Is it really that important to you that you get home everyday in time to play that hour of videogames before your dad walks in the door to enforce the policy of homework before leisure? How about having dessert every night? Is that important to you? Or is it valuable? I think that sometimes we hold things up that should not be put on a pedistal. We learned in STAC to analyse ourselves for three core values. As soon as I heard that this would be written down and shared, the gears began to turn in my head. I wanted to accurately represent myself. I wanted to dig deep down, past all of the matieral wants and aethetics. I wanted to wipe away the veil and layers in order to get to what really mattered to me. My values, as do everyones, represent who you are at the heart, who you are as a person, and they are, at least to me, something that had they not been in place I may not even be an artist or someone with ideas as much as I would be someone striving to find these missing components to my life.
The first one I came up with was the ability to choose. Choice is definately the mosty important value of mine. Without choice we are no different that the person sitting right next to you. If everything is set in stone and controlled, where would be the point in living. Free will is not a gift, or a privilage as is said in religious scriptures, it is not God's Devine gift, it is human nature to choose and to debate. It is the right of everyone to make choices and in fact to act upon them. Certainly there are those who do not make what would be considered to be the most sensible or right decision but none the less we are left with choice. Choice of what to wear, choice of where to go, choice of what to eat, choice of when to breathe, choice to be who we are. Without choice could I be Zach, the writer, the actor, the poet, the teenager, the ANYTHING? I could be no different without choice, and what drives me forward is that ability to chose and to be my own.
The second that I chose was Individual Expression. People need to be allowed to exemplify who they are to who they please to show it to. We all need to let the world know that we are all different and we are all unique and that uniqueness is what allows the world to progress and function. That expression that may come out in my writing or your painting or his acting or her singing, the list goes on and on. This individuality is something that I feel to be beyond necessary.
Third, I chose Strategic Application. Oddly enough everything I do has strategy, underling webs of circuits and wires that must be planned and placed before excecuted, like a tactision I go about my life, applying strategy to how I view the world. More often I enjoy a process more than I enjoy the finished product, for example, a play, I love working on the play, I love rehearsing, I even love getting yelled at for missing my cue for the tenth time. The plays are no where near as satisfying as all of the sweat, blood and tears put into creating that product. I feel that often the process is overlooked or underappriciated when someone gets to the final product, like even now, after STAC LIVE. I'm sure that the viewers loved the films, but have givin no consideration as to how they were made. They do not comprehend the vast amount of work that had gone into making those films. The strategy, and planning and excecution were all more important, at least to me, than the film, even though I did rather enjoy both films.
Issues for me was a little bit easier, Because I write alot, I often notice commonalities within my writing. Most specifically, a blurring of the lines of reality. I greatly dislike writing strictly within fact and will take any opportunity to slip in aspects of fantasty and fiction, to pepper them over the writing that I have presented. I am a fiction writer, and so I do have the constant urge to push facts past their factual limits. I also often have to deal with Pariah in my work. The main character is often exhile in some way or another from where they had originally come from, whether by their own doing or by the fiendish interests of another, each time the character seems to be forbidden to return to where he had started and whether or not he defies this unwritten law of pariah. Not only those, but there was the issue of losing a loved one, whether it be death, or a break up, or even just a parting of ways. Strong bonds are severed multiple times in my writing if not all throughout it. I guess it adds to tension, I'm not sure, but I always see these things coming up.
Being a fantasy writer I have a hard time seeing those lines of reality, and this was a huge thing for me when I was thinking about my Koan. The idea I came up with for my own was: Where do the lines between reality and the fantastic blurr? This to me was one of the strongest question I have always asked myself in my writing. I'm not too sure whether it is a suitable Koan or not, all I know is that this question comes up more than once per piece if not every time I set to work artistically or even just generally in life.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Thursday, December 3, 2009
How do I say "Come in" in Swedish?
