind of the mountain impregnated her. The wind chose you to end all things. What your mother and the man, who claimed you as a son, did not read, did not hear, have not seen come to pass is that with every end, there is a new beginning. So they jumped, and the wind of the mountain carried them to a land where they have to fear no ends or no beginnings. Rejoice! They found their peace boy.”

Propping his body up onto his elbows, the stone in the back of his head drop ped out and the wound closed up. He had never had sense knocked into him in such a manner, but never had it returned so quickly. He could not afford to dwell on his parents; the evils stalking the world were of greater concern. Oan did not understand this business of being the second, but he did not think he’d wait long to get a better explanation.

“I beg your pardon, Madra Wandering Witch. I have let despair cloud my thoughts.” He dropped his head, and she touched it lightly with her right hand. “I do not understand all of this, I need you to guide me.”

“So be it.” She walked around the fire and sat back down on the other side. He sat up, noticing that burn scars still lined his chest. Attacking her had been a mistake and that was lesson he would not soon forget. Lifting her eyes to his, he was transfixed by how they pulsed, one beat followed by the next. Behind those eyes, a thousand lifetimes passed in worlds gone by.

“Do you recall the Litany of Life, my love?”

“Yes. In all worlds between the heavens and the underworld, there are the waters that flow, the plants that grow, the air that blows, the stone that holds, the fire that burns, the man that leads, the beast that bleeds, the light that shines and the dark that dooms. So is it true here as in all worlds.”

She smiled, pleased with his recitation.

“I am not of this world. I have told you this. I am divined of the plant that grows in a world that allowed such a thing like that happen only once. The plant that grows does so only in the light. Thus, for my life to continue, the light must prevail. If not here, then in other worlds and when the last battle comes above the lake of fire in the underworld, it must prevail then. I have felt the dark, my love. I have bore a child in another world from its seed. The dark cannot succeed. There is no end to it and no new beginning, just an endless, impassable ocean of dark. Thus, the nurturing of the beings of the light falls upon me and my brethren.”

“Your brethren?”

“There are others divined of the other basic elements of the litany that work against the spawn of the dark such as the demon that now plagues this world. You have met one that moves often from one world to another. I know not how he does it, but he does.”

“Who?”

“The bearer of yon sword. He was born of the stone and dreams like a stone that never moves, but sees all that moves past. He sees much that I do not.”

“What do you see?”

“I see two futures for this world. If men prevail, the world shall be born again and a new age of man shall begin. If men fail, the demon will suck all the light from this world and it shall never return.”

“If I fail?”

“You cannot fail. This is merely a battle in a much greater war. If the demon cannot be overcome, then you must leave this world before darkness overcomes it. If you do not, you will be lost forever in it.”

“Why me?”

“You are the second.”

“I do not understand.”

“Every world can bare only one divined purely of the elements and man. You are the second. It cannot exist with such a crime against the Litany of the Worlds.”

“Who was the first?”

“Tarek Grandar, of course. Born, like you, of the wind of the mountain that blows cold and strong. He was divined to cast away the dark and unleash the waters of the heavens. He succeeded and the world moved on and so did he. You are even more. You are married to the waters of the Belnor and the stone of the mountain. The light allows it for you are one chosen to lead the armies of the light in the final battle. The dark gathers here, if you cannot repel it, you must leave.”

“How?”

The witch stood then. The flames below her were a bright green. She turned toward the wooden door in the back of the cave.

“The Door to Nowhere awaits those that must leave here and never return. It is way that I came to this world long ago. It is how I will leave here soon. If this world fails, you will have to take it.”

He stood next to her and, for the first time ever, he saw tears standing in her eyes and she looked so very old and tired.

“Why do you leave mother? Why do you leave when we need you the most?”

She raised her hands and they were wrinkled and knotted with the tightening disease. The illusion of her powers was fading before him. Her hair fell off in great clumps, the remaining was thin and gray. The sturdy beauty of her face was replaced with a lined, blistered, hideous mug. The glorious dress was no more than an old sack crudely tied together with twigs. Her eyes did not glow green, but were lifeless black orbs.

“Mother. …”

“The magic in this world is dying. That is why the swords of power have resurfaced. They wish to leave before their flames are quelled. My lifeforce is drawn out through my roots as the dark grows stronger. I have been touched by the dark before and it takes all my strength to not be overrun by it. Someday, somewhere, it will overtake me and the life of the plant will leave me forever. The plants will lose their champion and they will fade to gray and then vanish into memory. I pray that day will not come before all my work is complete. I have so very much to do yet.”

He touched her shoulder. It was no more than soft bone on a thin layer of skin. She put her hand over top his accepting the momentary comfort.

“Where does yonder door lead?”

“To where one must go. If one’s road has no destination than it leads to nowhere, a terribly bleak place.”

“Where does your road lead?”

The ghastly old woman disappeared as he asked the question replaced with the bearded man with bleeding hands he had seen when they entered the cave. Then it was the witch returned to all her glory.

“To a world in need of magic, a magic only I can provide.”

The Scarlet Sins

Note: This marks my return to free writing or just writing in general. I made a new disc for Red and will be doing by best to write something based of all the tracks. Right now I plan on a hodge podge of things. I will resurrect some old characters or stories and do some introspective free writing. No rules, just whatever the lyrics remind me off. But I'll try to post links in case I am digging up those old bones. This first one is an example of such: The Hair On The Back Of Your Neck



