Tuesday, January 31, 2006
concerning chapter 1
Now, ive been cracking my head this past few days and it seems i was going to end up screaming in mental pain cos i have no idea how to start the new chapter! yeah, it stings.. and stinks too. so, im going to go with my original idea: that is begin with Ilyas going to his first day in school. Itll be a sorta throw back to anyone on his first day, and ill make sure theres some love interest involved. A friend of mine insisted she be inside, so ill probably put her in sumwhere. haha.. anyway, here goes...
Monday, January 23, 2006
Prologue Done!!
Guys, pls doooo comment on my prologue.. its only a draft but it would be great if you guys could check it out.. As soon as you guys do ill work on the first chapter, and so forth.. enjoy reading! ive really tried to make the characthers pop into life, so forgive me if i took the liberty on names.. i havent been doing much reserch, anyway.. haha..have fun! and do forum me HERE.. ill try to make it link, tho im having problems with that.. catch u later!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Review here
There have been idiots complaining of how to review, so ive gotten a forum link so u can do it.. and dun worry.. ur a lovable idiot.. haha.. so click HERE to review. All reviews will be treated with all the respect it deserves, so do review, i tell u, cos its true(rhyme siah!) haha..
Monday, January 16, 2006
Proposed Prologue
Imagine a dark night, the moon hidden behind large ominous clouds and the wind growing stronger as the weather turned grim. Silence, as every door in every apartment in Woodgrove Town was shut against the night, the inhabitants afraid. The recent spate of unsolvable murders that have swept across the country-island of Maine left the police baffled and the people terrified.
Through the empty, dimly lit streets, there was a sound of pattering, steadily becoming thumps of heavy footsteps. The rapidity suggests someone on the run. Heavy breathing would follow, if the sound of them were not covered by those pounding feet. Someone must really be in a hurry.
Iskandar ran. He was afraid, of that you can be sure. He runs with a wild abandon, not looking where he is actually heading to but just wanting to get away. He risks a glance backwards, hoping in vain that his pursuers where gone.They had. They were no longer there.This took him utterly by surprise, and as a result, his footsteps slowed, then stopped. He was breathing hard, and the cool night air was cooling the sweat that had made his cotton shirt an unlikely home.
Suddenly, the danger that had manifested so suddenly did not seem so imminent.He had been reading at home, in an apartment that was five stories up, when he was attracted by some sudden urge to be outside. So he had gone downstairs, taking the old elevator that had served the block for many a-years, feeling it shiver slightly as in passed every floor. On the wall were the floor levels in nice rounded chrome buttons and above it a sign saying "$ 200" underneath a picture of a cigarette with a red line crossing it diagonally. Iskandar wondered briefly whether there was anyone foolish enough to actually smoke inside the elevator. Two hundred was a cool sum, and it was quite a lot in these troubled times, when crime was on the rise, with the rate of crime done to crime stopped being almost five to one, the sudden unemployment crisis, the hot words bandied about by the nation's neighbours, cigarette prices were going through the roof. And here they were, charging two hundred for a smoke in the elevator, when smoking outside was a much better idea. He shook his head slowly, took out his cigarette container, and counted the contents. Three left. He would have to get another pack the moment he was done with this one. Katy would not be pleased.
He sighed, and placed the container back into his pocket. One day he would have enough to make her his wife. He had been offered several wonderful posts that he had turned down, even though he knew they would have set him up for life. They would have given him a beautiful partner and the four babies they had planned for, two boys and two girls. But he had still turned them down. The reason? He did not know it himself, at least not consciously, for he had never voiced it out and ever his inner voice tried to stamp the very thought from his mind. But it seems he was destined for something. Something big. Snatches of a song kept playing in his head, in a language he did not know or understand, sounding mournful and yet hopeful at the same time.
With a chime and a sultry female voice announcing the first storey, he arrived below. The cold wind that blew and that faint smell of rain welcomed him, but as he walked a few steps he realised something. He did not know exactly why, but he felt that he had been called to go there.He was afraid, yes, but he was intent not to show it. In him there seemed to be liquid steel flowing through his veins. It does not mean he does not have fear in his vocabulary, but to him, fear was an enemy long past conquered. He was not lacking in courage.
Unfortunately, it was not his lack of courage, but an abundance of youth that proved his undoing. He was young. And the young, as the old would like you to believe, are reckless. So he had ignored that feeling, and stood his ground.He did not stand his ground for long. As he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket container, he felt the wind pick up. His long-ish dark hair was positively dancing, when a moment ago it had barely moved. He had taken three attempts to light his cigarette, finally hiding behind a wall with his left hand cupped to get it lit.