Question answering time for a STAC movie! After watching "Let the Right one In" I felt almost numbed. The simplicity and beauty of the film simply blew me away. The final shot of Oskar on the train made we wanted to cry tears of joy. An interesting point was how the backstory was handled. Not much was givin but rather suggested by the way characters interacted. The way the father and the creeper interacted suggested what had happened to the marriage of Oskar's parents and why the mother got to keep Oskar. The scrapbook of murders suggests how tortured Oskar had been throughout the years. Another cool thing is camera movement. The Camera is not moving unless the shot is a close up on a specific character, and even when it does, it is a slow following, keeping the character in focus for the entirety of the shot. The also brings up the question of camera distance. Large distances are used frequently. I think this was to display a bit of a panoramic idea, like a full view, pulling in the viewer to me more, more like an observer. I felt tugged in by the use of the distance. Also, shots could get very close, making it fell like my own point of view.
Characters are not solely developed by dialogue. Much is in how the look at each other. Eli looks longingly at Oskar, as if she misses being like him, a young boy, not a vampire who must feed to stay alive. The father looks at the son in a similar way, but it's a longing look of companionship. It tells me that he misses being a full time father of his son. Eyes, to me, revealed so much more than just that Eli was a vampire in this movie. Sound was also heavily used. Sharp sounds were used at times of fear, which tied together the anxiety and the choice missing images to create a whole sense of fear within the viewer. Not only are harsh sounds used but soft orchestral music was also used during times of intimacy to show the romance in the air. Often these are the scenes where Eli and Oskar are alone and close in proximity.
Hakan, I suppose, was the man who posed as Eli's father. I do not understand his devotion to Eli, or did not until I saw how strongly Oskar felt. It to me, is almost mimicing the affection toward Eli of Hakan. This leads me to believe that Hakan was once in Oskar's possition. Falling in love with Eli and running off to help her feed so that they can remain together, although I do not really want to believe Eli could be so cruel. He was so sweet during the scene with the rubix cube. I feel like this puzzle was representative of Eli's ability to reveal herself to Oskar. When she solved it for him, hw also showed him how to do it, which to me made sense in that slowly after she was revealing himself to Oskar. The cube itself, I suppose, the puzzle, was Eli.
Plot points for me were not the easiest thing to pick out. There were a lot of important things that happened over the course of the movie and a lot happened within the timeframes in which the plot points should be revealed. I had come to the relative conclusion that the first plot point was when Oskar signs up for the strength building class. From here he has decided not to deal with the3 bullies anymore. Oskar had been a changed person. The second point, although late in the movie, I felt was when Oskar prevents Eli's death at the hand of a vengedful man. At this point it was as if Eli was indebted to Oskar and owes him her life. He saved her after all of the disturbing things that Eli revieled.
The ending to me, definately was a happy ending. The two were running away together. They both overcame difficulties and hinderances to wind up together in the end. The both, I assume, stay together. To me the ending is sweet and showing so much devotion in their unorthodox love that it's practically tear jerking.
I loved this movie. Period. The End.
Characters are not solely developed by dialogue. Much is in how the look at each other. Eli looks longingly at Oskar, as if she misses being like him, a young boy, not a vampire who must feed to stay alive. The father looks at the son in a similar way, but it's a longing look of companionship. It tells me that he misses being a full time father of his son. Eyes, to me, revealed so much more than just that Eli was a vampire in this movie. Sound was also heavily used. Sharp sounds were used at times of fear, which tied together the anxiety and the choice missing images to create a whole sense of fear within the viewer. Not only are harsh sounds used but soft orchestral music was also used during times of intimacy to show the romance in the air. Often these are the scenes where Eli and Oskar are alone and close in proximity.
Hakan, I suppose, was the man who posed as Eli's father. I do not understand his devotion to Eli, or did not until I saw how strongly Oskar felt. It to me, is almost mimicing the affection toward Eli of Hakan. This leads me to believe that Hakan was once in Oskar's possition. Falling in love with Eli and running off to help her feed so that they can remain together, although I do not really want to believe Eli could be so cruel. He was so sweet during the scene with the rubix cube. I feel like this puzzle was representative of Eli's ability to reveal herself to Oskar. When she solved it for him, hw also showed him how to do it, which to me made sense in that slowly after she was revealing himself to Oskar. The cube itself, I suppose, the puzzle, was Eli.