"So you say you wanna lose control" Do You Dig Destruction - Turbonegro

He could no longer see the bloody face that his fists were contorting into a pile of mush as if kneading a piece of pizza dough. He was positive it was the rage welling up from deep inside his chest that blinded him rather than the gooey mixture of tears and blood forming on his cheeks. He finally had to stop, wiping the slop from his face. It gave him a chance to catch his breath. Then, the realization hit harder than any of the hay makers he had just thrown. There was no face staring back at him. There was barely a head on these shoulders. It looked more like some strange bowl made out of skull, lined with flesh and filled with blood. The red lake was beginning to overflow its banks, creating a new raging river out across the concrete. He quickly snapped his head around to look back out towards the street. It was dark, the street lights were too bright. No one would have been able to see him in the shadow of the alley. He could begin to feel his shirt sag, weighted down with the scarlet sins of what he had done. Quickly and with such ease for a person in his situation, he undid each button down the front of what used to be his gray flannel. He wiped his hands and face on the garment before carefully draping it over the upper body of the lump now lying in the corner. He grabbed the bottle of cheap bourbon the bum had dropped when he grabbed the man. It burned all the way down to his stomach. It was nothing in comparison to the sting of pouring it over his badly bruised knuckles. By the new throb he could finally feel, he was sure his left hand was broken, likely from a bad connection with a cheek bone. The rage was gone now. He could feel the last drops draining out his body. It tingled as it ran down his leg, out through his toes and off into dark. He knew this was what he had wanted to do. The aches and pains were just a dull sensation to him. The satisfaction out weighed all other feelings. He finally had quieted the urge, that burning desire he knew he couldn't control. His feet almost floated as he walked off, a certain swagger appearing in his gait. It will come again.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 20 – Homecoming

Note: I am not entirely satisfied with this part. It was a little tricky to write, but I think the effect is still fairly powerful. We passed 30,000 words with this part. That's 70 single-spaced pages in Word. Not too shabby.

Disc 1
Track 20: Dirty Dancehall – The Zutons

“Woken up again by a young girl’s shout”

Zuton Del Aram woke; startled from slumber by a scream that sounded too much like a voice he knew and loved. He jumped up from his second-floor bed and pressed his face against the glass of the window. Outside the sky was black and starless over the city of Stra, which was eerily quiet. While his days of frolicking out past dusk had long past, he knew that others in the city should still have been out. Whether it was heading to a tavern or walking off too much time already spent in the tavern, there should still have been folks out but there wasn’t. There hadn’t been any one out past dark for weeks. The streets in the outer ring were empty, but, as he knew very well, not still. Things lurked in the shadows that weren’t just rats plump from feeding on the waste from one inn or another. They were larger than that and the shadows seemed to cling to them. One night about a week ago, he was sure he saw red eyes staring back at him.

He scanned the street below that was lit up the fire of torches lining both sides. The torches were new. He was not the only one seeing things in the shadows. Achingly, he sought the source of the noise that had disturbed him, but saw nothing.

“Fool of fools,” he swore turning away from the window. “She’s not coming back.”

Beside the bed, a half bottle of brandy sat upon a table next to an empty glass. He filled the glass to the brim then shot it down in one burning gulp before refilling it. The bottle had been full earlier today. He swore again before bringing the glass back to his mouth. His wife would never have allowed him to drink so much, but she had been gone a very long time. Since she gave birth to their daughter, the strings of his heart pulled tight at the thought.

“Pappy!” The words came loud from outside, accompanied by a knock on his front door. That surprised him so that he spit the second gulp of brandy out, spraying it all over the wall and his bed. He dropped the glass and the bottle, they shattered hitting the wood floor, but he did not notice that even when a few of the longer shards cut into his bare feet.

His knees creaked, his back popped as he came as close as he could to a run for his door and then nearly broke his neck twice while trying to take the stairs two at a time. He was no boy, but he felt like one just then. To see her again, meant everything, and he didn’t want her outside in the dark any longer than necessary. There was a time when he would have left the door unlocked and she could have came in on her own, came up to him in his bed and greeted him with one of those great big hugs she used to give him when she was his little girl. In his heart, she was still his little girl no matter what any of others said about her. His daughter was different, but she was still his daughter. After all the time that she had been gone, he realized that more than ever. He was a fool to listen to anyone about her and feared that by his inaction that he had allowed something to be done to her.

“I’m coming!” His voice came out gruffer than he wanted. He preyed she did not run off thinking he was angry with her. He could not be angry with her, not now, not ever again.

Throwing back the wood brace across the door, he sensed being on the edge of delirium. It was a happy sensation, one that, at his age, he may never feel again. He fumbled to release the lock before turning the knob. A putrid, dead, smell hung in the air, but he forgot when he saw the great mane of red hair facing away from him. No one else had such a bright glowing flow of locks in Stra. Hell, he thought, he could travel the entire world and not see its equal.

“My Hatala,” he made no attempt at hiding the tears that streamed from his eyes. She spun, slow and graceful, the purple riding cape floated out behind her. Zuton flushed seeing the tight purple dress she wore, which accentuated her breasts and the paleness of her skin that was dotted with hundreds of tiny brown freckles. This was not the sort of attire he had raised her to ware. It was a problem, but not one of any consequence so long as she was home. Before she could speak, he was embracing her to make sure that she was indeed real. He was shocked to feel how cold her skin felt, how frail her body.

“Father,” she said with little hint of emotion.

“You’re freezing child, come in, come in,” he brushed her through the threshold with his arm. “I’ll start a fire directly to warm you’re blood.”

He closed the door behind her not bothering to lock it and lit a long match from the pile he kept by the door. He took that to several candles before guiding her to the den and the fireplace.

“My girl, I am blessed to see you again,” he bent over clearing a place for new kindling. There was a creak from out where they had come, but he didn’t think twice about it. It was a old house full of old memories that came out in moans and groans. Just like old men, he thought, and decided that the next day he’d write that down. He was one for jotting down notes and thoughts. He would write a great book of wisdom before his days came to an end. Perhaps the return of his daughter was the inspiration that he needed.

“Did you search me out,” she asked, her voice very low?

He blew on a spark from the match as the kindling began to snap, but the rest of his body tensed. He had not known what to do when the girl came up missing. She had a nasty reputation among some folk, the kind of folk that sometimes acted on suspicion. He had wanted to sound the alarm when she disappeared, but worried if he had that he may be the next to go missing.

“I looked all around the city and outside of it as well,” he said. “No one had seen you come or go. I did not know where you had gone. Then the other girls started to come up missing and no one wanted to hear about you.”

“They were glad to see me gone.” She smirked.