The first drag was heavenly. He had not smoked for almost a week, and he recognised the first feeling that came as guilt. He had promised Katy he would kick the habit, that he had kicked the habit, but he thought he had a very good reason to break the week long fast. For the first time in his life, even though he could not explain it, fear was overpowering him. It was as if the air around him had developed hands, and was slowly but surely squeezing the very air from his lungs. His own hands grew moist, and those normally steady limbs begin to shake. His knees start to quake. He was almost choking as he tried to breathe, retching silently.The cigarette dropped. The fear was started out as a whisper was screaming now. The half-finished cigarette with grey ash dribbling from its tip fell to the ground. If an Environment officer was around, it was a good bet that he would have been booked, at least a two hundred dollar fine for littering.
But he was past caring. Slowly, Iskandar felt himself being choked to death.He heard the sinister laughter, the mincing sound of a clown gone bad. He was, at this time, on his knees, struggling still to draw breath, his fingers tearing at the clamp that seemed to be upon his throat. He tried to look at the owner of the voice, but he could not. His vision was dimming like a lamp on board a train that is moving away from you during a dark night.
"Run, my dear. Run!” That voice! It had a rasping quality to it that was scary, but somehow reassuring. Like an old, familiar uncle who was handling a knife hidden behind his back, and an almost placating smirk upon his face, and his other hand beckoning.Like an Uncle who works as a clown. A clown gone bad.
"RUN!" And Iskandar did. He felt the grip lessen, and he stumbled on to his feet, and ran like a drunken monkey. His fear was nauseating, but it gave him strength to get away. His legs tried to start its pumping but it faltered as he tried first to win his breath back, half-succeeded, got his innate gyroscope working again, and off he went on the 100 metre dash. Only this time, he knew, he could not win, even if he had Thierry Henry's pace. The tittering, menacing yet friendly laughter followed him still. If he had a million dollars, he would bet that that laughter would still follow him had he transported himself to the other side of the world.He was being toyed with, and he knew it.So he had ran, and turned to find no one, and he had stopped. These thoughts had barely taken a second to bounce around in his mind, but even now, the fear was abating its domination of him, and the steel that was normally within was reasserting control. He began to forget that there was even a voice in the first place, and reasoned that the fear was probably the guilt about lighting up in the first place.
As he felt his panic ebb, the laughter began again. He felt fear assault him like a horrible wave, and he gave back, step by step. Through slitted eyes, hands over his face, he glimpsed six shadows converge on him, slowly gaining solidity from nothing, and revealed six figures of almost the same height, marching in step, similar ebony robes moving slowly in the breeze. They held parangs glinting evilly even in the dark, the only light being a flickering apartment sign "372 of Woodgrove Town District". It was then, that Iskandar broke. He did something that he had not done since he was a little child.
Prince Iskandar, unknown heir to the lost throne of Java (even to himself), blood descendent of Golden Alexander and the Great Salahiddin, who the infidels call Saladin, wept in utter anguish.He fell before their advance. Black despair filled his heart and bile rose unbidden to his lips. He retched till he could retch no more, but still the laughter continued. He stumbled backwards, weeping tears of fear so concentrated it was excruciating. In his blindness, hoping to escape the fearful torment, he crashed into the wall behind him and fell in a heap upon the cold and slimy floor.
He knew the game was up. He had nowhere to run.He lay a moment curled in a ball, his arms encircled around his heaving body, tears like rain falling onto the dirty pavement. Rats and cockroaches where nowhere in sight; they had fled at the sound of that (evil clown) laughter. Then, as if in answer to his cries the laughter ebbed away to giggles, and then silence.Iskandar recovered enough to raise his head. Through the haze of tears he saw a man in black, even darker than the six behind him (if that was possible), who now sketched a bow to him, still tittering as if the joke was over but the laughter still carried on. He seemed shorter than the rest, but he was powerful, more powerful than the six who stood in a semi-circle behind him. It was in his stature, every sinuous curve filled with evil menace, yet somehow, there was something hauntingly familiar about this apparition. He was wearing a hood which covered his face, but even in the dark Iskandar could fathom the sardonic grin beneath the darkness.
He began to speak.
"Ah, my Prince! I am glad you are well. No, no, don't get up, its alright if you continue to stay rested." At this the Evil man, no, thing, laughed and Iskandar cringed again. The thing held up a finger and shook his head. "Now now, no need to get all scared, after all a healthy sense of humour is always important."
Iskandar could make no sense of this tirade. In a soft, almost tired voice, he said, “Prince? What prince? Who are you? What do you want with me?" Senseless questions really, but even in his weakened state he desired to know what was happening. More importantly, he needed to know why this was happening to him.
"Why?" He cackled." Who? They didn't tell you? How quaint! I suppose they wanted to protect you from yourself. Stupid, arrogant fools." He giggled, and suddenly looked serious, if that could be contrived in the semi-darkness. “Well, you are a Prince of the Prophecy, but that doesn’t mean you are going to be the King," he barked his laughter. “I don't intend for you to be Him, anyway. You see, I’m going to kill you, and then I'm going to cut off your head and stow it as proof of your death. Someone very powerful wants you dead. And I, of course," he giggled girlishly," never fail."