Plot points for me were not the easiest thing to pick out. There were a lot of important things that happened over the course of the movie and a lot happened within the timeframes in which the plot points should be revealed. I had come to the relative conclusion that the first plot point was when Oskar signs up for the strength building class. From here he has decided not to deal with the3 bullies anymore. Oskar had been a changed person. The second point, although late in the movie, I felt was when Oskar prevents Eli's death at the hand of a vengedful man. At this point it was as if Eli was indebted to Oskar and owes him her life. He saved her after all of the disturbing things that Eli revieled.
The ending to me, definately was a happy ending. The two were running away together. They both overcame difficulties and hinderances to wind up together in the end. The both, I assume, stay together. To me the ending is sweet and showing so much devotion in their unorthodox love that it's practically tear jerking.
I loved this movie. Period. The End.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Screenplay 2.0
During the most recent workshop with Steve we had the time to examine the some of the edited and refined work that the other people in the workshop have begun to come up with. My edits were not yet complete for this date so I would now see the changing of someone's original script into something new and something far different yet miraculously thr same. Cassie's piece interested me from the start. It was a piece where a man and woman in suits had a bad day at work and then race to the ends of the earth, only to kiss at the end. So much was left unsaid but the ideas and questions that rose while reading it seemed to mean more to me than actually know the entire world of these two racers. We'd spoken about shortening and about cutting what was uneccesary and from how I saw Cassie's and Elisa's work grow, I knew that all of the advice Steve gave was golden. I cannot wait to show off my work the next time around.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Reave: Chapter 2
Now, throughout each and every hall of the temple, the pounding steps and shouts of Yyral and Reave could be heard. They resounded onward and echoed into the farthest reaches and the smallest caverns within the stone building. "Reziehl is burning to the ground! Reziehl is burning to the ground!" the two cried at the top of their voices. Not a moment were they not enveloped in terror, not a single second passed where it did not feel as if the essence of pure fear did not course through their veins in place of the red blood that kept them alive. "Come out of your rooms, every able bodied caster or the fire may spread to the entire valley! Come out! Come out!" the boys ran through the dark, not a light to guide them besides the burning image of Rezeihl in their minds.
Not long had passed before the two young casters collapsed, having coverd the three master hallways where the most bedrooms were. With lack of breathe they tried to explain the happenings as casters, half asleep and half dressed who began to file out of their rooms. Initially there was disbelief amongst the drowsy men and women who gathered to see who or what had woken them. "Just go up the tower to see!" begged Reave, his eyes began to well up but he fought back the tears. The torrents would not flood forth, he refused to be vulnerable in this situation, not even to himself.
"Fine, fine. I'll check, and if nothing is there you two are sure in for the scorn of those whom you have disturbed." The voice for a few moments was lost in the crowd until it's body stepped forward. Cyelle, the most experienced of the female casters had been the one to give them a chance. She turned on her heel before summoning up the boys, "I of course expect your accompanyment up the tower you two." he voice was powerful without a raised volume. No matter how soft it demanded attention, one of the key skills of being a powerful caster.
The two boys jumped at her command and fell into ranks behind her as the crowd partered for their procession. "You two better be right. Tell me now if you are lying or have any doubt in what your have seen." The two boys shook their heads, implying that they were more than possitive that what had been seen and shouted through the halls was the strongest truth that either had ever told. "Then let us hurry, for if you are true, then a grave tragedy has come upon us, more grave than exile."
From here on the three walked in absence of sound other than their feet padding down the walkways. Stone was cold upon their bare feet. For the first time that night, Reave felt the chill. He had been in such a frenzy until now that he took no notice of the less important things around him, like the fact that he had forgotten to dawn his shoes. His tender feet gradually became numb from the cold and the gentle pace that Cyelle kept. Reave looked down to see niether Cyelle nor Yyral had thought to put on shoes either and in some sense it lifted his fear and anxiety albeit only for a few moments.
"Here we are." Announced Cyelle in a tone that suggested that she was still in disbelief of the two boys. "You know what happens if I go up there and see not a single flicker of flame don't you?" Her motherly tone began to show. the kind that would surface when she spoke to any of the young males there at the temple. The boys both knew what they had seen was no illusion and therefore nodded their heads in response. "For the deities sakes I hope the two of you had no more than a nightly spook."
