1001 Albums 476-490: Led Zeppelin II - Liege and Lief

Note: It returns and I am guessing with a much anticipated list. Enjoy.

Led Zeppelin II (1969) by Led Zeppelin
Led Zeppelin III (1970) by Led Zeppelin
Led Zeppelin IV (1971) by Led Zeppelin
Leftism (1995) by Leftfield
Legalize It (1976) by Peter Tosh

First Five at a Glance: Led Zeppelin dominates this group, and I can already see the smile crossing Snake’s lips. Here’s my brief take on these, I am sure the discussion will go further than this. Zep II cements the Zeppelin sound as Page, Jones and Bonham blend into a chorus of havoc. “Whole Lotta Love,” is as important of a song to its genre as any other. Zep III is a melding of hard rock and acoustic folk. “Immigrant Song” stands above as the hit from this album. I know Zep IV the best with eight powerful tracks, only “When the Levee Breaks” took time for me to warm too. The rest are power and beauty clashing. Peter Tosh is a former member of the Wailers, the backing band for Bob Marley. Take a guess on what he wants to legalize. Leftism is a dance album, you know pulsating sounds that repeat over and over and over and over.

Let It Be (1984) by the Replacements
Let It Bleed (1969) by The Rolling Stones
Let Love Rule (1989) by Lenny Kravitz
Let’s Get It On (1973) by Marvin Gaye
Let’s Get Killed (1997) by David Holmes

Second Five at a Glance: The Replacements “Let It Be,” was put there only to confuse me into thinking there was some sort of typo in the book. The Stones “Let It Bleed,” is a sharp contrast to old rivals the Beatles, who released “Let It Be” around the same time. The Stones gave us sex, drugs and violence, the Beatles ballads and breakup. I think the Beatles album should have made it here also, but the Stones may have been more in touch with the times. “Gimme Shelter” opens the album and that is one of the top tunes in the Stones catalog. Marvin Gaye focuses on the sex, but also interestingly enough uses a T.S. Eliot quote in the sleeve of the album. That’s an interesting mix. I’ve always thought Kravitz was a bit pretentious and had a lot of unrealized talent. “Let’s Get Killed,” sounds like an interesting social experiment. It takes real interviews with the underbelly personalities of New York and mixes them with rock, techno, funk and latin-styles.

Let’s Stay Together (1972) by Al Green
The Lexicon of Love (1982) by ABC
The Libertines (2004) by The Libertines
Licensed to Ill (1986) by Beastie Boys
Liege and Lief (1969) by Fairport Convention

Third Five at a Glance: Licensed to Ill may be as important of a rap album as there has ever been. It introduced to the massive, white teenage public to the genre. While songs like “Girls,” and “Fight for Your Right,” catch in the immature, tunes like “Brass Monkey,” and “No Sleep Till Brooklyn,” force brighter folk to keep listening. Let’s Stay Together is a soul classic. The album takes some risks and is the height of Green’s brief career. Fairport Convention was an early folk band that started to use electric instruments. Singer Sandy Denny was a big influence on Robert Plant. They kept calling ABC a punk band, I hear more New Wave. The two frontmen of The Libertines apparently hated each other to the point they had bouncers at the studio to prevent fights, the music reflects this constant tension.

The Goods: Led Zeppelin II, III, IV; Let It Bleed, Let’s Get It On, Let’s Stay Together, Licensed to Ill

Something to check out: I’d put Let’s Get Killed, The Libertines and Fairport Convention all on this list for very different reasons.

Verdict: This is an excellent group filled with hard rock standards and classic soul sounds. From top to bottom, we may not get a better group that this. The top albums are great and the one’s in the middle are good artists and the ones on the bottom are not completely terrible.

501 Must-See Movies: 'Charade' to 'A Clockwork Orange'

Charade: 1963, USA (Mystery & Thriller)

Right out the gate the author contradicts himself by saying this movie doesn’t fit into any one genre even though he has clearly classified it as a mystery and thriller. Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn star in this suspenseful mystery. Sounds like a good movie.


Charge of the Light Brigade, The: 1968, Great Britain (Action/Adventure & Epic)

There is nothing like a British movie about their involvement in the Crimean War during the 19th century. As with most war movies of the late sixties, the theme is mostly anti-war.


Chicago: 2002, USA (Musical)

I have never seen this recent hit. Many people seem to enjoy it though. With the sort of tribute to 1920’s Chicago lifestyle, I should give it a chance sometime.


Child’s Play: 1988, USA (Horror)

Chucky is a classic icon of horror. Pumping the franchise dead with crappy squeals may hurt the reputation of the film, but even those who haven’t dared to watch it know who the doll is and what movie it came from. The book states it is the last quality example of the 1980s vicious slasher.


Children of Paradise: 1945, France (Drama)

40’s black and white French drama with a mime as a main characters reeks of not good to me. It is most famous for being shot during the occupation of France during World War II and no doubt why it would be heavily remembered.


Chinatown: 1974, USA (Mystery & Thriller)

This is a true cinema classic and a defining role for Jack Nicholson. It was the first movie Roman Polanski made after his wife was murder by the Manson family which probably leads to the down, despairing feel of the movie. It may be one of the greatest mysteries of all time.


Citizen Kane: 1941, USA (Drama)

Most people will point to this as the greatest movie ever and rightfully so. Its influence can be seen in the film industry since. Orson Welles was only 25 years old when he co-wrote, starred in and directed the movie.


City of God: 2002, Brazil (Mystery & Thriller)

This movie sounds so interesting. It tells the gritty story of Rio through the eyes of two youth. The film is gritty and violent as murder and robbery are everyday events for all the people of the slums. It was shot using hand held cameras that led to very inventive camera work. I am putting this on my list to try to watch as soon as possible.


Cleopatra: 1934, USA (Action/Adventure & Epic)

Cecil B. DeMille went over the top in great classic Hollywood fashion. It is campy and stretches the historical truth for full movie effect. Everything everyone loves about old Hollywood film making.


Clockwork Orange, A: 1971, Great Britain (Science Fiction & Fantasy)

This film caused plenty of controversy upon its release. Due to the subject matter of violence, it was of course blamed for every current act of crime. The movie shows a dystopian future that really isn’t too far off from our current state. It is one of my favorites.

Red's CD Project Story 2:Afterword

Heir of Doom: A brief discussion

My initial intention with doing the afterword was to mimic very much what I did with the afterword that I wrote after the first CD Project. I thought I’ll sit down and open a nice long conversation on everything going on in this story. I’d like to talk about my thought process and the story growth. Discuss all the characters and the point they serve to the story.

I’d like to do all of that and more.

But I can’t for two reasons.

One. This is not really finished. Not only is it obvious that this is simply the first part in a much longer tale, but there’s a lot of rewriting, editing and restructuring to be done. Expounding on all these things would perhaps mislead, misdirect or ruin things to come.

Second. Most of that stuff above I don’t really know yet and the stuff that I do, I can’t say that I really understand. So anything I’d say would be a lot of B.S.

So I guess that’s it. Thanks for reading.

I’m kidding.

There is something more I can say.