Iskandar was trembling now. He knew he was at the mercy of this thing and his end seemed to have been set. But the thing was not done with him. No, it had one more thing to show Iskandar. The thing withdrew a black cloth bag and without ceremony tossed it at Iskandar. It bounced once, twice, and then dumped its contents in his face. Iskandar blinked in horror. His cousin Wan stared back at him with a slack expression on his face, and the evil thing burst into mirthless laughter.
“Gaze upon your guardian, your highness!" cried he, “look upon those who have failed to serve you! You knew him as Wan, but his true name was Bambangwan Hamengko, of late a Knight of the order of Java. In the High Language it means 'Warrior Protector', did you know? He might be named 'Warrior', but he wasn’t much of one when I swiped his head from his shoulders!"
Insane laughter ensued. “And by the time I was through with him, he wasn’t really a male, if you know what I mean!".
Iskandar did not heed this; he was cradling the head of his cousin in his arms, blood coating his hands and lap as he stared sadly at the eyes that always crinkled in laughter, that mouth that always held a smile ready or had a kindly word to say. Slowly, he looked away from the head and he tucked it into the crook of his left arm. His eyes swung forward, and a fire began to burn within him. His eyes were like exploding stars and the darkness fell back before him. His wrath concentrated before him like a raging fire, and the darkness despaired. The six guards, in their dismay, fell back a step, then another, and every step they gave he gained in strength, till he could get to his feet easily.
But the thing stood still, and began to laugh; using the evil it possessed to bring him down to his knees, to crush his resistance.But it was of no use. He felt a growl in his throat, the battle fever hot upon him. The laughter grew, louder and louder, decibel by decibel, till the very air was rank with fear and hatred and the residents in block number 372 of Woodgrove Town District screamed in their beds as the fear assaulted them too. But still, it mattered not. He was revealed now, the true Prince of the Line, every line shining with ancient power as he strode forward and roared.
"Halt you, thing of evil! You cur! You hinzir! You son of a motherless goat! You have no power over the light! I know you, Sade!" at this the creature whimpered and the laughter ceased as if a switch had been flicked off, “And as I know your name I know you to be a coward! Feel my wrath as I smite you into the ground, fool!" And the Prince leaped forward with his right arm cocked, on his lips a battle song of Kunsowong Bambang, his brow alight with the inner fire, inner light that was in his blood, was his heirloom from his ancestors and he called upon it to destroy this evil before him.And he found himself stopped a bare whisker from his target, stopped by some unknown force. He gasped and grabbed at Sade, drawing back the hood and staring in surprise at the truly familiar features of his own face. A mirror. A doppelganger. A clone. And the clone, laughed.
"You think you can defeat me so easily? I, who have hunted your kind for centuries, and drank the blood of your guardians, I have learned well, my dear Prince.” He smiled and began to sing a song, the song that Iskandar had been hearing in the darkness of his dreams, the song in the unknown language, presumably the High Tongue
Iskandar felt tears, not of pain but relief, for the song brought understanding and he felt lighter, more ready to meet his fate. For it was all over. He hung onto Sade, and stared deep into those eyes filled with hatred. He slowly broke the contact and cast his eyes down. The jewel encrusted dagger hilt was all that could be seen, the rest was within him.
"This weapon was crafted by the Siamese, and if ever there were a people I loved, the Siamese have won the jackpot!"
Blood began to pour as Sade said this, grinning. Iskandar felt tired, but still he did not let go. Again, he looked into Sade's eyes, and this time he smiled.
" You have not won, Sade. Soon, the one shall reveal himself, and he will be too powerful for even you to destroy." And he sang of the prophecy, the same song Sade had sung earlier, but stopped at a line, which he repeated in English.
“He shall be clad in green, and no mortal weapon will destroy him. You will never win."And with that the Sade laughed. He laughed, this time it was with pure mirth, and he laughed till his stomach ached, as the life blood of the prince dribbled out onto the floor like a red, red river and he laughed some more, till he was hoarse. Then he shook his head slowly and wiped the tears in his eyes with his shoulders, still holding onto the prince in a death embrace. He barked a laugh, and then seem to subside, smiling merrily, almost kindly.
"How little you know, my prince.” he twisted the knife, making the mortally wounded prince moan in anguish. And with one quick move, the Siamese blade, still hungry for Javanese blood after seven centuries, still as sharp as the day it was hauled triumphantly from a fire deep in the heart of Siam, was ripped out of Iskandar’s body. Swiftly, more merciful than he intended, Sade decapitated his prey.
He smiled, replacing his hood, and slowly licked the blood from the gleaming blade.
“For I, have already won.”
Through the empty, dimly lit streets, there was a sound of pattering, steadily becoming thumps of heavy footsteps. The rapidity suggests someone on the run. Heavy breathing would follow, if the sound of them were not covered by those pounding feet. Someone must really be in a hurry.