Cyelle began to accend toward the top of the tower, Reave and Yyral flanking her so that they night be able to point out that they had been serious, that they had not been lying, they were going to let the world know that they were right, or at least, each and every member of the temple. This night, to them, had become somewhat adventurous to the two, but once at the top of the staircase and staring out at the luminescent demise of much held dear the troop becan still. Cyelle's eyes reflected the burning homes and her eyes hear not a sound, similar to Reave's first sight. Her face went as white as a ghost and in not more than the gentle breath of a stunned woman, "We must run to the others and herald this news." She paused to swallow and breath, looking to Reave, "This should not have been possible how is this possible."
"I don't know..." Reave trailed off blankly, unsure of how to answer the most grave question of his life.
Not long had passed before the two young casters collapsed, having coverd the three master hallways where the most bedrooms were. With lack of breathe they tried to explain the happenings as casters, half asleep and half dressed who began to file out of their rooms. Initially there was disbelief amongst the drowsy men and women who gathered to see who or what had woken them. "Just go up the tower to see!" begged Reave, his eyes began to well up but he fought back the tears. The torrents would not flood forth, he refused to be vulnerable in this situation, not even to himself.
"Fine, fine. I'll check, and if nothing is there you two are sure in for the scorn of those whom you have disturbed." The voice for a few moments was lost in the crowd until it's body stepped forward. Cyelle, the most experienced of the female casters had been the one to give them a chance. She turned on her heel before summoning up the boys, "I of course expect your accompanyment up the tower you two." he voice was powerful without a raised volume. No matter how soft it demanded attention, one of the key skills of being a powerful caster.
The two boys jumped at her command and fell into ranks behind her as the crowd partered for their procession. "You two better be right. Tell me now if you are lying or have any doubt in what your have seen." The two boys shook their heads, implying that they were more than possitive that what had been seen and shouted through the halls was the strongest truth that either had ever told. "Then let us hurry, for if you are true, then a grave tragedy has come upon us, more grave than exile."
From here on the three walked in absence of sound other than their feet padding down the walkways. Stone was cold upon their bare feet. For the first time that night, Reave felt the chill. He had been in such a frenzy until now that he took no notice of the less important things around him, like the fact that he had forgotten to dawn his shoes. His tender feet gradually became numb from the cold and the gentle pace that Cyelle kept. Reave looked down to see niether Cyelle nor Yyral had thought to put on shoes either and in some sense it lifted his fear and anxiety albeit only for a few moments.
"Here we are." Announced Cyelle in a tone that suggested that she was still in disbelief of the two boys. "You know what happens if I go up there and see not a single flicker of flame don't you?" Her motherly tone began to show. the kind that would surface when she spoke to any of the young males there at the temple. The boys both knew what they had seen was no illusion and therefore nodded their heads in response. "For the deities sakes I hope the two of you had no more than a nightly spook."
Cyelle began to accend toward the top of the tower, Reave and Yyral flanking her so that they night be able to point out that they had been serious, that they had not been lying, they were going to let the world know that they were right, or at least, each and every member of the temple. This night, to them, had become somewhat adventurous to the two, but once at the top of the staircase and staring out at the luminescent demise of much held dear the troop becan still. Cyelle's eyes reflected the burning homes and her eyes hear not a sound, similar to Reave's first sight. Her face went as white as a ghost and in not more than the gentle breath of a stunned woman, "We must run to the others and herald this news." She paused to swallow and breath, looking to Reave, "This should not have been possible how is this possible."
"I don't know..." Reave trailed off blankly, unsure of how to answer the most grave question of his life.
Screenwriting: Doing the Dirty Work
Screenwriting to me has almost become something painful to do, or at least in this short format. I cannot see myself at all able to shorten what I have written to the one or two scenes that was suggested to me in the workshop on friday. I cannot stress enough how hard it is for me to chop up the story I am wishing to portray. I do think that Steve's points are valid and that his advice is quite helpful to me as a writer in general, it just seems to be the format within which we are expected to write. In perfect honesty, it surprised me how short the other scripts were and how much they were just a clip and not a story. I think this is my biggest problem. I have always written in long format. My poems take up pages and pages, my stories evolve into idea for novels and despite learning a lot about screen writing, I can hardly bring myself to hack up the story from what it is.
