A Poetic Interlude.

Okay, apologies. I have been manic with stuff these past few weeks, particularly this past week due to some family issues. I do have every intention of carrying on my Chosen story project, but right now I think uni's taking the reins. But, I thought I'd just get a bit of poem out of my head and onto a page, so here we go.

Modern music confuses me,

With its hip-hop, dubstep and R&B.

So many genres, yet most sound the same.

It's almost as if they're playing a game,

Those record companies, wanting our money.

They release something 'different' and think it's funny.

I have a feeling that it's all just one guy

Who puts on a wig or gives his hair a dye,

Just so we'll think that they're someone else.

Whether it's GaGa, or even James Phelps.

Some musicians need to learn new tricks,

Like Little Mix or Rizzlekicks.

Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy the latter.

Well, to the degree where I don't want to batter

Them with their own record label,

Then storming out after flipping a table.

No, it just seems to me that music's become stale,

Like a dry piece of bread, or some gone off ale.

Even the genres that I truly do love

Have took a step back, with a bit of a shove.

Hear me out, I still love music.

I love the thrill, the experience and to lose it

To a new song for the very first time.

I'm not saying that it's all just lyrical slime,

But I don't feel the passion or the effort any more.

In fact, some artists are a bit of a bore.

They just loop some drums and repeat their names.

It's here, I think, that we're back to the games.

Perhaps I'm old fashion, and perhaps it's just me,

But I'd much rather have Stravinsky's 'Symphony in C.'

There we go, rant over.

Disclaimer: I do really enjoy music, just not a lot of the 'popular' stuff. Although gosh darnit some of it I think is scientifically designed to just clamp to the inside of your skull and never leave!!

That's it for now.

God bless,

Craig.

 

The Chosen of the Twelve - Part 2.

Okay, so I actually really enjoyed what I wrote yesterday. There's just something so very invigorating about creating a new world, with a new social structure, and then throwing complications in the way to see how this new world overcomes them. So, I decided to carry this on. Long story short it's been one heck of a long day, but I found time to just sit and write, which is always nice. So I'm gonna type up what I wrote and then expand on it some more now. Here you go!


"True power is achieved only through the Arkane. True knowledge and wisdom can only be found within its light." This mantra was etched on a large, brass placard outside the Great Hall of Thrones. It is here that the Wardens have resided for generations. Many come here to learn from the Loremasters about the ways of the Arkane, hoping one day to become Arkanists and eventually Wardens themselves. Ossirin used to house shrines for each of the Twelve, as was the old custom, but as also was the case for cities, they chose one of the Twelve to be their 'Primaris'; the deity worshipped primarily within the city walls. The Primaris of the Twelve for Ossirin was Giath, the Lady of Earthbound Glory.

This was before the arrival of the Wardens and the coming of the Arkanic teachings. They tore down the shrines and the temple of Giath, building their Great Hall atop the ruins. Out of spite, Giath did not allow the soil of Ossirin to bear growth for six years, but the Wardens found ways to cultivate through their 'Tek'.

Kiin had only been in Ossirin for three days, and already he had developed a dislike for the Wardens. Kiin was of a northern tribe from the country of Malgarin, and so the ways of the Arkane seemed foreign and unnatural to him. His tribe still believed in the old ways, and still followed the Twelve, but they showed no favouritism, worshipping each of the Twelve equally. Kiin had heard, as had everyone in their tribe as a youth, the tale of the Chosen from his tribe's elders, and how their decision to worship the Twelve universally was why none of their tribe had ever been selected as a Chosen, despite their faith in the old ways being strong still in modern times. Kiin decided to begin his own pilgrimage, to seek out and learn from the Chosen and grow closer to the Twelve by doing so. His journey had brought him to Ossirin because of the old temple to Giath he had heard of, and how it was the most likely location to find Giath's Chosen.