Iskandar ran. He was afraid, of that you can be sure. He runs with a wild abandon, not looking where he is actually heading to but just wanting to get away. He risks a glance backwards, hoping in vain that his pursuers where gone.They had. They were no longer there.This took him utterly by surprise, and as a result, his footsteps slowed, then stopped. He was breathing hard, and the cool night air was cooling the sweat that had made his cotton shirt an unlikely home.
Suddenly, the danger that had manifested so suddenly did not seem so imminent.He had been reading at home, in an apartment that was five stories up, when he was attracted by some sudden urge to be outside. So he had gone downstairs, taking the old elevator that had served the block for many a-years, feeling it shiver slightly as in passed every floor. On the wall were the floor levels in nice rounded chrome buttons and above it a sign saying "$ 200" underneath a picture of a cigarette with a red line crossing it diagonally. Iskandar wondered briefly whether there was anyone foolish enough to actually smoke inside the elevator. Two hundred was a cool sum, and it was quite a lot in these troubled times, when crime was on the rise, with the rate of crime done to crime stopped being almost five to one, the sudden unemployment crisis, the hot words bandied about by the nation's neighbours, cigarette prices were going through the roof. And here they were, charging two hundred for a smoke in the elevator, when smoking outside was a much better idea. He shook his head slowly, took out his cigarette container, and counted the contents. Three left. He would have to get another pack the moment he was done with this one. Katy would not be pleased.
He sighed, and placed the container back into his pocket. One day he would have enough to make her his wife. He had been offered several wonderful posts that he had turned down, even though he knew they would have set him up for life. They would have given him a beautiful partner and the four babies they had planned for, two boys and two girls. But he had still turned them down. The reason? He did not know it himself, at least not consciously, for he had never voiced it out and ever his inner voice tried to stamp the very thought from his mind. But it seems he was destined for something. Something big. Snatches of a song kept playing in his head, in a language he did not know or understand, sounding mournful and yet hopeful at the same time.
With a chime and a sultry female voice announcing the first storey, he arrived below. The cold wind that blew and that faint smell of rain welcomed him, but as he walked a few steps he realised something. He did not know exactly why, but he felt that he had been called to go there.He was afraid, yes, but he was intent not to show it. In him there seemed to be liquid steel flowing through his veins. It does not mean he does not have fear in his vocabulary, but to him, fear was an enemy long past conquered. He was not lacking in courage.
Unfortunately, it was not his lack of courage, but an abundance of youth that proved his undoing. He was young. And the young, as the old would like you to believe, are reckless. So he had ignored that feeling, and stood his ground.He did not stand his ground for long. As he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket container, he felt the wind pick up. His long-ish dark hair was positively dancing, when a moment ago it had barely moved. He had taken three attempts to light his cigarette, finally hiding behind a wall with his left hand cupped to get it lit.
The first drag was heavenly. He had not smoked for almost a week, and he recognised the first feeling that came as guilt. He had promised Katy he would kick the habit, that he had kicked the habit, but he thought he had a very good reason to break the week long fast. For the first time in his life, even though he could not explain it, fear was overpowering him. It was as if the air around him had developed hands, and was slowly but surely squeezing the very air from his lungs. His own hands grew moist, and those normally steady limbs begin to shake. His knees start to quake. He was almost choking as he tried to breathe, retching silently.The cigarette dropped. The fear was started out as a whisper was screaming now. The half-finished cigarette with grey ash dribbling from its tip fell to the ground. If an Environment officer was around, it was a good bet that he would have been booked, at least a two hundred dollar fine for littering.
But he was past caring. Slowly, Iskandar felt himself being choked to death.He heard the sinister laughter, the mincing sound of a clown gone bad. He was, at this time, on his knees, struggling still to draw breath, his fingers tearing at the clamp that seemed to be upon his throat. He tried to look at the owner of the voice, but he could not. His vision was dimming like a lamp on board a train that is moving away from you during a dark night.
"Run, my dear. Run!” That voice! It had a rasping quality to it that was scary, but somehow reassuring. Like an old, familiar uncle who was handling a knife hidden behind his back, and an almost placating smirk upon his face, and his other hand beckoning.Like an Uncle who works as a clown. A clown gone bad.
"RUN!" And Iskandar did. He felt the grip lessen, and he stumbled on to his feet, and ran like a drunken monkey. His fear was nauseating, but it gave him strength to get away. His legs tried to start its pumping but it faltered as he tried first to win his breath back, half-succeeded, got his innate gyroscope working again, and off he went on the 100 metre dash. Only this time, he knew, he could not win, even if he had Thierry Henry's pace. The tittering, menacing yet friendly laughter followed him still. If he had a million dollars, he would bet that that laughter would still follow him had he transported himself to the other side of the world.He was being toyed with, and he knew it.So he had ran, and turned to find no one, and he had stopped. These thoughts had barely taken a second to bounce around in his mind, but even now, the fear was abating its domination of him, and the steel that was normally within was reasserting control. He began to forget that there was even a voice in the first place, and reasoned that the fear was probably the guilt about lighting up in the first place.