The story itself is a personal story with names changed and the ages advanced, and even that was hard, all of the names reference the original names and the advancement was awkward for me to write. Im not saying that this was something that I disliked, I enjoyed retelling something that I had been yerning to write for quite some time. I simply wish I had not been limited by time and by length to tell this story. In hindsight I should have chosen another story but I do feel that maybe with some tweaking and some getting used to I can fix my story to fit the format.
I need to reach a level in my writing where I am comfortable in many genres or style as opposed to one. The shortness and conciseness of Jack's story as well as Molly's was quite impressive and I feel that is something I need to get used to. I think I need to change myself in some way. I know there is a point that I need to get to, I'm just not sure when or by what means of getting there are necessary.
The story itself is a personal story with names changed and the ages advanced, and even that was hard, all of the names reference the original names and the advancement was awkward for me to write. Im not saying that this was something that I disliked, I enjoyed retelling something that I had been yerning to write for quite some time. I simply wish I had not been limited by time and by length to tell this story. In hindsight I should have chosen another story but I do feel that maybe with some tweaking and some getting used to I can fix my story to fit the format.
I need to reach a level in my writing where I am comfortable in many genres or style as opposed to one. The shortness and conciseness of Jack's story as well as Molly's was quite impressive and I feel that is something I need to get used to. I think I need to change myself in some way. I know there is a point that I need to get to, I'm just not sure when or by what means of getting there are necessary.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Screen Writing: Take 2
Gosh, I never knew there was so much that could be done with screenwriting that I fear my head may explode!
Steve's workshop was phenominally helpful to me, but I feel that it helped a lot of the others in the workshop simple because when Steve worked with us as a group, it was not only those who got their work looked over that benefitted, but his advice to one person really hit home with a lot of us, or at least that's what I saw. When he went over mine I was a little choked up, everyone who went before me sounded, at least in my opinion, a little if not astronomically better than mine. Writing the script was uncomfortable. I am not someone who likes to work in short genre. My talents are in creating large and elaborate stories. Mine felt like I tried to shrink a large story while theirs were concise and to the point. I was quite embarassed in hearing others read my work, but getting a vocal on it gave me a little more stablility.
The best part of th workshop to me was though, when we were analyzing my piece, everyone kept shouting, oh cut this I don't get this why did you do this make this this and it hurtmy head, but Steve asked me specifically on his confusions as to my piece and was not as aggressive to alter my work as the others had been. It was a piece that needed careful analysis to him, not something to tear appart, and I felt good because my piece was being taken care of. My piece was beig looked at not for mistakes or problems but for points that could really bloom if they were looked at and executed correctly. This I liked. I also liked listening in for the advice on the other scripts. It just stunned me some of the things that could be pulled out of a script. Cassie's script was two pages long but we talked on and on about the implied, on and on about what could happen and how we could make it happen and tried to retain as much as I could to use in my own piece. I was always looking fo' better my work in any possible way.
I feel like I really learned something in this workshop, and for me, I feel like this is a really big thig when I actually learn something, not have it drilled into my head or be mentioned as it hits my brain as though I had nothing but solid bricks in my head. I want to be the one hit by the brick, not the brick being hit, for lack of a better word. I do infact feel like I was hit, HARD, and cannot wait to have a brick hurdled at my head again.
Steve's workshop was phenominally helpful to me, but I feel that it helped a lot of the others in the workshop simple because when Steve worked with us as a group, it was not only those who got their work looked over that benefitted, but his advice to one person really hit home with a lot of us, or at least that's what I saw. When he went over mine I was a little choked up, everyone who went before me sounded, at least in my opinion, a little if not astronomically better than mine. Writing the script was uncomfortable. I am not someone who likes to work in short genre. My talents are in creating large and elaborate stories. Mine felt like I tried to shrink a large story while theirs were concise and to the point. I was quite embarassed in hearing others read my work, but getting a vocal on it gave me a little more stablility.
