Misc

Firstly, belated happy birthday to Nathanial Reyes, MC of (the unpublished) Civilisation's Cycle written by Maxy.

Chris Baty is leaving OLL D: I'm sad. But good luck, Chris!

And there's lots of work for me this Tuesday...IPT Trial HSC coming up! Wish me luck :) I'm going to die...

Noldorin Units

Noldorin units cost...

 

'They generally cost 10% of your payroll, 50 acts of random kindness, a hundred times of honesty, and 2 hundred times of love! (What the...) Spread the love! After all, all of us are children of Eru are we not? Consider these Units as Timeless-Halls sent! ' - My wonderful nephew Ereinion

 

Therefore! I shall be keeping track of how many acts of random kindness, honesty, love, etc.etc. I do! I will fail epically! ...Who cares. 

An argument

"I said no already!" Visere whipped around, eyes furious. He shot the girl opposite him a menacing glare. "I told you, I'm not going to die!"

There was a wooden table between the man and the girl, who was on a plush leather chair, and looked a little too comfortable. She sighed and took a breath. "You have to, Vis!"

"Look, Therese, I have everything planned out. I have a whole group of Sorcerers from both kingdoms. I have a huge political influence, more than enough money, and an army at my disposal. Who's going to kill me?"

"You'll get killed before you get the money and army."

"I already have them."

The girl called Therese quickly backtracked. "I mean, before you get to them."

Visere's eyes flashed. "I thought you wanted this," he said accusingly, standing up. His intimidating figure was towering over her. "I thought it was your idea to have a four-way battle! To frame two innocents! Why do you want me dead now, at the crux of things?"

"I don't want you dead!" snapped Therese. "There are certain ... sarcifices ... which need to be made. You'll just have to be one of them."

"Why?"

"Why? For God's sake, Visere! You're evil! You're the villain! Villains have to die!"

"So this is for the sake of the plot?"

"Everything is for the sake of the plot!"

"Therese--"

"Stop calling me Therese!" The girl cut across him. "I'm your Authoress! I feel like you're insulting me every time you call me Therese."

"Therese stems from Authoress," Visere explained innocently. "I can't exactly go around calling you Thoress."

"Then explain why it sounds insulting."

Visere smiled playfully. "Obviously I'm degrading your title of Authoress into a name which can be given to any lowly character."

"Obviously." The Authoress smiled painfully. She thought that she should pull this back on track. "But I am the Authoress, and I move the plot. Without the plot, the book is nothing! Nothing, you hear me?"

"Aren't I your favourite?" Visere complained. "Don't I get a chance to live? Can't the evil guys win, for once?"

"Well, I planned that until my Muse came up with another idea," mused the Authoress. "Besides, that wasn't High Fantasy enough. That was running away and Eragon-y."

"I can't believe this," said Visere icily. "You're throwing me away because you have to let your main character win?"

The Authoress gave him a nervous smile. "Yes?"

Visere was silent for a moment. Then his lips curved into a vicious smile. "I understand," he said, turning around. He began marching out of the room. "I understand completely."

"Where are you going?" cried the Authoress. The door from which he entered vanished just before his hands touched it.

"Why Therese," said Visere pleasantly, "haven't you realized already? I'm going to kill your precious main character!" He clicked his fingers, and vanished from the room.

Visére

Visére wasn't a person with a good sense of justice. He didn't struggle with morality. He never wondered whether his actions were for the greater good. He only ever wondered about a few things, and one of them was himself. The other was how much money he had. The third was how long he was going to survive for.

So even he surprised himself when he volunteered to become a spy. Yes, he would be pleasing his own lure of danger. Yes, there would be enough money for him to spend the rest of his life. But no, he wasn't going to survive very long. Not at all. Definitely not if he was caught.

Persuading a young, naive, arrogant sorcerer to become a spy was the last thing he wanted to do. He couldn't foresee the reaction. If Klyte said no--and he had every reason to say no--then Visére was dead by morning. On the off chance Klyte agreed, Visére could still be killed later. Klyte could double-cross him. He could be killed in battle. He could be assassinated.

On the other hand, if he didn't get killed, he would spend the rest of his life in the palace, servants flocking to do his bidding. He would be in the greatest honour of the king. That is, unless the king backstabbed him. Visére frowned. That was possible. What use would he be when the war was over, when they had won? The king would have no need for a spy; especially someone who was so good at hiding secrets.

Visére made up his mind, and nodded to himself. Oh, he would play along being a spy for now. But when the time came, he will take his own section of the army, hopefully allied with Klyte's sorcerers, and forge a new empire for himself.

Oh yes, and then Klyte would have to die.

Walking

They were kids once, too. Playing in the park, drawing in the dirt with sticks, shrieking with laughter as the swing brought them one step closer to heaven.

Klyte lifted his head and looked up at the pouring sky. The dark clouds rumbled overhead; it was probably time to go inside. He took a breath and walked forward, away from the house he had lived in for sixteen years. Every step leant him the courage to walk further, and eventually there was nothing but a trail of muddy footprints leading from the silent house.

His feet led him in a straight line, just walking. His tousled hair stuck to his scalp, his muddy shirt was drenched. He kept walking, until the remnants of civilisation gradually started to appear. He kept walking, dark eyes cold and silent, acknowledging and accepting the curious stares that came his way. He nodded towards a child who ran for his mother. He tossed a coin to the homeless man lying in the street. And always, he kept walking.