As he felt his panic ebb, the laughter began again. He felt fear assault him like a horrible wave, and he gave back, step by step. Through slitted eyes, hands over his face, he glimpsed six shadows converge on him, slowly gaining solidity from nothing, and revealed six figures of almost the same height, marching in step, similar ebony robes moving slowly in the breeze. They held parangs glinting evilly even in the dark, the only light being a flickering apartment sign "372 of Woodgrove Town District". It was then, that Iskandar broke. He did something that he had not done since he was a little child.
Prince Iskandar, unknown heir to the lost throne of Java (even to himself), blood descendent of Golden Alexander and the Great Salahiddin, who the infidels call Saladin, wept in utter anguish.He fell before their advance. Black despair filled his heart and bile rose unbidden to his lips. He retched till he could retch no more, but still the laughter continued. He stumbled backwards, weeping tears of fear so concentrated it was excruciating. In his blindness, hoping to escape the fearful torment, he crashed into the wall behind him and fell in a heap upon the cold and slimy floor.
He knew the game was up. He had nowhere to run.He lay a moment curled in a ball, his arms encircled around his heaving body, tears like rain falling onto the dirty pavement. Rats and cockroaches where nowhere in sight; they had fled at the sound of that (evil clown) laughter. Then, as if in answer to his cries the laughter ebbed away to giggles, and then silence.Iskandar recovered enough to raise his head. Through the haze of tears he saw a man in black, even darker than the six behind him (if that was possible), who now sketched a bow to him, still tittering as if the joke was over but the laughter still carried on. He seemed shorter than the rest, but he was powerful, more powerful than the six who stood in a semi-circle behind him. It was in his stature, every sinuous curve filled with evil menace, yet somehow, there was something hauntingly familiar about this apparition. He was wearing a hood which covered his face, but even in the dark Iskandar could fathom the sardonic grin beneath the darkness.
He began to speak.
"Ah, my Prince! I am glad you are well. No, no, don't get up, its alright if you continue to stay rested." At this the Evil man, no, thing, laughed and Iskandar cringed again. The thing held up a finger and shook his head. "Now now, no need to get all scared, after all a healthy sense of humour is always important."
Iskandar could make no sense of this tirade. In a soft, almost tired voice, he said, “Prince? What prince? Who are you? What do you want with me?" Senseless questions really, but even in his weakened state he desired to know what was happening. More importantly, he needed to know why this was happening to him.
"Why?" He cackled." Who? They didn't tell you? How quaint! I suppose they wanted to protect you from yourself. Stupid, arrogant fools." He giggled, and suddenly looked serious, if that could be contrived in the semi-darkness. “Well, you are a Prince of the Prophecy, but that doesn’t mean you are going to be the King," he barked his laughter. “I don't intend for you to be Him, anyway. You see, I’m going to kill you, and then I'm going to cut off your head and stow it as proof of your death. Someone very powerful wants you dead. And I, of course," he giggled girlishly," never fail."
Iskandar was trembling now. He knew he was at the mercy of this thing and his end seemed to have been set. But the thing was not done with him. No, it had one more thing to show Iskandar. The thing withdrew a black cloth bag and without ceremony tossed it at Iskandar. It bounced once, twice, and then dumped its contents in his face. Iskandar blinked in horror. His cousin Wan stared back at him with a slack expression on his face, and the evil thing burst into mirthless laughter.
“Gaze upon your guardian, your highness!" cried he, “look upon those who have failed to serve you! You knew him as Wan, but his true name was Bambangwan Hamengko, of late a Knight of the order of Java. In the High Language it means 'Warrior Protector', did you know? He might be named 'Warrior', but he wasn’t much of one when I swiped his head from his shoulders!"
Insane laughter ensued. “And by the time I was through with him, he wasn’t really a male, if you know what I mean!".
Iskandar did not heed this; he was cradling the head of his cousin in his arms, blood coating his hands and lap as he stared sadly at the eyes that always crinkled in laughter, that mouth that always held a smile ready or had a kindly word to say. Slowly, he looked away from the head and he tucked it into the crook of his left arm. His eyes swung forward, and a fire began to burn within him. His eyes were like exploding stars and the darkness fell back before him. His wrath concentrated before him like a raging fire, and the darkness despaired. The six guards, in their dismay, fell back a step, then another, and every step they gave he gained in strength, till he could get to his feet easily.
But the thing stood still, and began to laugh; using the evil it possessed to bring him down to his knees, to crush his resistance.But it was of no use. He felt a growl in his throat, the battle fever hot upon him. The laughter grew, louder and louder, decibel by decibel, till the very air was rank with fear and hatred and the residents in block number 372 of Woodgrove Town District screamed in their beds as the fear assaulted them too. But still, it mattered not. He was revealed now, the true Prince of the Line, every line shining with ancient power as he strode forward and roared.