This was hard. Very hard. Almost to the point that on several occasions I just wanted to run up the white flag.

What was hard?

The length (no sicko thoughts here please): I’ve never put in so much work into something of this length. It was hard keeping track of every detail and character. Hell, my main antagonist disappears from the story for pretty much the last ¾ of the work. I mean what’s he doing all that time? I wish I could answer that. Plus, I've submitted opening pages twice to that damn Page to Fame thing and was shot down.

The process: While I think using the lyrics and the CDs worked really well for the first CD project, it was entirely different this go-around. The content made it somewhat harder to fit lyrics while at other times I had more lyrics than I knew what I could do with. Moreover, I had a story that from the get-go was disjointed. I mean I had a ton of Oan and Nestor than midway through I introduce a whole gaggle of characters and the second half becomes all about them.

The characters: Oan is a tough guy to deal with. Abrasive. The twins have to be similar, but can’t be the same. The witch (I mean damn, she throws a monkey wrench on making this a nice clean, contained story), along with everyone else.

The list of difficulties goes on and on, but there was one thing that made this harder than anything else I’ve done.

To explain this, let me tell a story. I remember coming to the line of scrimmage in a high school football game my senior year. This is unique, in itself, because I remember very few plays from prospective of being on the field. Everything I have now is remembered from highlight tapes.

But I remember this play, not only because of what happened, but what happened right before.

As the center, I broke the huddle and came to the line first. As I was bending down to grab the ball, I saw the defense shift. It was a short yardage play on third down about 30 yards from the end zone. The defense moved 10 guys into the box. We made the line calls and as I grabbed the ball. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. This was going to be a touchdown. I could see it clearly how exactly the play was going to work before it happened. Then it did.

My problem with this project is that I could not see this story clearly, but I could feel it was there. Like when you wake from a dream, then feel slowly recede from your memory. I knew it was in me, but it was lost.

But I knew it was there and I knew that the damn thing was going to hit me right between the eyes in the very last section. I didn’t know how.

But I knew it was going to happen then.

So that made this whole process terribly frustrating because I wanted, probably more than my faithful reader, to skip to the damn ending so I could figure out what the hell I was dealing with.

So I toiled. The writing sometimes slipped. The ideas slowed. I got addicted to a trivia website called sporcle (Snake, if you haven’t been there, go but beware it’s addicting).

Then I came to that last song. I sat down and I typed the following lines.

The dark is like death, but deeper and longer and colder. Like standing for the first time at a high altitude, the air is drawn away from the lungs, siphoned from the body while the lips and tongue pant to catch it. The dark is like death, but not final.

No, not final, my friends walking this long journey beside me. Not final.

There is light, and like all light, it appears with no discernible start...

As the lines ran through the first part of that last section, I realized I had it. The key. I had only been seeing this place like a dream that shifts and bends too much to understand. In order for me to piece all this together I had to… Well I had too… awake.

It had been before my eyes all along.

“Life is a dream then you awake.”

So while this may not make a lot of sense right now, I will leave you with the following.

I wrote this the other day realizing this is how the long journey has to begin.

The Dreamer

I hear you out there, my friends. I hear the soft shuffle of sheets as you roll over and the faint scratching of air blowing between tiny hairs inside your nose. I also hear the panic in the buried thoughts of your subconscious and the unreasonable quickening of your heart. You’re asking yourself, “Is this real?” I ask, “What is real?” For my friends, we all drift through fantasies and realities without any verifiable proof of truth.

But that, my friends, is not the point.

As I was saying, I hear you very well. I know you’re there, even though I cannot see you for I am in the in-between where it is very dark. Very dark, indeed. The dark is like death, but deeper and longer and colder. Like standing for the first time at a high altitude where the air is siphoned from your body while your lips and mouth pant to trap it. The dark is like death, but not final.

No, not final.

There is light, and like all light, it appears with no discernible start. We can chase this light, you and I, if you so like. I must warn that such tricks, such excursions can cause irreparable harm. Take this chance, my friends, to turn back and wander the dark till morning. Then awake.

“Life is a dream, then you awake.”

Some of you have gone, but the multitude remains. Very well. You have been warned. Now, where was I?

While the two, light and dark, spend eternity denying each other’s existence, there cannot be one without the other. For they, like all of you of many where’s and when’s, are weaved, forever tangled together.

But that, my friends, is not the point. Not the point at all.

See the light, brilliant and tragic, cascading, pouring, streaking, drowning out the dark. Then swirling, swirling, swirling, swirling, swirling…

Now form.

“Paw and claw and hand.”

See it through my milky, white pupils that view nothing and everything. The paw digs and tears. The claw burns and consumes. The hand. Well, the hand provides and denies.

Now form.

See it now, my friends, for soon rest will come for the weary. Soon dark once more. But, for now, see it.

A boy, very near a man, stripped to the waist, his golden skin draped in a blanket of light and shadow from a late-summer sun fighting through the branches of a tall, old oak. The great river, very near, covers his movements. He stands stiff on one foot, slowly raising a spear in his right hand. This boy, fated to carry three swords into the end of all things, prepares to strike.

See it now.

The great river – one not meant to be crossed, not meant to be entered – and a bloated, blue carcass floating face up with one remaining eye staring at the sky. Can you hear him, my friends, muster just enough of a shout to perk up vigilant ears?

See it now.

See them all. The entire cast of hope and doom spilled forth before you. The fated boy. The one-eye man. The witch. The twin kings. The ailing queen and her daughter. The obedient servant. The fat mayor. The ambitious jezebel. The grotesque children and the demon.

“You’ve done this.”

“You’ve done this?”

“You’ve done this.”

“YOU’VE DONE THIS!”

Hear the voices, my friends. A million voices, from a million dreams, from a million worlds, all waiting for you and I in the dark. I did warn you of the consequences.

“Come now, heir of doom. Come and let’s put an end to this. Come, let’s begin anew.”

Come now, my friends. See the boy save this reckless man. See it all. See it now.

Tales From Lincoln - A Review

Note: I didn't get the official track names to this CD, which actually made it quite fun trying to guess who all the bands and songs were, so if I am incorrect please let me know. I used a little gadget on my phone that will listen to songs and tell you what they are.


“All I Can Do Is Write About It” – Lynyrd Skynyrd

This song blew me away. This is by far my favorite on this CD. I was puzzled trying to figure out if it was really Lynyrd Skynyrd because I have never heard it before and thought for sure that something this good by them would’ve hit my ears before. To me it really speaks for the tone of this CD and the concept of Red writing about people in Lincoln. So glad I know this beautiful song now as it speaks to my person feelings of living in the sticks and enjoying the beauty of the country.

“Either Way” – Wilco

I had heard of Wilco and saw them on the Tonight Show or something like that. I was interested to hear more of their stuff but didn’t really want to invest anything into it. This song is okay for me. I really like the little guitar solo towards the end that sounds kind of Latin inspired to me.

“The Old Apartment” – Barenaked Ladies

I have a CD by these guys but it doesn’t have any of these songs on it. This sounds like a live CD. I like the imagery of the song reminiscing about the past and distant times. It reminds me a college.