He straightened up not turning from the mantle place. There were old wooden figurines from a game he had as a child on top. One was of a bear and another a dragon. He lifted both thumbing the carving lines nervously.

“You have always put some people on edge, my daughter,” he said. “It is their problem, not yours.”

“And yours?” She hissed the last as an accusation.

He turned to her, the tears back in his eyes. The room was full of huge, heavy shadows, but all he saw was her in that damned purple dress, looking cold and scared.

“If you ever felt that way then I pray I am cast into the underworld,” he sobbed. She appeared taken aback for a moment by the statement. “I love you, my daughter.”

She did not speak for a long time and the distance between them seemed even greater than when she had been gone. He wanted to run to her, shake her free of whatever evils had ensnared her and welcome her properly home. He had to break the silence.

“Where have you been?” It was the question many parents asked of truant children. Few parents would have let her back in the house before knowing.

She stirred to life then, the color came to her cheeks and the green of her eyes glowed bright in the dark.

“I’ve been casting away the chains of this world,” she smiled for the first time.

“Hatala, don’t say such things,” He stepped closer, but stopped noticing that the shadows in his house were not empty. “What have you done?” He croaked in fear.

“What have I done, Pappy?” She let the cloak fall to the floor behind her. There were deep bruises up and down her arms. For the first time, he saw what looked like a burn mark under her eye. Sensing his eyes, she lowered one strap of her dress and then the other letting the whole thing fall to the floor. He gasped in revulsion and grief. She bore lash marks as if she’d been whipped from the top of her legs up past her breasts. There were dozens of marks of varying length and depth. How could she stand such pain?

“Hatala…” he could not form a thought without his voice and mind collapsing in grief.

“I’ve been doing what you taught me,” she smiled.

“What?” From the shadows emerged four figures robed in black. Behind them, he saw glimpses of other creatures that he was sure there was no adequate name. Hatala put her hand on the black robe of one of the figures.

“This one is rough with me sometimes,” she squirmed as if thinking about it. “Not soft and gentle and cruel like you.”

“I never laid a finger on you,” he spit the words out. It was the truth, but he knew these creatures had brainwashed her somehow.

He took a few steps back reaching behind his back for the poker.

“These two are brothers, I think,” she had walked over to the pair of robed fingers on the right. “They always go at me together. It’s quite something.”

“Stop this, stop this,” he started shaking his head violently. “Why are you saying these things?”

The smile never left her face as she came up to him, pressing her naked flesh up against him. He recoiled as her skin was like touching an open flame.

“Don’t you see, these are my Pappy’s now,” she said and kissed him full on the lips. He grabbed the poker, wrapping his fingers around the handle. Whatever this beast was, this was not his daughter. She had always had strength, and maybe something a little more than natural, but she had been kind and gentle and pure when he last saw her. He pushed her away. “Oh, come now, Zuton Del Aram, son of Ardst. Do you not want to play with your daughter one last time?”

“You are not my daughter?” he spewed out raising the poker. The look on her face never altered its expression as he tried to swing it at her. His strike never came close as a gloved hand stopped his arm. Another of the robed men came forward and grabbed his other arm. He was too slow, too old to be a match for the likes of these.

“Goodbye, Pappy,” Hatala came up to him and ran her hand along face. She met his eyes once, and his heart broke, seeing they were full of malice.

She turned then and took the two men she had named as brothers by the hand and started to lead them up the stairs to the bedrooms.

“Let me go,” he struggled against his captors, but they quelled that with two swift blows to the top of his head. His vision blurred, but not poorly enough that he could not see the shadows move again as two creatures came forth. One had fours arms and four legs and a torso that bulged and rippled. It had one eye in the center of its forehead, no nose to speak of and a mouth with the lips peeled back to show a row of razor sharp teeth. The other creature looked as if it may have been a dog once, but its face was closer to that of a man and it had long sharp nails coming out of its paws. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

The creatures crept forward, enjoying the fear that was shooting through his mind. The two robed men gripped tighter as the two spawn of the dark approached Zuton’s legs. He kicked at them weekly before feeling the teeth sink in and the jaws clamp down just below each knee. Flesh tore away in wet smacks followed by bone in loud cracks. The robed men let go and he dropped to the floor on his back.

He could not force himself to look down, but he was sure that both his feet were gone. The pain burned, but he blocked it out. They had all been right about her, he thought. She is some kind of witch.

The robed men left his vision, but he saw them mount the stairs when he turned his head. Somewhere below his waist the creatures slowly fed up his legs. They were taking their time, not pulling away anything vital. From upstairs he heard Hatala start to wail. The repulsion from the sound of agony in her voice was nothing compared to the hints of satisfaction. It sickened him that his dear wife had forfeited her life to bare her.

It lasted till the dark sky night started to lighten. The creatures were past his waste before the cold started to reach his heart. How they managed to keep him from bleeding to death hours earlier, he did not know. Outside the sun hit the horizon, when the dog-like creature rose to his face. Red drool dangled from its chin, its eyes glowed red. It was the last thing that Zuton Del Aram saw, as his daughter’s cries of triumph trumpeted through the house.

Snake's Reaction: Get A Haircut & Get A Real Job part 5

Part 4: http://sbrlists.blogspot.com/2010/04/snakes-reaction-get-haircut-get-real.html





Big & Rich: Real World & Wild West Show from 'Horse of a Different Color'



I think I listen to this album at least once a week. I can't get away from it. When I picked Real World, I totally forgot about the little section at the end that went way over the top country. If I had, I wouldn't of picked it. Wild West Show has always been my personal favorite from the album. Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy) & Holy Water got quite a bit of attention from this album. Saved is a pretty awesome song and looking back I should have included although it would be another slower soulful song and I knew I needed to highlight their playful side. Deadwood Mountain and Live This Life are some fantastic more traditional country songs while Rollin' and Love Train are the newer hick-hop they are famous for.

Verdict: I love it, but it is not for everyone. If your music likenings blur the lines between country and rock, then these guys will be king to you. If you like traditional country, there is enough in here to satisfy you if you skip past a few songs.