"Halt you, thing of evil! You cur! You hinzir! You son of a motherless goat! You have no power over the light! I know you, Sade!" at this the creature whimpered and the laughter ceased as if a switch had been flicked off, “And as I know your name I know you to be a coward! Feel my wrath as I smite you into the ground, fool!" And the Prince leaped forward with his right arm cocked, on his lips a battle song of Kunsowong Bambang, his brow alight with the inner fire, inner light that was in his blood, was his heirloom from his ancestors and he called upon it to destroy this evil before him.And he found himself stopped a bare whisker from his target, stopped by some unknown force. He gasped and grabbed at Sade, drawing back the hood and staring in surprise at the truly familiar features of his own face. A mirror. A doppelganger. A clone. And the clone, laughed.
"You think you can defeat me so easily? I, who have hunted your kind for centuries, and drank the blood of your guardians, I have learned well, my dear Prince.” He smiled and began to sing a song, the song that Iskandar had been hearing in the darkness of his dreams, the song in the unknown language, presumably the High Tongue
Iskandar felt tears, not of pain but relief, for the song brought understanding and he felt lighter, more ready to meet his fate. For it was all over. He hung onto Sade, and stared deep into those eyes filled with hatred. He slowly broke the contact and cast his eyes down. The jewel encrusted dagger hilt was all that could be seen, the rest was within him.
"This weapon was crafted by the Siamese, and if ever there were a people I loved, the Siamese have won the jackpot!"
Blood began to pour as Sade said this, grinning. Iskandar felt tired, but still he did not let go. Again, he looked into Sade's eyes, and this time he smiled.
" You have not won, Sade. Soon, the one shall reveal himself, and he will be too powerful for even you to destroy." And he sang of the prophecy, the same song Sade had sung earlier, but stopped at a line, which he repeated in English.
“He shall be clad in green, and no mortal weapon will destroy him. You will never win."And with that the Sade laughed. He laughed, this time it was with pure mirth, and he laughed till his stomach ached, as the life blood of the prince dribbled out onto the floor like a red, red river and he laughed some more, till he was hoarse. Then he shook his head slowly and wiped the tears in his eyes with his shoulders, still holding onto the prince in a death embrace. He barked a laugh, and then seem to subside, smiling merrily, almost kindly.
"How little you know, my prince.” he twisted the knife, making the mortally wounded prince moan in anguish. And with one quick move, the Siamese blade, still hungry for Javanese blood after seven centuries, still as sharp as the day it was hauled triumphantly from a fire deep in the heart of Siam, was ripped out of Iskandar’s body. Swiftly, more merciful than he intended, Sade decapitated his prey.
He smiled, replacing his hood, and slowly licked the blood from the gleaming blade.
“For I, have already won.”
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Khairul Azan-The Gangster
Every Hero has his enemy, but lets not forget that no man is an island, and Ilyas isnt either. He has a friend, a guy who has done a lot of wrong things but just about to do the worst: murder . During a gang raid or something on a shop, this guy, Khairul Azlan, or just Khai for short, is one of the front men breaking in. he takes care of the guards while the rest steal the stuff, and keeps a lookout. unfortunetly, a guard was not "taken care of" properly, came back to his senses and was shot one of the gang. The Leader, Someil, commands Khai to kill him. an eye for an eye, it seems.
But khai could not do it. He has a good heart this one, and even his broken home family, father wenching and drinking, mum disappeared with her old flame one dark night long ago, and a little sister to look after. So he looks at the guard, an old man who seemed so much like his dad who he loves but has stopped respecting since the old man took to drink, and ignored the profferred blade, a parang. Someil asks a second time. and at the third, he punches Khai across the mouth, and chops the mans neck. gone case.
Now according to clan rituals, Khai had disobeyed a direct order from the leader, in front of his men, during a mission. This only meant one thing, a sort of duel between him and Sommeil. Death if he loses, the leadership of the jangi(group of 12) if he wins. ultimately, he wins, but again his heart stops him. ill get to that, but let me introduce the ritual of.. errmm.. ill get back to this too..
The duel will be cool: a circle marked in the ground, one switch blade knife each, and a two belts buckled together and tied to both left hands of the opponent. Those watching were the rest of the jangi mates(for it was dishonourable to have other jangi's see u fight, see disunity in ones group) and if the combatants should have even an arm or a leg out, those around them are encouraged to hit them.
hmm.. im still thinking about it.. but Khai wins, but he cannot kill. he wounds Someil, but he cannot kill him. His heart, alas will not allow it, and as he hesitates, Someil stabs him in the leg. "Weakling," he says, and stands up with contempt. " now u die."
BUUUUTTT.. the green jacket saves the day! as the knife whistles down, the Green Jacket Leaps into the circle and blocks it on his sleeve(yeap, that jacket is impervious to anything.. well almost, as u shall see, dear reader). breaks the link, kicks the crap out of the jangi and took Khai away. he is unconscious, and now a Pariah of the jangi.. hated by all for his betrayal, and all his kinship with them severed when that buckle broke.
so now the green jacket saves the day again. but at a high cost. now he isnt alone.. not any more.