“A Murder One” – Counting Crows

This sounds like most Counting Crows I’ve heard. The drum rhythm really sticks out to me in this song. The song seems slow yet the drums have these quick little eighth notes in the middle of the beat. I find myself focusing on it every time I hear this song because it just fascinates me.

“No Way Back” – The Foo Fighters

This starts a little block of songs that I already had or knew. This is a great song and probably my favorite out of this Foo Fighters’ album. I like how it fits into the dynamic of this CD upon which I will expound later.

“Beverly Hills” – Weezer

Weezer is awesome at everything they do. There is nothing like a little SoCal love song. I had the hardest time tying this into the theme of the CD that I had running through my head.

“Inside Out” – Eve 6

I remember writing a crappy free writing exercise to this song. Actually, it turned more into a rant. I always seem to fight with myself as to the true meaning or message to this song. I think for this CD it fits into the idea of being stuck somewhere and the insanity it brings to the individual. But that is just me.

“Brian Wilson” – Barenaked Ladies

I love this song, second favorite on this CD. I had a hard time figuring out the lyrics at first. I kept thinking he was saying, ‘lying in bed just like Brian Wilson dead.’ This caused a great deal of internal conflict being sure that Brian Wilson was in fact not dead and thus why would the lyric say that. Once I got that straighten out, the song opened up for me, the idea of trying imitate our heroes whether it be writing songs, writing stories, playing sports, anything.

“DOA” – Foo Fighters

I have always liked this song but struggle to find the real, intended meaning. But it fits into this image I am building in my head of Lincoln and the dread of people feeling stuck there to die with no way of getting out alive.

“Perfect Situation” – Weezer

This is a little slower Weezer song that comes out very beautiful in the lyrics. I enjoy the chorus; it usually gives me goose bumps when I hear it. Soft young love turning into heartbreak.

“Open Road Song” – Eve 6

This song always makes me want to jump into a crappy car or an old truck and just drive fast down some country back roads. I like the line, ‘although I have no where to go but home.’ I remember taking many of those drives in our youth.

“Walken” – Wilco

This is 3rd best for me on this CD. I enjoyed this song from the first note I heard. The piano is fantastic and the slide guitar blends into this amazing mix of jazz, blues and country tones. It makes me want to love Wilco. The short jam in the middle is mind numbingly good leaving me wanting so much more that I spend the whole outro hoping it comes back to that jam as they just tease you with the same rhythm setup without committing to the same jam until that last note fades out to the distance.

“No Woman, No Cry” – Bob Marley & The Wailers

I’ve struggled at times to get into Bob Marley. This song is pleasant. It is hard for it to do anymore for me than that. Maybe it is the fact that I always feel like I can’t enjoy Marley. It isn’t meant for me.

“King of the Thing” – O.A.R.

I’ve heard a little bit of O.A.R. but am no where near the fan Red is. Their sound seems a bit fuller than what I seem to remember. The song is good. I don’t know if they are still something I am going to seek out on my own.

“Jesus Nitelite” – Eve 6

This is a nice softer side to Eve 6 than I had gotten to hear before. I really don’t know what to think about this song though. It confuses me to the point that I don’t think I could ever ‘get’ this song, which is strange because it doesn’t seem that complex. Maybe it is just my brain going haywire.

“What Light” – Wilco

This song is a very pretty way to close out this CD. I feel the theme is very similar to the open song giving a good full circle aspect to the project. It makes me feel warm and even though we just went through strife in the previous songs, it will be okay in the end. We are what we are.


In summary, I don’t know if Red was trying to throw a concept at me or not, but that is what I got out of it. Once I read the title of ‘Tales From Lincoln,’ I immediately started thinking of his collection of stories about people from Lincoln and how messed up their lives were. That leads me into trying to tie all the songs together into some tapestry leading off with a song talking about writing and being in love with the country surroundings then shooting off into memory, joy and strife of people found within that town and coming back around to end in a soft song telling me it will be okay in the end. But that is part of the beauty with music, three to four minutes doesn’t give much time for huge description leaving plenty of vagueness for anyone to weave in their own ideas. That is why I love doing this.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 40 – Lunar

Note: Well this it. Whew! I am going to do sort of a review post in the next week or two like I did for the first CD project talking about this whole experience. For the record, this file is 168 single-spaced pages in Word, which adds up to 71,379 words. Yikes.

Disc 2

Track 17: Tangled Up in Plaid by Queens of the Stone Age

“A self-inflicted wound, your Gift,
Impeccable aim
Can really clear a room
All the bodies piled in your way
Oh yeah
(it hurts so bad)
(It must oh yeah)

I could keep you all for myself
I know
You gotta be free
So free yourself

I could keep you all for myself
I know
You gotta be free
So kill yourself


The dark is like death, but deeper and longer and colder. Like standing for the first time at a high altitude, the air is drawn away from the lungs, sipphoned from the body while the lips and tongue pant to catch it. The dark is like death, but not final.

No, not final, my friends walking this long journey beside me. Not final.

There is light, and like all light, it appears with no discernible start. It’s just there. While the two, light and dark, spend eternity denying the other’s existence, there cannot be one without the other. For they are weaved, forever tangled together.

But that, my friends, is not the point. Not the point, at all.

With light comes the colors, brillant and tragic, cascading, pouring, streaking and drowning the scope of vision. Then swirling, swirling, swirling, swirling, swirling…

Then form.

“Paw and claw and hand.” His eyelids open, his milky, white pupils see nothing and everything. The paw digs and tears. The claw burns and consumes. The hand. Well, the hand gives and takes.

Then form.

See it my friends, for soon rest will come for the weary. Soon dark, once more. But for now, see it.

There is a city atop the great mountain with seven layers, with each layer above about half the size of the one below. On the seventh layer, there is a hall. Where the last great king sat upon a marble throne before a thousand stone stools. Sculpted along the walls are twelve ancient figures lost to most of the world today. They were the old heroes from an even older age, an even older dream. When the blood of Marek pumped straight from the heart of the mighty, the hall glowed from a huge golden chandelier with a thousand candles burning bright and the air was filled with laughter and shouts and cries and all the sounds of a living, breathing kingdom.

See it now.

Echoes, faint echoes, still bounce from stone to stone. They are weak, almost lost. The warmth. The fire. The light. All gave way to shadow at the madness of Tarek Grandar at the end of the last age. In the corners, spiderwebs hang from the ceiling to the floor where they are met by piles of rat dung. The thousand stone stools have crumbled. The marble throne is chipped and faded and leaning, but not empty. No, not empty at all.

See it now.

“Metahischoo!”

He has something wrapped up lying upon his lap. He’s seen it once, long enough to forge it. That was enough to claim his waking eye’s sight. In the distance, there are footsteps. At last, they have arrived.

“You’ve done this.”

“You’ve done this?”

“You’ve done this.”

“YOU”VE DONE THIS!”

A million voices, from a millions dreams, from a miilion worlds all floating in the dark.

“Come now, Heir of Marek. Come and let’s put an end to this. Come, let’s begin anew.”