He walked to the castle gate and gazed at the towers he had once lived in. It was still raining. There were dozens of soldiers on the battlements, and every single arrow was trained on him. Klyte allowed them to take his interest for a few seconds, then stepped forward once more. The bridge of the moat came down silently.

He walked through the courtyard, through corridors of gold and silver. The incredulous soldiers moved out of the way as he slowly but surely walked into the throne room.

He looked up at the newly coronated king.

"Hello, Klyte."

Klyte nodded, as a vague greeting.

"I said hello, Klyte," the king said forcefully.

The boy's eyes showed no sign of interest.

"Not going to greet your king?"

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. "I already have."

"That nod was not a greeting."

"It was greeting enough."

"I am the king!" thundered the man on the throne. "I will have the respect I deserve. I know you are here on a mission to assassinate me, Klyte. I want to know why you simply walked into the castle, in plain sight."

"You let me."

"I made your job easier because I did not want to humiliate you."

Klyte reached into his bag and pulled out a dagger. "This is what I'm supposed to assassinate you with."

The king chuckled. "Well, aren't you going to do it?"

His cold eyes glinted with new-found interest. "Of course."

Ranting about work

"It's not fair!" said a teenage girl, sulking in the corner of her room which she had deemed the 'Emo CornerTM'. One would only retreat to the Emo CornerTM when one was feeling quite emo, except this girl didn't quite know what emo meant apart from cutting yourself, wearing all black and looking sad all day. As she fulfilled one of these criteria (looking sad), she decided it was enough for her to retreat to said corner.

"It's not fair!" she said again, pouting. "Holidays means holidays! A break from s...sch...sch...the S word! It doesn't mean do more work! If they wanted us to do more work they wouldn't give us holidays! And giving us tests in the 2nd week back means we have to study in the holidays or fail, which undermines the point of the holidays!"

She took a breath and began writing down an essay on why work should be banned from holidays. She tried using as many big words as she could, but it didn't work.

Holidays is defined as 'a period of relaxation away from the dreaded school' and should be exactly as stated by the Dictionary Of Awesome, which means that all activities created by, made by, invented by, distributed by or intensified by school should be banned, shreded, burnt and thrown into the depths of the sea never to be seen by anyone again, except maybe a fish or two. This means that activities such as homework, essays, assignments, study, thinking, writing or mathematics should cease in the time of holidays and should not be allowed to continue lest the subject breaks down from stress, anxiety, depression, tension or more stress.

Happy with her essay, she smiled and photocopied fifty copies, then began mailing them to all the schools in her area.

Fire [Alex Rider]

Julius fanfiction again.

--

It was a remarkable sight, to see sixteen boys lying on their stomachs, eyes screwed up in deep concentration, aiming their sniper guns at a red and white target. It would have been less remarkable if these boys did not move as one, think as one, look as one and act as one. In their eyes—and in the eyes of their father—they were one.

The same one. They were all Hugo Grief, carbon copied sixteen times.

Sixteen shots ran out simultaneously, cracking the air like a whip of electricity. Fifteen bullets hit the bullseye of the target. The last bullet hit half an inch to the right.

“Adolf!” barked a man who was standing to the side, watching with cold, dark eyes. Even from his position on the opposite side of the field, he could tell that the bullet had missed its mark.

“I know you have joined us later than your brothers,” Hugo Grief said icily, “but that does not mean you will be exempt from punishment. I expect you to be at whatever level everyone else is, even if it means training more in your spare time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father,” said Adolf Grief.

Hugo strode over to his son and, raising his cane, brought it down three times onto his back. Adolf winced, but bit his tongue and made no sound.

“Again!” Hugo shouted. He walked back to his place on the sidelines, watching as another sixteen bullets shot out from the guns. This time, all sixteen hit their mark. They reloaded simultaneously, they all aimed at the same time, and their hands pressed the trigger with the same motion. Except one.

One of the boys had missed the invisible cue, had fired it a millisecond after all his brothers. Hugo noticed, and scowled.

“You fired late, Julius.”

Julius Grief looked up at his father and bit his lip. “I’m sorry, father. I was distracted.”

“I do not want you to be distracted!” Hugo snapped. “In an assassination, distraction means failure. Fire at the time you planned, no matter what happens. If someone shouts, fire anyway. If someone enters the room, fire anyway. If someone points a gun at your head, fire the damn bullet!”

Julius nodded, and remembered those words until the day he didn’t heed them.

He received three strokes of the cane, gasping in pain but refusing to make another sound. He and his brothers reloaded once more, and fired, and this time they were perfect. Like they should be.

--

“We all know which country I’m referring to...”

Britain! Britain! Say the word, woman! Say it!

There were no distractions this time. He was completely focused, his body filled with adrenaline, his fingers shaking as he waited for that fateful word.

Then someone shouted, and entered the room, and pointed a gun at him.

Everything he had ever learnt was thrown out the window at the most crucial time. Julius swung around. He fired, missed, reloaded, and then aimed once more, ready to kill the person who had ruined his life.

I’m sorry, father. Revenge is too sweet.