Khai is a streetwise, reckless and tough, but above all, he is loyal. Being raised to stay away from gangs and things like that, the brother hood between Ilyas and Khai has a big unnoticeable crack in it: Ilyas has been raised not to trust folk like this. that, tho small, is a recipe for tragedy.
But khai could not do it. He has a good heart this one, and even his broken home family, father wenching and drinking, mum disappeared with her old flame one dark night long ago, and a little sister to look after. So he looks at the guard, an old man who seemed so much like his dad who he loves but has stopped respecting since the old man took to drink, and ignored the profferred blade, a parang. Someil asks a second time. and at the third, he punches Khai across the mouth, and chops the mans neck. gone case.
Now according to clan rituals, Khai had disobeyed a direct order from the leader, in front of his men, during a mission. This only meant one thing, a sort of duel between him and Sommeil. Death if he loses, the leadership of the jangi(group of 12) if he wins. ultimately, he wins, but again his heart stops him. ill get to that, but let me introduce the ritual of.. errmm.. ill get back to this too..
The duel will be cool: a circle marked in the ground, one switch blade knife each, and a two belts buckled together and tied to both left hands of the opponent. Those watching were the rest of the jangi mates(for it was dishonourable to have other jangi's see u fight, see disunity in ones group) and if the combatants should have even an arm or a leg out, those around them are encouraged to hit them.
hmm.. im still thinking about it.. but Khai wins, but he cannot kill. he wounds Someil, but he cannot kill him. His heart, alas will not allow it, and as he hesitates, Someil stabs him in the leg. "Weakling," he says, and stands up with contempt. " now u die."
BUUUUTTT.. the green jacket saves the day! as the knife whistles down, the Green Jacket Leaps into the circle and blocks it on his sleeve(yeap, that jacket is impervious to anything.. well almost, as u shall see, dear reader). breaks the link, kicks the crap out of the jangi and took Khai away. he is unconscious, and now a Pariah of the jangi.. hated by all for his betrayal, and all his kinship with them severed when that buckle broke.
so now the green jacket saves the day again. but at a high cost. now he isnt alone.. not any more.
Khai is a streetwise, reckless and tough, but above all, he is loyal. Being raised to stay away from gangs and things like that, the brother hood between Ilyas and Khai has a big unnoticeable crack in it: Ilyas has been raised not to trust folk like this. that, tho small, is a recipe for tragedy.
The Politician
NOWWWWW.. we come to the best part.. the arch-enemy! every hero has one, so here he is.. i have no idea wat his name would be and im toying with just a "john Doe" or keep referring to him as The Politician.
Anyway, this guy used to be good. I mean REALLY good. Top student, best CCA record, takes care of his elderly grandmother, helps blind people across the street, etc etc. but there comes a time when he had a bad day( a really bad day), tries to help someone, gets arrested for trying, charged for something small( used as a black sheep actually.. the actual guy got away). spends sometime in prison, probably(or maybe not, depends lah) get raped.. u noe, a hu dropped the soap moment? thats not all, comes home, and his grandmother has passed away, slipping and hitting her head against the toilet floor when he was languishing in chains.. Then, he becomes evil. HAHA.. cool rite?
Ill follow his progression to when he gets older, how he became a grass roots man, trying to fight against unjust and corrupt law enforcers and wage war on gang leaders. He fights hard, but ever his sense of compassion was gone, for he lost it during that sad period i mentioned earlier. He quietly bids for presidency, and his goal was simple: he wanted to destroy the city that drove him mad by driving it into war against its neighbours, a war that they would never win. For he was mad. in his pain he sought a person to blame, and it was the city. i dunnoe if that sounds weak, but there it is.
anyway, as he was out gallivanting and plotting his rise to greatness, he meets someone who tells him the most interesting news of his career: That if he tries in any way to destroy the city, a king will rise of the kings of old, and stop him. This man ( Sade- The Black Jacket, or sumting like that, tho that sounds pretty cheesy to me, so ill keep working) tells him of the prophecy, so that when the time came, he would have his revenge. remember, its all important for him to destroy the city, cos its been in him since those sad times, and he needs revenge. well, Sade himself, always dark, always grinning or laughing, but always emanating evil.. seems to have some sort of ulterior motive that John Doe cannot clarify. In return for helping John kill these heirs of the Kings of old, he ask for only one thing: MONEY. yeap, he wants millions and billions, but John doesnt have that kind of money, even if he became president.. So Sade tells him, KILLL the gangsters and STTTEEEAALLL their enterprises.. and reap the benefits. So John agrees. By crime or War, or even both, John will get to destroy his city.