Come now, friends. See the great hall. See the Dreamer. See the boy and his one-eyed companion. See it all. See it now.


* * *

Cassar escorted Oan and Nestor through the seven levels. The rest of the Keepers followed well behind. Even though the great city had been denied the gargola and his people since the end of the last age, Cassar knew the way through the six levels of the city till they came to one last final dark staircase.
“I will go no further,” Cassar stopped. “Tarek Grandar’s hall is forbidden ground for us. Follow these stairs up to the hall. I believe the Dreamer will be waiting for you.”

Oan turned to the gargola, who despite his menacing size and bulging muscles had a contrasting gentleness in the wide features of his face. His eyes, like the eyes of all the Keepers were tinted with melancholy.

“The days of Tarek Grandar have passed, Cassar,” Oan reached out, but the giant lurched back. “With it, his curses.”

Cassar’s shoulders slumped. With it came a batch of wrinkles that stretched out across his face. It was impossible to know how old the gargola was by looking. At first glance, Oan had thought that he and Cassar might have been about the same age. Now it appeared, Cassar was much older. Maybe even ancient.

Now the gargola stepped forward, reached out his arm. Oan’s shoulder disappeared under the gargola’s huge hand. Oan could feel ungodly strength in each finger.

“Perhaps, my king,” Cassar said. “But we have yet to atone for our transgressions. Only then will our curse lift. For now, we must part.”

The gargola released Oan, and walked away never once looking back. Oan returned the steps with Nestor at his side and took his first step.

* * *

They entered the hall on the opposite end of the throne, their footprints marking their trail in a layer of grim and dust. Before them was the vision of broken hopes and dreams. Along both sides of a long aisle, stone stools were toppled and broke. Up ahead, the throne loomed, actually leaned to one side from a cracked leg.

Sitting upon the throne was the small man, his green cape draped over his shoulders, his white shirt billowing out, his sightless eyes staring across the room at them. Oan exhaled. All these miles and it was back to that frail man, who at the start of the journey had presented him with Kekur.

Drawing the sword, Oan marched across the room. Around him an old wind started to swirl. Nestor stayed back, cowering away from the man in the throne and the fearful echoes blaring in his ears. Oan ignored those. It was the man he was here for. When he reached the throne, the small man smiled, his white teeth glowed behind.

“I dream of a field of white roses where a breeze, warm and moist, blows eternal,” the man’s voice was now deep and slow, unlike the high-pitched boy-like voice from before. “I sit upon a hill overlooking this valley with a lion and a dragon, paw in claw in hand. I see green eyes that smile with no lips. I live, I breathe and days go by.”

“I have heard all about your dreams before,” Oan said between gritted teeth. They had come all this way to see this man again.

“Life is a dream, then we awake,” The Dreamer chirped and placed his hands on a long bundle on his lap.

“What has all this been about?” Oan pointed Kekur at the man.

“I have been dreaming for a very long time. I’ve had more dreams than I can remember, but I remember you very clear. A man just finished being a boy, tall with long, dark hair and broad shoulders. His skin dark brown from days under the sun; his blood cold; his heart stone, a man destined for the great battle. A man carrying three blades.”

Oan dropped to his knees, his heart pumped so slow that it reverberated in his ears.

“I am tired.”

“You cannot rest. Not yet.”

“No.”

“Heir of Marek, you have reached Metahischoo. Now claim, your throne, your kingdom and your line.”

“I know none of this.”

“Then you ignore you’re dreams.”

“I do not dream.”

“Life is a dream, then we awake.”

“I am tired.”

“I dream of a river of fire burning with no end. A gold throne soaked in blood and a million glowing eyes peering from every shadow. Death, sorrow, paw and claw and hand. Agony rolling like thunder on the wind.”

“No more dreams.”

“This is no dream.”

Oan raised his head and the man was standing before him, the bundle from his hand stretched in offering to Oan.

“There are three swords destined for your hand, King of Marek,” the Dreamer said. “Now, claim the second. The bane of Salama. The scar of Old Moon. Wound of the heavens. Lunar made by thy successor. Release its glory. Unleash its terror once more.”

Every voice in his head screamed “NO!” even the voice of Kekur. It had been an age since the two swords had been together. Oan reached up, grasping the bundle and stood.

“If this is the second sword of three. What of the third?”

“One demon at a time, my boy. One at a time.”

Oan turned away from the Dreamer. Way back in the corner of the room, Nestor cowered in a shadow.

Unwrapping the cloth from around the blade, which seemed to have no weight at all, Oan could feel warmth growing across the room. The blade was white with a black hilt. When it was completely unsheathed a great light burst forth, blinding everything.

“Life is a dream, then we awake.” The Dreamer’s voice crept into his head. Oan fumbled to cover the sword again. As he did, the light receded. The hall before him was changed. Gone were the spiders and dung. Gone were the shadows. Above him, a brilliant gold chandlier hung with a thousand candles all lit. Down both walls great fireplaces roared and the statues along the walls were returned to their former glory. The stone stools stood perfectly in a hundred even rows. Oan noticed that Nestor had fled from his corner and could sense, he thought through the sword, that the man was hiding on the stairway.

Oan looked back to find the polished marble throne empty. The Dreamer was gone and Oan thought it had something to do with the blinding light. He rides the light, Oan thought.

Oan sat on the throne and soon a precession of Keepers filed into the hall. They walked up to him single file, knelt, and begged forgiveness. He gave it. Cassar was the last of that line.

“I, Cassar Gar, Steward of Marek, beg forgiveness for failing the True King.”

“Rise, Steward, and witness Marek. Think of old transgressions no more.”

Cassar rose, and took his place on a stool in the front row. All the stools were full.

“A great evil has returned,” Oan began. “We chased it away once. We shall do it again.”

A cheer followed while outside a great wind swirled, removing an age of dust and shadow. The fires of Metahischoo burned again.

The wind carried down the mountain to the plains where the nomadic remains of Rion, now known as Aldroubi, stopped a hunt and looked curiously to the north.

The wind carried across the Belnor to a woman and a girl, huddled against a log while hiding beside a road. The two were being followed, but by who or what they could not figure. The wind chased their scent away from their followers and the two sighed in relief.

The wind carried to Union Hall at Omet where a once proud King shivered with fever from a wound. Hovering over him, his cousin prepared a plan to make sure the King never regained his health.

The wind carried to a woman traveling with two dark robed figures. All three pulled their cloaks tightly around them, a sudden and rare sense of fear coursed through them.

The wind carried to Stra where another King dressed his wounds, some with cloth and some with strong ale and a stronger malice.

Finally, the wind came to a stop at Noce in the kingdom of Nocnil. All the lights had long ago left Noce, and now in the darkness, a fork-tongued demon wailed.

501 Must-See Movies: 'Brief Encounter' to 'Catch-22'

Brief Encounter: 1945, Great Britain (Romance)

From what I gather, this film is a classic cause it was middle class and did not have a happy ending. The book calls it a five-hankie movie so if you dare to watch get ready for the water works.