Metallica: Broken, Beat & Scarred and Unforgiven III from 'Death Magnetic'

This album selection haunted me for quite awhile. All the songs are so long and it was hard to find the ones that really stood out musically. So I ended up picking the two that stood out to me cause of their somewhat goofy lyrics. "What don't kill ya, make ya more strong" from Broken just kills me with bad grammar. "How can I be lost if I got no where to go" from UIII is some how stupid and poetic at the same time. It just proved that the words didn't really matter. The album is loud and heavy. It is an assault on the ears and slap to the face of all the current heavy bands saying, 'This is how it's done!' I believe I listened to this album non stop for a month after it came out. It was all I listened to on my headphones while painting my house.

Verdict: Good Metallica album, more like it used to be. It is a pure lesson on musicianship and jamming like a metal band should. Not alot of production or gimmicks, just lots of fuzz and power.

The Killers: Spaceman & Neon Tiger from 'Day & Age'

Another album that got steady listening time for a couple months after I bought it. This was hard choice again. Spaceman is just a great song with a lot going on in the lyrics underneath that catchy beat. I loved Neon Tiger's imagery in a homage to their hometown of Las Vegas. I could have something great to say about every track on the album. Red passed it off as standard stuff from the Killers, I can understand where it gets that when forced to listen to 30+ tracks by various artists in a short time span. At first glance it seems run of the mill until you start to really listen to what is happening in these songs, that the message really is. Realizing their inspiration and the dark meanings to some happy sounding songs. Step through the looking glass, take the red pill, and have you world changed forever. (Ok that is probably a little over dramatic)

Verdict: 'Hot Fuss' was really good. 'Sam's Town' was really really good. 'Day & Age' is F($*ing Brilliant!

Motorhead: The Chase is Better Than the Catch from 'Ace of Spades'

This was tough choice. I tried to find one of the songs on the album that better showcased the punkish sound that prevailed the album more so then the speed metal style of the title track. There isn't much else I can say about this album, other than it is awesome.

Verdict: Get metal/punk album that inspired lots of metal acts to follow including Metallica.

YTCrakcer: N.E.S. from 'Nerdrap Entertainment System'

I discovered this album from a promo for a G4TV show. It was cool hearing all the old Nintendo 8-bit tunes with some very nerd based rap over top. Surgerunner is another of my favorites as he raps about it longing for the classic Mountain Dew ripoff Surge drink to come back. I have never found a documented list of each old school Nintendo game that is the sample for each song, so a few still puzzle me probably because I never played them.

Verdict: Definitely for a niche market of slightly nerdy men who grew up in the late 80's, early 90's.

Avenged Sevenfold: Sidewinder from 'City of Evil'

I heard Bat Country on the radio and then bought this album. Beast and the Harlot also got lots of recognition. This is a decent metal album. I do enjoy Sidewinder along with Strength of the World. There are the band's best efforts at the classic epic metal song.

Verdict: Nice addition to most of the metal these days. I still listen to lots of songs off this album, surprisingly enough. So it has the staying power to leave its mark.


With that I am done. Only took 6 months. Not too bad I think :)

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 19 – Voices

Note: What I like about this part is that it plays with the idea of perception more than any of the other parts or characters. Eden Perde had been painted into a box in our minds by the way his brother sees him. I think, I hope, this part blows that box up. I didn't really know the character was going to take this turn, but I think it'll provide an intriguing conflict for the rest of this tale.


Disc 1
Track 19 – Baby Brother – The White Stripes

“My little baby brother used to play down on the floor. But now he’s not satisfied to do it anymore.”

How dare he touch that sword! That brute! Eden allowed the thoughts into his head, even worse into his heart. The seeds of mistrust toward his twin brother had recently started to take root. He didn’t understand the thoughts. It had to be a byproduct of his worry for his wife and daughter. It’s not only that, you know that. You have to sleep. The voice was that of his conscience that always ringed with the same tone as his father’s. Never had he felt anything more than love and admiration for his brother, but he had always envied the man’s strength.

Ewam had a will and a spirit not easily matched even by his sibling. When they were children, Ewam had always won the wrestling matches, the play sword fights, even the games of battle strategy. He was natural soldier. No, Ewam was more than that, he was the kind of man that men trusted and followed.

Eden was not dim. He knew that he would never match Ewam’s strength. Eden had to become the image of a king both in sight and action. By the time he was eight, he had mastered language, decorum and etiquette. It was their mother that drilled him daily on such matters. She never said it, but Eden was positive that she held the hope that one day their father would put an end to the nonsense about having both boys rule Satar. For whatever reason, she wanted Eden on the throne. Therefore, she made him the perfect groomed king. Not that Ewam was not in her heart too, but she knew he belonged in the field, managing the swords and the shields.

Of course the great show that he and his mother prepared never fooled Rudan Perde one bit. He recognized Eden’s behavior as an act. Rudan wanted Ewam to have his share of the throne because he knew that Satar would need a man of Ewam’s grit and power to rule.

Ewam, on the other hand, had allowed Eden to assume most of the control since their rule began. Ewam fell for the pomp and grandeur of Eden’s act. It was all that Eden could do to maintain any semblance of credibility. All he really wanted was enough power to balance the throne and honor their father’s wish.

Now Ewam held that sword, a blade meant for one king even if it were the King of Nocnil, and it looked so natural, so right. He had already sent out riders to gather an army. Soon he’d light the beacons so that the four great cities of Satar would send their regiments immediately. Ewam, without a second thought, had brushed him aside. Even the foreigner Banik had deferred to Ewam once he entered the room. He’ll take everything! That was voice of his mother, one that occupied his mind more of late. The jealousy teased through his restraint enough for it to turn to rage.

The two brothers were alone again in Union Hall. Banik had left upon Ewam’s command. He studied the blade, almost as if he were entranced by it.

“Then we attack Nocnil,” Eden managed to withhold any of his anger from his voice. He settled into his usual airs upon the throne.