Anyway, this guy used to be good. I mean REALLY good. Top student, best CCA record, takes care of his elderly grandmother, helps blind people across the street, etc etc. but there comes a time when he had a bad day( a really bad day), tries to help someone, gets arrested for trying, charged for something small( used as a black sheep actually.. the actual guy got away). spends sometime in prison, probably(or maybe not, depends lah) get raped.. u noe, a hu dropped the soap moment? thats not all, comes home, and his grandmother has passed away, slipping and hitting her head against the toilet floor when he was languishing in chains.. Then, he becomes evil. HAHA.. cool rite?
Ill follow his progression to when he gets older, how he became a grass roots man, trying to fight against unjust and corrupt law enforcers and wage war on gang leaders. He fights hard, but ever his sense of compassion was gone, for he lost it during that sad period i mentioned earlier. He quietly bids for presidency, and his goal was simple: he wanted to destroy the city that drove him mad by driving it into war against its neighbours, a war that they would never win. For he was mad. in his pain he sought a person to blame, and it was the city. i dunnoe if that sounds weak, but there it is.
anyway, as he was out gallivanting and plotting his rise to greatness, he meets someone who tells him the most interesting news of his career: That if he tries in any way to destroy the city, a king will rise of the kings of old, and stop him. This man ( Sade- The Black Jacket, or sumting like that, tho that sounds pretty cheesy to me, so ill keep working) tells him of the prophecy, so that when the time came, he would have his revenge. remember, its all important for him to destroy the city, cos its been in him since those sad times, and he needs revenge. well, Sade himself, always dark, always grinning or laughing, but always emanating evil.. seems to have some sort of ulterior motive that John Doe cannot clarify. In return for helping John kill these heirs of the Kings of old, he ask for only one thing: MONEY. yeap, he wants millions and billions, but John doesnt have that kind of money, even if he became president.. So Sade tells him, KILLL the gangsters and STTTEEEAALLL their enterprises.. and reap the benefits. So John agrees. By crime or War, or even both, John will get to destroy his city.
Ilyas- The Green Jacket
First up, theres are our dear hero, Ilyas. Hes an average kid, whose parent are really protective of him, and no wonder, cos his supposed to be the heir of the throne of Java(or something to that extent), but see, he is only one of the few heirs thats left, and according to the prophecy(ie: see The Prophecy) the heir shall become king through Fire and flame. The prophecy also states this will only happen ata point of time when things are getting bad, and thats where the evil arch enemy comes in(ie: see The Politician). But again im getting ahead of myself. i wanna talk about my hero.
As Yet, Ilyas does not have a last name. But he is just ending his secondary school days, starting on his first three months of his 17th year, and he really is trying to find himself. He wants to do art and stuff like that, but his parents, ever thinking of his future, wants him to strongly do something safe, like engineering or teaching.
Coming from a background of single sex schools, this is also a time to introduce girls into his life, of which i shall take much joy. ill add a few experiences of my own, and if its a little obvious, i beg ur forgiveness.. but itll be funny, i kid u not. :)
He is quiet when with strangers, shy when talking to girls,can be loud when with his mates, always cautious. He has a lot of good in him, yet has a naivete and innocence of a lost duckling( y duckling? i have no idea). But he is also capable of great things, only he lacks the self belief to do this. Thus, he has his two friends, the Gangster(i havent decided his name) whom he saves one day, and his mentor, a man who seems to (almost) pop up unannounced to give him advice and comfort when he needs.
Whew.. thats a lot. ill keep on thinking of Ilyas, and hope i can come up with more.. but as the great stephen king says, " Just write" (or sumting to that extent).
As Yet, Ilyas does not have a last name. But he is just ending his secondary school days, starting on his first three months of his 17th year, and he really is trying to find himself. He wants to do art and stuff like that, but his parents, ever thinking of his future, wants him to strongly do something safe, like engineering or teaching.
Coming from a background of single sex schools, this is also a time to introduce girls into his life, of which i shall take much joy. ill add a few experiences of my own, and if its a little obvious, i beg ur forgiveness.. but itll be funny, i kid u not. :)
He is quiet when with strangers, shy when talking to girls,can be loud when with his mates, always cautious. He has a lot of good in him, yet has a naivete and innocence of a lost duckling( y duckling? i have no idea). But he is also capable of great things, only he lacks the self belief to do this. Thus, he has his two friends, the Gangster(i havent decided his name) whom he saves one day, and his mentor, a man who seems to (almost) pop up unannounced to give him advice and comfort when he needs.
Whew.. thats a lot. ill keep on thinking of Ilyas, and hope i can come up with more.. but as the great stephen king says, " Just write" (or sumting to that extent).
The beginning
Now, this blog is specially made for all u people who ive asked for opinion to glance at my ideas and shoot anything of yours that comes to mind.. ive been stagnating a lot on the writing side of me, and i feel its time to continue doing wat i want to do, write a helluva story. i will post my ideas here, short chapters, and anything of that sort, so do feel free to either call me to comment, email, or tag, as soon as i noe how to do dat tho.. thanks anyway.. oh, and do understand that this is really hard work on my part, so dont go copying anything, ya hear? : )
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