Bringing Up Baby: 1938, USA (Comedy)

Howard Hawks’ screwball comedy is full of double entendres, witty dialogue and slap stick. Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn star in this classic that like many others did not fare well in the box office but gained popularity over time


Bullitt: 1968, USA (Mystery & Thriller)

Forever know for its classic car chase sequence that was the granddaddy of them all, Bullitt is actually considered one of the greatest police dramas ever. Still you talk about it and people will only remember that Steve McQueen drove a car around San Francisco.


The Burmese Harp: 1956, Japan (War)

“The Burmese Harp achieves its power and poignancy through the juxtaposition of the horror of war with the beauty of nature.” I didn’t figure I could describe it better. Some of these old foreign films can be difficult.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid: 1969, USA (Western)

This is a great movie that I would not classify as your classic western. It is more of a buddy picture with such great report between Paul Newman and Robert Redford that produces memorable lines throughout. It is without a doubt a much see for anyone as a timeless classic and one of my all time favorites.


Cabaret: 1972, USA (Musical)

The book loves this movie in an over gushing way. Liza Minnelli gave a perfect performance and the characters are contemporary and fashionable. It was set in 1930 Berlin which seems extremely odd to me, but I am not sure why. It may be more because it was made in the seventies and that usually makes me leery when it comes to musicals.


Camille: 1936, USA (Romance)

“Turn what could have been a tear-jerker into a classic.” That final line in the book confuses me. I don’t quite understand what that implies. A tear-jerker is not a classic? What about Brief Encounter as detailed above? Anyway, now I can say I know a movie that Greta Garbo starred in playing the ‘definitive movie mistress.’


Carrie: 1976, USA (Horror)

This is probably the best Stephen King adapted movie, well after Stand By Me and Maximum Overdrive of course. This is the role that everyone thinks of first when you mention Sissy Spacek. Don’t really know what else there is to say about it, the book was sort of middling in its praise for it.

Casablanca: 1942, USA (Romance)

Eternal is the word I would use to describe this movie. It will never go away and forever be referenced in everything pop culture until time stops. Bogart is at his best as an anti-hero.

Catch-22: 1970, USA (War)

While a black comedy on the insanity of war is not an original concept, the all star cast of this picture puts it over the top. Alan Arkin, Orson Welles, Anthony Perkins, and Jon Voight deliver the goods. The catch 22 being that Arkin tries to get out of the military via insanity except that his ability to complete the necessary paperwork proves him sane. In the end, he is the sanest person in his company. Sounds about right.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 39 – The Unforgiven (section 3)

Note: This ended up being a little longer than I originally intended. The last part of this story I think will turn into more of a prologue for this entire project. Then it's time to take stock on this whole process. It's certainly drained me.

“His sinking life. Outside it’s hell. Inside, intoxication”

The sweat-drenched air inside the bedchamber clung to the newcomers like spiderwebs in a dark cellar. Even Cortobrane, a man whose girth soaked through a couple shirts a day, felt uncomfortable in that atmosphere. It was not just sweat in the air, but blood and tears and rape mixed with soured-love and the longing splash of bitter death. Cortobrane stepped back with Mr. Vedder and Mr. Itor to watch the proceeding from the safety of the royal apartment.

“What is the charge?” The queen, who looked beaten and broken, spoke with sure words that contradicted her state.

“Adultry, betrayal and treason against the king.” Eden answered, the sword resting at his side.

“Fine.” The queen answered and looked away from Eden.

“Do you not deny it?” Eden did not know whether to laugh or scream.

“There is no need. You have passed judgement and reason long ago. There is nothing I can say that will change that.”

He grabbed her by the throat with his right hand, Fangen burned in his left. The sword had a song that soothed and cleared Eden’s thoughts.

“A sharp tongue will do thee no good.” He released his grip, surprised to see no look of pain or fear in her eyes.

“Let me ask this of you my king. What vow have I broke that does not equal the one you have?”

“What do you mean? I have been faithful.”

“Nay, not that. Once I asked a simple question, one not intended for you, but one you answered and swore to just the same.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“Don’t you remember the night of Reap Ball? Our dance. A marvelous dance. I asked then, if I gave you my heart would you accept it and keep it safe?”

“I remember that well, my wife.”

“You swore before all that you would.”

“So, woman.”

“MY HEART HAS BLED EVERY DAY SINCE!” The queen screamed. Everyone, including Eden, took a step back.

A blinding anger coarsed through Eden. The sword joined in filling in any weak spots. How could this woman accusse him of anything?

“You love him then? All these years, you and he have betrayed me.”

“Aye.”

“Has he touched you?”

“Aye, and one touch from him was better than a million from you.”

“Has he kissed you?”

“Aye, and I dream of his kisses everytime your lips touch mine.”

“Has he laid with you?”

“Aye, and he accomplished more in his bed once than you did a thousand times since.”

The words struck him like a stiff slap. His anger boiled over and he once again went for her throat, but when he did a bolt of pain shot up his left leg. Looking down, he saw the gold hilt of a dagger sticking out from his thigh. His wife’s hand lingered on the dagger a moment before leaving it with an expression that resembled a cross between a growl and a grin.

Eden stumbled backwards, the sharp end of the dagger sticking crudely out of the back of his leg. For an instant, shock set in, washing away his anger and even parts of his dimentia to wonder how all of this had happened. Never once in his worst nightmares did he believe Kendra capable of stabbing him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Cortobrane and his men enter the room. He raised a hand, ordering them to halt. As he did a new flash of pain was greeted with a cold rage that resonated from Fangen.

Cortobrane, standing just inside of the door, swore he saw Eden’s pupils turn a blood red. Before he could examine any closer, Eden lifted the sword and eerily a haze, almost like a fog or a thick layer of smoke, settled over the room with sickening warmth.

Eden limped toward the bed.


“He’s run aground. Like his life, water much too shallow.”

Soon the grasping, clawing hands of the dead had pulled Ewam’s lower legs under the surface of the ground. The two Elder Dinar loomed above them, the long black blades drawn and ready to strike.
With each inch of his flesh that disappeared below, Ewam could feeel his life draining from him. Soon the fight, the spark to live started to go with it. Apathy settled over him. He no longer cared about the battle, about the Dinar, about saving Satar from the evil before him. He wanted to sink, to let it all end.

“Not yet,” It was the voice of the sword screaming in his head. “Not yet!”

“It’s over,” he mumbled lowering his eyes to his approaching grave.

“Not yet!” Duna screamed again. “Listen. Listen carefully.”

From far away Kendra’s voice echoed in his ears. ““I’ll be standing on the porch, waiting my dear and that night shall last a thousand years.”

He could hear the finality in her words, the sense that they were a few of her last. Whatever had inflicted her had won its battle. He supposed it was possible that the sword was playing some sort of trick using his own emotions and memories against him, but he did not believe that to true. In his heart, it was the evil before him that had something to do with Kendra’s passing. It had poisoned her heart from far away. It was up to him to make them pay.

A cold heat sprang from Duna sensing the quickening of his blood. A strange orange glow came from it.