“No,” Ewam lowered Duna, letting it rest along his leg. “I will lead our army to Nocnil. You shall stay here. The land will need a king, your wife will need a husband, your daughter a father. I will go to war.”

Like that, Eden was made second. So quickly, I am his puppet. You have always been a puppet. First your mother’s, now you’re his. That was the voice of Rudan Perde again. He pushed the voice away in his mind, but it’s residue lingered. He worried that this was all some sort of disease of the mind. Part of him hoped it was.

“I’ll be seen as a coward.” Eden said. Ewam grinned and all the whiskers lining his face glittered in the light as he did. Eden did wish the man would shave more often.

“You’ll be seen as King. That’s what the people here will want, will need,” Ewam fidgeted obviously trying to keep from gazing back down toward the sword.

“Perhaps,” Eden found it hard to argue with the reasoning, yet his heart screamed for treason. It’s the sword. We must have it. His mother’s voice turned to that of a mongrel. Eden’s skin began to tingle thinking about having it in his hand. “Will you carry that then?”

Eden did not need to name it and as soon as the thought was out, Ewam lifted the sword back up to his face. Ewam was not a man that smiled much, but he did not seem to be able to stop as he traced his finger along Duna’s shining blade. Eden wanted reach out to do the same, but he thought Duna’s spell might make Ewam’s hand hasty. WE MUST HAVE IT! Eden rubbed his temple trying to chase away the voice. When he looked back up, Ewam was staring at him.

“Are you unwell,” Ewam spoke in their private language. Like a strong shot of whiskey burned the throat, the words chased away the voices, if only for a little while. Before him was his brother again, the boy who was always up to a little too much mischief, but always by Eden’s side whenever he needed it. The smile that snuck to his lips then seemed as foreign as the one Ewam had worn while holding Duna. Heavens, how long have I been so downtrodden? This is Ewam, brother, twin, friend. Not some man trying to steal the kingdom. Ewam was not cousin Cortbrane, always plotting and scheming for power. He was Ewam, who wanted no more than to ride free upon a great steed’s back throwing all other responsibilities into the win. If Eden had demanded the throne, Ewam would have wrapped it in a bow for him. Eden took a deep breath feeling reason slipping back into his body.

“I am better now,” Eden said back in their language. Ewam accepted the answer, but the look of worry didn’t leave even as he brought Duna back up to his eyes.

“I cannot deny wanting to carry this,” Ewam stared at Duna. DON’T LET HIM HAVE IT! It took all of Eden’s will to suppress a groan with the voice’s return. “It has a charm to it that is almost uplifting. Here, hold it once.”

“No!” Eden recoiled against the back of throne. The voices all sang out as his brother brought the hilt toward him. He wanted it more than anything else in the world, but the small thread of reason that he was clinging to sounded off like a sentry’s alarm in the distance to leave it be. He knew if that sword touched his hands that little thread would forever be severed. The actions that followed would certainly be terrible. “I cannot. It is not mine.”

The last nearly made Ewam recoil. The man looked at the sword again, his shoulders slumped just enough for Eden to notice. Giving up the sword was already very hard for Ewam to do.

“You are right, brother,” Ewam spoke again in their familiar language. “It is not ours. I shall give it back to Banik. He is the last beacon of Nocnil. When we ride out, he shall carry it to glory.”

Again, he decides without asking. Eden wanted that sword buried somewhere no one would ever find, most of all either Perde brother. Over the next hour, the two poured over a host of decisions about the coming war from the gathering of the soldiers, to the best route to Noce to take. Ewam even laid out the plans for the rule of Satar while he was gone and nearly set in stone all actions necessary if he were to fail. The sword never left his hand. With each passing moment, the voices grew more fevered and frenzied in Eden’s head.

By the end of the meeting, Ewam seemed to tower above him. The flood of plans had overwhelmed them both, but while Eden felt swept away, Ewam was skimming across the waves. The only saving grace was that the two were alone so that none of the other nobles or even servants would know of his inferiority.

Ewam drew the session to a close, saying he’d take the sword to Banik then go to gather the generals. He walked away then, his shoulders back and his posture perfect. It was the first time the man had reflected the image of a king without hours of prompting.

Usurper. His mother’s voice hissed. Puppet. His father’s added in a mockingly as Ewam exited the doors. Somewhere below those there was a whisper in own voice in their twin language. Brother. He barely even heard it. Eden slumped over and wept for the first time since he was a boy and the last time as a man.

Snake's Reaction: Get A Haircut & Get A Real Job part 4

I figured it was about time I stepped up and at least finished this thought. Since it has been 5 months since my last post on this, here are the links to parts 1 -3:

Part 1 http://sbrlists.blogspot.com/2009/10/snakes-reaction-get-haircut-get-real.html

Part 2 http://sbrlists.blogspot.com/2009/11/snakes-reaction-get-haircut-get-real.html

Part 3 http://sbrlists.blogspot.com/2009/11/snakes-reaction-get-haircut-get-real_20.html


The Secret Machines: The Road Leads Where It's Led & Nowhere Again from 'Now Here is Nowhere'

First off, I love the name of this album. I am a sucker for play on words type of humor. This one took me awhile to get into and I don't know why. Once I truly decided to listen to this album, I was hooked. It was extremely difficult to pick 2 songs. Every one of them seems to have this pounding beat that just resonates in your chest. First Wave Intact is the first song on the album and I probably would have picked it if it wasn't 9 minutes long. It has that thunderous beat that seems to set the tone for the album and the band. Lights On and the title track are both close seconds as well. The two tracks I picked though do stand out above the rest for good rhythms and great lyrics.

Verdict: I need to find more by these guys. They were actually part of the musical, Across the Universe covering The Bealtes on Blue Jay Way and backing Bono's trippy I am the Walrus. I would recommend this album to almost anyone regardless of their musical tastes.