He stood before the Great Hall of Thrones, a light breeze flicking through his oaken hair. His eyes glinted blue as they caught the sun's light. He sighed and looked down to his boots; simple leather and caked with the dust of travel. His teeth clenched at the thought of how the temple could so easily and nonchalantly be torn down and replaced. He clasped a hand over the ruby set into the metal of his breastplate as his other hand moved to adjust the strap of his sword's scabbard across his back; such a long sword that it required two hands to wield effectively, yet with a fine and thin blade so that it still implied a sense of elegance when wielded. Kiin frowned and took one final stare at the Great Hall, spitting on the ground as he turned away in disgust. His feet carried him to the east of the city, in the hopes to find lodgings for the night. His search for Giath's Chosen - though possibly now in vain, he realised - would continue after a night's sleep.


So there you go, the story continues. And I bet you all thought I was gonna have a Chosen as my main character... Heh heh

Well, adios for now folks.
God bless!
Craiggy.

[Insert title here]

Okay, so it's been a while, and I apologise, but I've been very busy as of late with university and general life related stuff. Here lies the end of that. I intend to commit more to this blog, because I have a lot of ideas flowing around in this noggin of mine, and I need to get them down somewhere... Yeah, yeah. I know, I've said all this before. We'll just see how it goes this time. No preamble for this one, just an idea that's been floating around for a few days that I want to play around with, so here goes. Just an intro for now, a setup if you will:


Throughout history, it is and has been, and no doubt shall always be the quest for power that has driven society. Power, at its basest of concepts, is the ability to break the constraints of the established reality and make changes to the paradigms of the world, for better or for worse. There was a time, in ancient history, where power resided with the Old Gods of the planet Ethran: The Hidden Twelve.
The Twelve's names have long since been forgotten by the people of Ethran, and their traditions have been cast aside by all but a select few who still try to maintain the old ways. This came to pass when new forms of power began to emerge.

Wise men from the southern kingdoms of Ethran came with knowledge of energies they claimed to be even older than the Twelve. They called this knowledge 'Arkanik', and they demonstrated it in a great many ways. They arrived on sailless ships of glistening gold and brass, with crackling orbs of blue light at their base. They carried crossbows without arms or string, and called them 'Arkuebusses'; and they too glowed with the blue arkanik energies. The people of Ethran had found a new source of power for them to follow - a new idol to worship. The men of the southern kingdoms became as gods among the rest of their Ethranite brethren. This displeased the Twelve.

Years passed and became decades. The travellers of the southern kingdoms had taken the title of 'Ark Wardens' and claimed rulership over Ethran and the Twelve grew more and more angry with each passing year as their traditions and their ways dwindled even more. They decided that they had seen enough and agreed to settle matters. They each chose a candidate from their remaining followers and bestowed a portion of their power into the 'Chosen'. Each Chosen manifested a different ability associated with which of the Twelve granted them their gift, and each gift manifested within a different part of each Chosen's body.

Time continued to pass, and the Chosen travelled across the world of Ethran, trying to restore the old ways and the belief in the Twelve in any way they could, all the while trying to avoid or in some cases engage the Cult of the Arkane, as it had come to be known. Though, the Twelve are a fickle pantheon. Any veneer of unity or seeming bond between them was destined only to be short lived. Rivalries began to form within the ancient halls of the Elder Plane where the Twelve reside, seperate from Ethran. They began to bicker and quarrel over who's Chosen was the strongest, or the most worthy to lead the revolution on Ethran and take command of their new church when the day of absolution came.

This brought about the 'Challenge of the Twelve'; a ruling set down by the Twelve, where their chosen are destined to, should ever they cross paths, they are to do battle. Should a Chosen fall, their power will return to the Twelve that bestowed it. Once the final Chosen has been decided, the Twelve will bestow a portion of their power upon this single Chosen, elevating them to their ranks to become the Thirteenth Lord.

This is where our story begins; a tale of gods, of magics and of heritage. This is a tale of pride, of valour, of good and of evil.

This is the tale of the Twelve Chosen.


And it's now very late, so g'night all,
God bless.
Craiggy.

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