Above him, the dead eyes of the Dinar rose in panic. Many years had those two undead brothers walked the world. Long enough to know of Duna and its brethren. Those swords defied reason and iron. A force lived in them maybe not as great as the dark seed that kept the two brothers alive for thousands of years, but still a force not to be taken lightly. When it glowed as such, time for its enemies was running short.

Duna took control from there. Ewam watched as he stabbed down with Duna into the soil. The grasping hands froze, once again lifeless. A great moan came from the earth. Both Dinar froze also, feeling the great power that had coarsed through them to drawing up the dead severed. Without another hesitation, the Dinar attacked.

Bursting from the ground, Ewam fended off the first stirikes from the Dinar. Duna cut through the air with a whistle, meeting the cursed-black blades. One touch from either blade would kill a mortal man. Across the field of battle the three battled in a blur, obliterating any man or beast that got in the way.

In the midst of the fight, Duna stuck in the long robe of one of the Dinar. In an instant, a flame shot up freeing the blade and setting the Dinar’s entire robe ablaze. The undead creature let out a bloodchortling snarl falling momentarily away. From behind, the other approached, but Ewam ducked the advance and countered with a strike that sawed effortlessy through the Dinar’s body. Two nearly equal halves fell to the ground.

The burning Dinar screamed as if the sight of his brother’s death was far worse than the sensation of his boiling flesh.

“Lars!” the Dinar wept. “What have you done? What have you done? My brother?”

Het stumbled toward Ewam in a rage, making one feeble attempt at a strike. Ewam shrugged it off easily, knocking the black blade away. Defenseless, Het opened his mouth in one last agonizing scream. Ewam saw flames in the back of the Dinar’s throat briefly before shoving Duna down it.

The remaining Children clattered away. While still plenty dangerous, they were bound to the Dinar. With them gone, they were called back to their ultimate father.

Ewam fell to his knees.

“I will come to you my love. Not today. Not till all those responsible for your demise are sent into the dark.”


“Slipping fast, down with his ship. Fading in the shadows.”

Blood splattered in sickening waves across every wall of the royal apartment with each heavy blow delivered by Fangen in the hands of Eden. Behind Cortobrane, Mr. Itor fell to his knees and began to wretch. Cortrobrane, no stranger to violence, felt his own stomach turn. By the end, there was nothing really left of the queen only large clumps of flesh floating in pools of thick red soup.

When it was finished, Eden hobbled to Cortobrane, sweating and pale, and through his arm around his cousin to keep his balance. Fangen dragged on the floor in his other arm. The dagger still was stuck through his leg. The man felt thin, weak. If Itor and Vedder were not there, Cortobrane thought he could easily remove the king from his throne. As it was, he thought, both men now had serious doubts on the mental heatlh of the man they called king. It was only a matter of time now.

“What have I done?” Eden mumbled stairing blankly at Cortobrane.

Choking down the bile that had collected in the back his throat, Cortobrane pulled Eden closer.

“She attacked you, my king,” Cortobrane said. “You carried out the correct punishment.”

Even Cortobrane wondered if any person deserved the treatment the woman had received.

“We were wearing masks. She thought it was him the whole time,” Eden words slurred together.

“Pardon me, my king,” Cortobrane asked?

It took all of his strength, but Eden brought Fangen up to his face. The blade was stained from the blood. A far away smile came across Eden’s face.

“Take me to my mother’s apartment, call for my doctor,” Eden stilled leaned heavily on Cortobrane. “My brother is to be arrested and brought to me.”

“Yes, my king,” Eden hid a smile. With one king shamed and another wounded, it would not be long, indeed, before he sat upon the throne of Isa.


“Now a castaway”

Evandra woke with a scream that was cut off by a hand sealing tightly over her lips. Meriam awoke moments earlier to the girls fevered dreaming. She had not reached the girl in time before the nightmare had caused her to shout out. Meriam wished she had. They were hunkered down in the brambles a few hundred yards off the road heading east.

Meriam thought they were far enough away from the city to stop worrying about the royal guard catching them, but she was not sure how long it would take the king to realize his daughter was gone. Then, they’d probably have entire battalion on their heals. Meriam planned to sleep for only a few hours and get back on the road before dawn. They had to keep moving. They had to get away from Satar, from Eden.

“Hush, my girl,” Meriam tried to soothe the girl who was trembling. “It was just a bad dream. Just a dream.”

After a long time, the girl finally stopped and wiped the tears from her eyes. Meriam let her go, and then started to settle back onto the cold, hard ground.

“You’re wrong, Mistress Meriam,” Evandra said, it shallow voice. “It was not a dream. She is gone. I felt it. She is gone and it was so terrible that I felt it all these miles away.”

“Oh, my poor girl,” Meriam reached over and pulled her close.

“She is gone. I am alone against him.”

“Not alone,” Meriam answered looking up into Old Moon’s ugly, scarred face.


“Forgive me. Forgive me not.”

Thinking he was dead, they surrounded Nestor. They were an assorted lot of dwarves, gargolas, men and women. All of them were armed with some sort of pale paint covering their faces. If Oan did not know any better, he would have thought the Shadows of Marek had followed them up the mountain. It was impossible. The last they had heard of them were the wails in the foothills as the rumor of Kekur had drove them insane. Any of those that had survived that fever would not have approached the mountain, even in their insanity.

No, these folks before him were what the Witch had called the Keepers of Marek. Oan had been a fool to forget they were up here. That mistake had almost cost both he and Nestor’s their lives. He doubted they were clear of that danger yet.

Nestor was pinned in the middle of a circle of spears. They were so tight to his throat that he was unable to speak.

“You have entered the cursed realm of Marek,” shockingly a gargola began to speak. The voice was deep and clear, and belied the beast’s girth. It was nothing like the dumb grunts of the gargola they had met in the forest. “No man shall enter here. No man shall leave.”

With the eyes off him, Oan slowly started removing the arrows from his body. A fresh set of pain tore through him as he did. His body had healed around them, only to be piereced anew.

Before him, Nestor gurgled trying to speak.

Finally Oan drew the slowly drew the sword. As he did, he noticed a slight rumble in the stone behind him. Trying not to move to suddenly to draw attenetion, Oan rose to his feet. His blood was still wet on the stone as he slid back up the wall.

Gaining his balance, he lifted Kekur above his head. Behind him the rumble shifted into a quaking. Stumbling forward Oan saw the wall behind him splitting in two. Oan could make out the recesses of a great chamber.

The multitude turned in unison, dropping their weapons in surprise. Nestor fled to Oan’s side.

“What’s happening boy,” Nestor asked?

“I’m not sure.”

Returning their attention back to the Keepers, they found the multitude kneeling before Oan. Finally, the gargola, who still towered over Oan while on one knee, spoke.

“I am Cassar, Steward of the Keepers,” the gargola said. “We welcome the King of Marek back to his throne. May he forgive our shame, though we shall never forget it.”

Just then a blast of cold air swept from the opening accompanied by a blast of white light.

“What?”

“Go now, King,” the gargola interrupted. “He awaits you.”

“Who?”

“Metahischoo is the home of ghosts and one other.”

“And that other?”

“We call him the dreamer.”

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 38 – The Unforgiven (section 2)

Note: Sorry again for taking so long between parts. Just been super busy. I think all three of these sections will come across better when they are all together. At least I hope so.