Modest Mouse: Bukowski & Satin in a Coffin from 'Good News for People Who Love Bad News'

Another great album title and another one that took me awhile to get into. I bought this because of the catchy single, Float On. As soon as I heard the line: 'God didn't wanna be such an asshole,' I knew I had to include Bukowski on this project. Satin in a Coffin is to represent the quirkier songs on this album without going way out there. That title would go to This Devil's Workday. My words could never describe that song, but I love it. The World At Large, Bury Me With It, Dance Hall & Blame It On The Tetons are the other highlights of the album and give a good representation of the range of this group. Some are so soft and beautiful that you get one image in your mind of how tender this group is. Then they turn around and smack you with these loud horns, quirky lyrics and soul grabbing hooks.

Verdict: This band would be my definition of eclectic. I have grown to love them and the variety they provide. Not for the faint heart at times and yet so gentle & serene at others, this would fit any savory listeners tastes.

The White Stripes: Baby Brother & You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do What You're Told) from 'Icky Thump'

This album is for now the White Stripes' swan song. Baby Brother is a call back to their early fuzzed out blues that Jack White is a supreme master of. You Don't Know What Love Is has that crossover blues/country feel that they seem to project at times. I almost put their cover of Conquest on this CD, but I didn't think anyone else but me would like that song. Little Cream Soda & Rag and Bone are some great Stripes-style blue tunes. The hook in Soda is so fuzzy and distorted it calls back memories of blown out speakers. Rag plays on that classic blue style of talk through the verse and then jam rather than have a chorus, done with the magic that only those two possess. St. Andrew is that one just truly out of the norm song that they seem to put on every album. Meg seemly chants over top of bag pipes, strange indeed.

Verdict: While certainly not their best album, if this ends up being The White Stripes final studio album, it will be a good ending to their place in music history.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 18 – Song of time

Note: All I can say is that I keep peeling back the onion here and finding new layers. What I like is that the characters are starting to take this story over. It makes it easier to write that way.


Disc 1
Track 18 – Sad Statue – System of a Down

“You and me will all go down in history”

When Ewam was a very young boy, his father had come to his room late one night to kiss him goodnight. Rudan Perde stopped inside the door, slumping between the light of the hallway and shadows of Ewam’s dark room. His father was tired, worn thin by ruling a kingdom that stretched so vast that it demanded more than any one man could handle. Yet every night he visited his sons, kissing their foreheads and setting wards against any possible childhood spooks. In many ways, the duties of fatherhood came much more naturally to him than those of a king.

“What is it like to be king?” Ewam had asked throwing back his covers. He had been a boy that did anything to avoid being forced to bed. That had been another difference between him and Eden. When Eden was told to sleep, he went to bed, closed his eyes and drifted off. Ewam, on the other hand, skirted to the kitchens for a snack, and once caught, his mother tugged him back to his room by his ear. When his father came, he asked questions and demanded stories.

That night Rudan took a candle, lighting it from a torch in the hallway, and sat upon the edge of the bed. His father had wide shoulders and thick arms to go with jarring features, but Ewam always thought the man had the warmest eyes. No matter how much trouble he caused, he felt safe when his father’s eyes were upon him.

“Son,” he paused, a sparkle touched his eyes. “It’s like being told to go to bed a thousand times a day.”

Ewam stuck his tongue out knowing his father was teasing, but he didn’t say anymore. Once he got over being goofed with, he realized that his father was also being serious.

“That’s awful,” Ewam said. “I’d never want that.”

“Oh, I know that son,” Rudan Perde tickled his son’s stomach. “You can’t handle it once a day.”

After several minutes of jovial wrestling that climaxed in a hug, Rudan Perde brought his son to his knee and met his eyes.

“I want you to listen to me well now,” he brushed the hair from Ewam’s eyes. “Being king is the hardest thing you’ll ever do. There’ll be many days where you won’t feel like going on. It’ll be like your chained to a great stone that’ll you’ll be asked to drag back and forth all day long. But, my son, it’s all worth it.”

“Why,” Ewam asked, for the seeds of his insecurity compared to Eden were already laid?

“Because every so often, you sit upon that great throne in that old hall and hear the song.”

“What song?”

“The song of time, my son. It’ll ring in your ear. You’ll hear the voices of the great heroes and pick them out, one by one. You’ll hear my voice just as I hear my father’s. That big throne will be tuned to that because your actions and decrees right then are going to shape the world around you. Then you’ll know.”

“What?”

“That you’re king and one day you’re voice will join them.”

His father’s eyes were full of happiness as he began to hum and Ewam wished to stay in that moment forever. Before long though, a servant was whisking him away to address one problem or another. Ewam spent the rest of the night trying to hear that song.

“I’ve been waiting ever since,” Ewam thought he whispered, but Eden glared over at him. The man named Banik was still kneeling on the floor. Ewam heard a song now, but it didn’t sound joyous or upbeat. It certainly was not a tune he wanted to sing along with.

It occurred to him that Eden was waiting for him to say something, which broke their unspoken agreement of how to handle most audiences. It was Eden that asked the right questions or gave the correct orders. It was just that Banik’s offer of the lands of Nocnil was not something either had ever considered.

“There’s more to this,” Ewam could feel something tingling at the edge of his senses. How could one man bring down a kingdom? Even if it were some demon, it did not seem impossible, it was impossible. Ewam knew that there people that roamed even in Satar that sulked in the forests and hid in the hills. They wore black cloaks and covered their faces. They had never opposed the rule of the Perde line and, for the most part, the line had done little to oppose them. “What sort of a force does he have?”

Banik hesitated. The trouble with two kings being in the room was that it made it hard for most people to know which king to address, but this man had made his choice. He met Ewam’s gaze.

“There are the Dinar,” the man stood for the first time leaving the ancient sword on the floor. It looked like a corpse left like that. A nerve stirred in Ewam’s heart to reach out for it

“How many?”

“There were less than a thousand when they took Noce.” Banik started to pace, finally taking note of his surroundings.

“One man and a thousand, you say,” Ewam stood from his throne. This was becoming a farce. “I don’t know what fools you take us for. You expect us to believe so few took the oldest kingdom in the world. Either you are a liar or Nocnil grew soft.”

“I am no liar,” anger swelled in the man’s voice.