“He could just be gone”

Nestor rolled, glanced back to see the trail of blood running down the stonewall leading to Oan’s still body. Two shafts dug deep into the boy, one in his shoulder, the other his stomach. Mortal wounds, no doubt, even for a boy with his talents in healing. One last arrow was split through his palm.

Around Nestor heavy steps crunched in the deep snow and long shadows fell about him, as the old man clung to his spear.

He risked one more look at the boy and, for the first time in a very long time, he thought of his own son, who was almost certianly dead. For had Nestor not seen the Dinar run him out into the Sorna? Something in him was not entirely sure. His son was just another sacrifice, for what now appeared to be a fool’s hope. Immortality was not for him.

“Ah, my boy.” Nestor mumbled, hoping he had changed enough to make some of their attackers pay. For long life was not the only perk of his cursed bargain.

He focused inward, feeling something cold, almost slimy, slither through his veins. Every sense heightened, if they had not, he would never have noticed the boy’s eyes flicker. He saw it just in time before changing completely.

Stopping the change, he rose to his knees to meet the attackers.

“Ah, my boy,” he whispered, and now a frozen bit of intuition fell through him. Somewhere, his son barely clung to life, but with a rage that roared like a fire. “Forgive me, my son.”

* * *

“How can I be lost, if I’ve got nowhere to go?”

The voices overwhelmed him, pounding like a hammer against the inside of Eden’s skull. He came to think of them as the voices of the damned. For all of them were in this together.

There was Cortrobrane: “Out into the country, to a farm, I believe your father’s ranch, I followed her…”

Kendra: “If I give you my heart, my lord. Will you accept it and keep it safe.”

A thought crept in – they were both masked and shaved clean. His mother had said to make sure Ewam looked like a prince. The thought was swept away.

Cortobrane again: “They stood on the porch and spoke words of lovers.”

His mother: “It’s true all of it. My own brother told me so. She was with him. He was in her.”

The sword Fangen: “Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

His father: “Find your heart my son, find it while you still can. Use the sword if you must, but only…”

His brother (in their twin language): “Do you really love her?”

His own: “She’s a lovely girl. One suiting a prince…”

The sword: “Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

Cortobrane: “They kissed. Not like a brother kisses his brother’s future wife.”

His mother: “He was in her days before your wedding. He defiled her and then she was pregnant…”

Cortobrane: “They went inside…”

His mother: “He went inside…”

“I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH!” Eden screamed, holding Fangen up high. Silence rang in his head before one voice dominated his head.

“Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow. Spill the blood. Make the blood flow…”

* * *

“How come it’s got so cold?”

Banik disappeared among the Children, and while Ewam did not have time to follow his descent Ewam was sure the man was going to receive enough aid to stay alive. Ewam knew that Duna provided him such confidence. The sword did not believe in or perhaps did not understand the term defeat.

The path between him and the Dinar was cleared as the battled rage on around. The two creatures dismounted from their hellish beasts in perfect synchronicity. Drawing their black swords, their voice from mouths formed in endless grins boomed in his head.

“Die, half-King,” Het said.

“Die, betrayer,” Lars said.

The name betrayer struck a blow at him. Where had he been called that before? He did not have time to contemplate it before the twin Dinar lifted their swords and their dead black eyes burned hot red. All the warmth in the air drained, an unusal chill took its place.

“Die,” The voices said in unison.

A groan came from the ground, and his footing became unsteady. Before he could muster an attack, something grabbed hold his foot. It was a hand, stripped clean of skin and flesh protruding from the earth. Another sprang forth, grabbing his other ankle. The bone fingers shredded his pants and tore into his flesh. More hands began to appear and then mouths from long-buried skulls. All of them clutched and pulled and before Ewam cut through some, but the ones that fell were quickly replaced by two more. His feet were actually sinking into the ground. He looked up to see that the Dinar had moved almost within reach of his swords.

“Meet the dead, betrayer,” Het said.

“Die.” Lars coldly reiterated.

* * *

“And how can I blame you when it’s me I can’t forgive?”

Another few moments surely, Kendra thought biting her lower lip to forget the throbbing pain eating away at her body. At least she did not feel her broken ankles any longer. Delirium and shock had numbed both her ankles and feet. She supposed, in time and treament, both would heal reasonably well, but she would never walk the same. Eden had broke them days before, Kendra was not sure how long, time moved differently for her now. He had tied her mouth shut to muffle her screams, not that any one would have come to her aid.

It was almost over now, she told herself again. With every slight step, she fidgeted thinking that it would be Eden. She knew that his next visit would be his last, and she expected that to happen soon.

She clutched the dagger to her chest, embracing its cold touch.

“You could end you know, before he comes.” It was Ewam’s voice in her head. Looking up, she saw him standing there. He was haggard, tired, just as he had been that night at Thunder Sted, and undeniably alive. His beard was still thin stubble after having shaved for the Reap Ball. His red hair was starting to curl again on the back of his neck.

“You could and not have to face it,” Ewam reached for her hand. “Please, I beg it.”

“I cannot,” Kendra answered, embracing the illusion and hiding the dagger once again under her blanket. “It is my penalty to face.”

“It is my fault,” Ewam said. “I shall take his penalty. Blame me. Say that I forced you, that you had no choice. He may show mercy.”

“No, it was I that sought you out,” Kendra grabbed the apparition’s hand. “In my heart, I knew what I was doing even if my mind did not. I betrayed him, not you. It is I that shall bear the penalty.”

“I cannot bear of you,” Ewam cried. “I cannot.”

“Hush, my love,” she cried along. “Hush, Ewam Perde, son of Rudan, King of Satar, Dawn of Man.”

He smiled and tears changed course in the new lines formed on his face.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her hand then her mouth.

“I love you, and the shame of hiding it has worn on me more than any other hurt delivered or any call from a cursed demon. It is time for my heart to be free of this guilt. I shall ask for forgiveness, first here then when I meet the light.”

“Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll be standing on the porch, waiting my dear and that night shall last a thousand years,” she smiled, closed her eyes and when they opened he was gone.

The door to her chamber opened, Eden, clutching a strange sword, walked in. Following behind him was a fat mat that smelled like swine.

“My husband,” she said in a warm voice. She had called him so their first night of marriage and meant it. Briefly, they had been truly happy. His face softened slightly, but then hardened and angered.

“Kendra Leone Perde, I, King Eden Perde of Isa, am here to pass judgement.”

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 37 – The Unforgiven (section 1)

Note: So I decided to break this song up into three installments. I thought it was appropriate considering the song. Also, it'd keep from this post from getting way too long. I have had a hard time finding time to sit down and write lately. I think breaking this up also will make it feel less daunting and take some pressure off me. Don't miss the Dark Tower installment below. Hey where's the movie list updates? Gone the way of the 1,000 greatest albums, perhaps.


Disc 2
Track 16: The Unforgiven III by Metallica

“How could he know this new dawn’s light would change his life forever”

Sensing a shift in the attack, the Children converged on Ewam and the sword. Even those soulless, bloodthirsty beings could feel the rhythm, hear the hum the blade made as it sliced through the air. Like a magnet it drew them, or perhaps they drew it. The heat coming through the pommel increased with each kill.

At some point, Ewam faintly became aware that he no longer controlled his arms, his legs and his heart. The sword was driving his actions, driving his thoughts from his brain. With each new enemy to arise before him, Duna twitched to life, cutting them down with ease. When a troup of twenty or more came at once, Duna burned in his hand. He gave one great stroke that brought with it a great wave of hot white sand. Each grain burned through the Children, who shrieked with pain, before being buried under a fresh, smoking dune.

Then Ewam was before the circle with Banik cleaving his way through the backtrail. The circle, knowing the real danger was before their two black-robed masters, formed a single line before Ewam. All along the field of battle the moans, the shrieks, the howls and the cheers came to a halt.

For all the rest was ancillary to those two black-robed Dinar, the row of Children before them and that one man with his magic sword.

***

“Set sail to sea, but pulled off course, by the light of golden treasure”

Kendra Leone, for at that point she was still a few days away from becoming Kendra Perde, had left Omet secretly that fateful night all those years ago, and she was provided steed by a man named Hector Cortobrane, brother to the Queen, mother of Ewam and Eden and father to Randall, future mayor of Stra. No one trusted Hector any more than they had to, but he was a sly man, who could provide things such as a horse to a lady looking to run from the city without notice. She knew no one else to whom she could turn.

Kendra navigated her way to Thunder Sted to apologize to the man she loved and say farewell. Be it that she was young and naïve to believe such things are done so easily and finally, but her word was given to another. Ewam had to respect that. Never once did it cross her mind that the chord between them could not so easily be cut. Her heart was in this and so was his.

Under the moon at Thunder Sted, Ewam came stumbling from the field, soiled and dirty. Under his buttoned shirt, his chest heaved from a great heart. A heart, she knew then, she could no longer resist. She floated across the porch in her blue riding dress as a cloud swept across the moonlight. They hesitated before embracing, saying words neither would remember as a drizzle touched the parched earth. If not for that cloud, a careless shadow from an already fattening young man ordered to follow some girl by his father would have crept out from where he hid along the path, probably alerting the two soon-to-be lovers of the intruder in their mist. He was a dumb boy spiraling toward being a dumb, yet sly man like his father. He did not understand who or what he saw other than two nobles preparing to bump middles.

Randall knew his father dealt in such secrets to gain power. He assumed these two were no more than pawns for Hector Cortbrane to play. Years later, the memory hit the fat man as he stood before Eden in Union Hall. He could not stifle a laugh. That how the woman had known so much. She had viewed it through him using some sort of magic. She had pieced together that the two brothers were, at least secretly, at odds. It was their one true weakness and now it was up to him to exploit it to ultimately get rid of both of them. How could he have ever known that night would mean so much?

“My Lord, I can prove their transgression. Only now did I realize it?”

Eden’s ears perked as he fondled the sword. The thing already appeared to have a hold on him.

“I will hear this, then set myself to delivering the penalty.”

* * *

“Been afraid. Always afraid. Of the things he’s feeling.”

The line opened in the middle allowing the two Dinar to come forward. From them came a putrid smell that soaked through the smell of death that covered the field. When they were before him, both pulled back their hoods to reveal identical decaying, green faces with black teeth that grinned out permanently from the loss of their lips. When they spoke, it was with an echo, as if their voices originated from the underworld and then sounded out from hollow mouths.

“I am Lars Met-Lan Ica, Dinar of the orignal blood,” the one to Ewam’s left said.

“I am Het Met-Lan Ica, twin brother of Lars, Dinar of the original blood,” the one to the right said.

For a moment, Ewam was stunned to find his foes to be twins. It was coincidence, but one that unsettled his nerves. He thought of Eden. He wondered if his brother was overcoming the ache that touched his heart and mind. Ewam needed his brother to be strong.

“I am King Ewam of Satar,” He regained his composure. “You have committed crimes against the people of Stra that are not forgiveable. I am here to deliver your penalty.”

A forced laugh came from the two.

“Are there not two Kings of Satar?” Lars said.

“Perhaps being brothers, twins, is not the same for those in the light,” Het said.

“We have been loyal for an age,” Lars said.

“Beyond death and the great change,” Het answered.

“I would not trust a man that touches one of those swords,” Lars answered.

“I believe one may have already lost trust in the other,” Het said.

Banik arrived at Ewam’s elbow, bringing his mouth to Ewam’s ear.

“Close off your mind and heart, it’s a window for them to see you and the one’s you love.”

“A member of the failed, Sorna Watch,” Het said, seeing Banik.

“Not just any member, at that,” Lars said.

“Your father licked the blood of your baby when he spilt it in the sand,” Het’s mouth opened wide.

“Then laughed as he burned the babe’s flesh,” Lars continued.

“NO!!!” Banik raised his sword, and charged at the two. He disappeared as the Children converged on him.

The Dark Tower VI: May 17, 2013

Note: I finished the sixth book the series quite awhile ago, and am very close to finishing the last book. The CD Project has ate up most of my free writing time the last month or two, and to be frank, I haven't been real wild about anything I've been writing. But here we go.

SONG OF SUSANNAH

I'm not going spend much time talking about this book. I kind of feel like this is more of a long prologue for the final book. Song of Susannah is broken up into Stanzas instead of chapters. Each Stanza concludes with a verse from a the song. Like this one below that concludes the book . ...

STAVE: Commala-come-kass!

The child has come at last!

Sing your song, O' sing it well,

The child has come to pass.

RESPONSE: Commala-come-kass!

The worst has come to pass.

The Tower trembles on its ground;

The child has come at last.

Basically, the importance of this book is Susannah/Mia traveling to New York to a place called the Dixie Pig to birth the child that is a mixture of Susannah, Mia (a demon) and Roland (the gunslinger). How this happened is very confusing and I am not going to attempt to describe it. Anyways, you find out quite a bit more about the plans of the Crimson King (the ultimate bad guy) and his many minions. Stephen King (the character) also makes his first appearance.

Most of all, this book is about the birth of Mordred (a name that should be familiar to anyone that knows anything about Arthurian Legend). He's a little bastard that tracks our heroes for the rest of the series.

Anyways, you may wonder why I have titled this section May 17, 2013. Well according to the official website of "The Dark Tower" that is when the first movie of the series is set to be released. Obviously, these things are always tentative.

Here's the jist of the endeavor. Ron Howard is set to direct for Universal Studios. The plan is to make three movies with a full season of television episodes to bridge the gap between each film. I think the shows will air on NBC. No actors have been announced yet, but I am sort of hoping they scale back on simply signing A-list people, at least for the main characters.

I see this as either being very successful or completely dreadful. If the first movie bombs at the box office will NBC really want to be committed two seasons of shows to build up for bad movies. If they do drop it, will the entire series flounder after one bad showing. This is possible, because the action early in the series is a little slow compared to later.

You can find out more about this whole situation by Googling "The Dark Tower." I just think this is the most relevant thing about the series to share right now.