“Then how? How could so few take a village, much less a city, much less a kingdom?”

Ewam was down the stairs in the man’s face before Eden could even move. He ignored the sword and the smell. Ewam wanted answers.

“We could not fight them.”

“Could not or would not?”

“Could not. They were shielded in a way no man would fire an arrow or raise a sword. They paraded down our streets, decimated our royal guard, one man at a time and nary a sword was raised.”

“I don’t understand this,” Ewam turned back to meet Eden’s gaze. “Brother, it does not add up.” The last he said in their twin language.

“I know,” Eden answered under the same guise.

“It was the women, our women,” Banik’s voice took on a whole new level of shame. “They walked beside the Dinar and clung to the demon. It was some sort of spell. The women were drawn to him. They still are. I’ve passed hundreds on the road here.”

The blood left Eden’s face, leaving him pale and shaken. He slumped back down unto the throne rubbing at his forehead. Ewam felt his own knees weaken.

“What of them once the city was taken?” Eden croaked out the words. Ewam closed his eyes hoping that his ears would shut it the same matter.

“It’s a fate you don’t want to know,” Banik said.

“What of them!” Eden’s voice was a roar. Ewam took a step away from his brother and felt his heel touched the sword on the ground. Something stirred for only a moment within him. He was sure that Banik took more than two steps away.

“He mates with them, all of them,” Banik said. “I caught a glimpse when retrieving that.” Banik pointed to the sword. “His spawn are grotesque, blood drinking mongrels. I ran two through with the sword and was chased for some time by others. I hid in the Sorna a week before returning to the road here.

“Lords, I believe he can mate hundreds if not thousands a day. His force now may already be too much for the world of men.”

Ewam’s gaze never left Eden’s face. There were tears welling up in the man’s eyes. This explained everything from the disappearance of their sister to the nightmares that both Evandra and Kendra were suffering. A great evil was loose on the world. Eden was frozen in his throne.

“Leave us Banik,” Ewam ordered. “Our servants will show you a place to bathe and bring you new clothes. We will send riders out. Salama is not the only one that can gather an army.”

Ewam bent down and picked up the sword. He ran his hand along the curve of the blade. There was a great chorus sounding in Ewam’s head. He picked out one very familiar, soothing voice. Eden’s eyes were wide watching him.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 17 – Duna

Note: I run the risk of backlash from faithful readers jumping away from the witch here, but I could not go much longer without bringing the Perde brothers back into the fold. I hope this doesn't drag too much after a riveting last part.

Disc 1
Track 17: Saving Us – Serj Tankian

“You’re tearing us, you’re tearing us, you’re breaking us, you’re breaking us, you’re killing us, killing us, you’re saving us...”

Hanging on the corridor wall that led to Union Hall were the portraits of every King of Satar. Ewam stood before the last two in the long line. The one of his father, sitting upon the throne with a goblet in his hand and the heavy red-and- white-jeweled crown of Satar upon his head, hung in a silver and black frame next to the one of Ewam and his brother. His father, of all the other Kings in the long corridor, showed the most emotion. A slightly, upturned lip was almost a grin when compared to the stern, staunch faces of his predecessors. His father had the humor to snub his nose up to tradition. The portrait had been done at the beginning of his reign before the birth of his sons, but the painting radiated that the man had a very good idea he was going to knock down the walls of tradition.

When it came time to commission a rendering for Eden and him, the two had wanted to honor both tradition and their father. It was no secret that nobles and others around the kingdom where still nervous about accepting two kings. Some had maintained and even lobbied for one brother or the other to step down. One man, a cousin on his father’s side, Randall Cortobrane had worked hard for Eden to claim the crown, promising more than fealty, but also a large army in case Ewam resisted. Ewam had been tempted by many of the offers, if for no other reason, he did not want to sit upon the throne, but the two brothers had pledged to their father to rule united. The first order of business when the two assumed the throne was sending their dear cousin Randall to manage the city of Stra in northwest Satar.

The two chose to stand back-to-back in the portrait in front of the throne, facing the artist and curling their lips in jest to all who thought the arrangement was destined to fail. The portrait had turned into quite the scandal as ladies in the court started spreading the rumor that the brothers already could not look each other in the eye.

Ewam studied the portraits often trying to determine how honestly they represented the men they portrayed. The artist had taken liberties in cleaning him up for instance. He had to hand it to the man, he had made it seem like Ewam belonged before the throne. Even so, he paled to Eden. His brother brimmed with confidence and strength. The reality that Ewam was inferior to Eden rarely left his mind. He spent most days striving to reach that level.

“Lord Ewam,” the voice, despite sounding like a mouse, made him jump.

He wondered how long his serving woman, Meriam, had been behind waiting for him. The woman was a few years younger than him with plain brown hair accentuated by the long brown hair that she wore in a bun. She was devoted to him, to her duty. It worried her beyond anything else to break decorum, but she had an ability to sneak up on him. She glided lightly along the floor no matter the surface.

“I truly apologize, my lord,” she curtsied far enough for her long skirt to fold twice against the tiled floor. “I would never have interrupted your important thoughts, if the not for the urgency of the message I carry.”

“What is it, Meriam?” He adjusted the black vest he wore over a white shirt. He should have been wearing some sort of jacket to be proper, but he sweated like a pig in those. He knew Meriam had one waiting for him before he entered Union Hall.

“A foreigner arrived this morning pleading to see the Kings of Satar. Lord Eden is with him now and requests that you join the audience as soon as you are able.”

“From where does this foreigner hail?” Visitors from other lands were rare.

“I do not know, my Lord. All I know is that he smells as if he hasn’t washed in his lifetime.”

“Smells?” Ewam tugged at the tufts of his beard. The woman removed his hand out of habit. At times she was devoted to formality, others she was like an older sister rebuking an uncouth younger brother. In a fluid sequence of movements, she was ushering him toward Union Hall, slipping a blue jacket with maroon stitching and folded cuffs over his shoulder, and calling for the doors to be opened for King Ewam. Sometimes he wished she could pull more strings to handle the many other tasks set before him.

The doors snapped shut behind him and Meriam was gone. He sighed without his little general pushing him toward duty. Before him was the great hall with the clean tiles and tall columns. Old Moon and New Moon floating in a sky of stars were depicted in a mural behind the thrones. His brother sat in one. Before him a man was kneeling and he did not look up when Ewam entered.

Checking to make sure the jacket was properly buttoned, Ewam started forward trying his hardest to mimic his brother’s stately gait. He was sure he was failing. Ignoring the man bent on one knee, Ewam studied Eden as he traversed the long hall. As always, Eden stood straight backed in the throne without a hint that perfect posture was nothing but perfectly comfortable. Despite that, Eden’s eyes were all wrong. They were red with a hint of fear and something else that Ewam could not quite put his finger on. Eden’s jaws were clenched, his hands were held tight to the throne. It was like he was being held there against his will.

A great gulp of fear eased down Ewam’s throat into his stomach as he took one look back toward the doors that now seemed impossibly far away. Why in the world would Eden see a complete stranger unattended? Ewam grasped for a sword at his waist that wasn’t there. They did not wear weapons in the throne room. They barely wore weapons at all with the only exception being when they traveled in the countryside.

Ewam was close enough to peer over the kneeling shoulder to see what lay on the floor before him. It was a long, curved blade with what looked like a glass hilt filled with sand. The sword’s appearance pulled at his memory, but that was kicked away by an even greater sense of urgency. He was incensed that any of their guard’s had allowed an armed man into a private appearance with one of the kings much less both. And Meriam? She’d never allow such a risk. Unless. A new fear swirled in his mind. Was this some sort of treason?

He didn’t have time to think or worry about the causes of the situation; he had to intercede. His brother was obviously shocked beyond action. Ewam changed his gait into a gallop. The man on the floor never flinched as Ewam jumped between him and his brother. If this man was looking to assassinate the kings, Ewam was going to shield his brother long enough for him to escape.

“Flee Eden, I will not allow this rogue to harm you,” Ewam words came out as a shout and he was shocked to see that the man on the floor never reached for the sword.

“Brother, that is not necessary,” Ewam could hear Eden rising to his feet behind him.

“A man armed before you and you do not see the threat?” Ewam thought about lunging toward the blade if his opponent was not going to make an attempt for it. He thought he might be quicker than his foe.

Ewam felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder. For the first time, he noticed the odor lingering around the thrones. It smelled of urine mixed with some other indescribable filth, both impossible for Union Hall. He couldn’t help holding the thick cuff of his jacket to his nose.

“He has vowed not to harm us,” Eden tugged on Ewam’s shoulde trying to get him to look away from the sword. “I believe him. Please, trust my judgment brother.”

Ewam took a few steps back trying to escape the smell. He studied the sword and then his brother’s face. He trusted his brother’s judgment more than his own, but this felt all wrong. Backing up more, he found his own throne and then forced himself to view their visitor.

The man wore a tattered brown jacket with what was once a white shirt below. The shirt was stained a dark yellow from ware and sweat. He had brown pants on underneath that had tears in a half dozen places. He was on one knee allowing Ewam to see that his leather boots with a thick wood heel were now fit for nothing more than a hot burn pile. The man’s entire outfit would find the same flames if Ewam had any say in it. He considered sending the man out immediately to bathe before he saw them. It was an odd thought form him, one more suited for his better-groomed brother, but Eden had not forced such a condition meaning the man’s presence was urgent.

Ewam focused on the clothes, trying to avoid the face and the dark hair that dangled in knots and twists. The man’s face sagged and was lined with terror and exhaustion. Ewam guessed he was nearly the same age as he and Eden, but whatever he had gone through to get here had aged him ten maybe twenty years.

“Brother,” Eden started once he was sure that Ewam was settled on his throne. He then returned to his own throne. “This is Banik Tarn from the city of Noce in Nocnil. He brings disturbing news from out neighbors to the west. I believe you’ll want to hear it.”

Ewam eyes shot back to the sword as recognition of the blade finally settled into his mind. His fingernails sank into the wood of the throne. To think, he thought, it was only hours ago that he was disturbed by a nightmare.

“Please Banik, tell my brother what you have told me,” Eden did not wait for any more reaction from Ewam.

The man started with the thick-accent that hung on end consonants like honey on the sickle, which was commonly associated with the men of the sand.

“Lords of Satar, the watch has failed,” the man’s eyes never left the floor. “The scourge of the sand walks again. Nocnil is no more. If nothing is done, the rest of the world will fall soon with it. I come here for retribution and forgiveness, even if you cannot provide both.”

“Forgiveness?” Ewam’s voice came out as a croak.

Banik’s eyes finally rose from the floor and met Ewam. Two dark orbs edged in brown shown up.

“In my heart, I know my father is to blame and that the demon walks in my son’s skin.”

Banik’s head dropped again. Ewam was sure it was to hide tears.

Despite the pain that the revelation obviously caused the man, Ewam’s eyes went to the blade and he had to ask.

“And that?” Ewam pointed to it.

Banik raised his head and almost saw the sword for the first time. The dark rings around the man’s eyes grew.

“Only men of the Sorna Watch knew where that was stored. No king was trusted with it for an age. When the demon took Noce, I had to take it. I could not let him have it.”

“This can’t be true,” Ewam turned to Eden, who was still straight-backed but the look from before had returned from when Ewam entered the room. Ewam understood the third emotion mixed with weariness and fear. It was panic.

“It was called Duna in the days of old,” Banik continued without being asked. “Duna was a mythical oasis in the Sorna. When the blade was forged in Rion, it was thought that the sword would deliver us of the sand to that paradise.”

Banik almost reached out to touch it, but then thought better of it.

“Why did you bring it to us?” Eden said it, but Ewam had been on the verge of asking the same thing.

“As a prize,” Banik stared up at both men.

“A prize.”

“Help me deliver retribution against the demon and ye may have it all. The sword, the lands, all of it I offer to the Lords of Satar.”