The best part of th workshop to me was though, when we were analyzing my piece, everyone kept shouting, oh cut this I don't get this why did you do this make this this and it hurtmy head, but Steve asked me specifically on his confusions as to my piece and was not as aggressive to alter my work as the others had been. It was a piece that needed careful analysis to him, not something to tear appart, and I felt good because my piece was being taken care of. My piece was beig looked at not for mistakes or problems but for points that could really bloom if they were looked at and executed correctly. This I liked. I also liked listening in for the advice on the other scripts. It just stunned me some of the things that could be pulled out of a script. Cassie's script was two pages long but we talked on and on about the implied, on and on about what could happen and how we could make it happen and tried to retain as much as I could to use in my own piece. I was always looking fo' better my work in any possible way.
I feel like I really learned something in this workshop, and for me, I feel like this is a really big thig when I actually learn something, not have it drilled into my head or be mentioned as it hits my brain as though I had nothing but solid bricks in my head. I want to be the one hit by the brick, not the brick being hit, for lack of a better word. I do infact feel like I was hit, HARD, and cannot wait to have a brick hurdled at my head again.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Reave: Chapter 1
This is the Draft of the first chapter of my novel entitled Reave I am looking for Critique and feedback as well as consistent readers. The next chapter will be posted weekly, please recommend me to friends and give me advice. This is by no means the final copy. Reave is my child, my discovery, and with your help, maybe it can grow.
Night Fell over the valley, a shade of comfort an sleep enveloping the small village of Reziehl in a warmth, a chilling one. The valley offered not much as to protection from wind as it did protection from anything else. In the night, the valley became a sink hole, you could not see a thing from atop the hills and mountains that surrounded, at least, not with inexperienced. The blackness of the valley was a repellent. Fear would build with each step towards, anxiety would mount and with it, a sense that this was the threshold of no return. One step forward would become a journey through the infinitely empty.
The villagers, with time, had become adept at spotting the dark clay and stone, showing no reflection of the dull moon glow. The walls had become the key to seeing the village. From afar the outline was opaque and almost without visibility. Following the line created the village. See it often enough, and Reziehl would be more vibrant than the autumn trees. The brick houses, exposed in a resounding red, roads became a dark brown, small gardens, a pale green, like that of the persistant leaves that refused to join others in the transition forward, one still lingering within its summer glow. It was a grand and beautiful sight to admire, that is though, to those who could see it.
Of course, knowing nothing of Reziehl would reveal a wasteland of cold and baren field, not a bit of life to be seen. Even what looked like grass would be stripped of every bit of life. Harshness among the likes of which none would dare venture into created another barrier to Reziehl. Winds swept in and out of the valley with such a force that often a man would be swept into the darkness, not to show up again, but rather lost in the legend. The day was when one would have to travel. Whilst some might say, in travel, the high sun is something to avoid moving during, here, it was quite the opposite. Had one wanted to travel, the highest point of the sun would be the ideal time to.
The people of Reziehl knew how to protect themselves from the bitter cold. The sheep bore wool so strong that not even the coldest of nights could lift the feel of a warm hearth and a good meal. This was made into cloaks, each villager wore the black wool. This too prevented them from being seen at night. With time would come the innate sense of where the village was, this of course was if you had ever been to Reziehl. The village was quite unknown, even to the traders and merchants who passed by. They would do their bidding at the temple at the peak of the south west hill. The temple was scarcely visited despite it's uses and it's convenience as a trading center. The villagers had a strict belief. If you alter anything natural, you had no place in the village.
Everyone at the temple had once been, or were descendants of villagers. They were outcasts, law breakers, magicians. To practice magic, to bring forth that which was not there before was punishable by exile. Those found to practice were sent up the road to the temple, where they would be taken in, like refugees they were cared for and helped to recover from the path to exile. This made the temple a place most avoided, despite the convenience of trade. All throughout the spring, the summer, and the fall, merchants would come with their pricey relics, their shiny jewelery, and whatever other foreign items could be sold for a profit, but not now, not this season. It was winter, dark, cold winter, but safe.
News came daily of Vherkain soldiers advancing southward. The neighboring country was large enough in origin, but now, with it's expanding borders, fear swept into all but those of Reziehl. Winter months kept them safe, as did the absence of sun.
"They travel by the moonlight." said the whispers, "They make sure that the blazing flames jump towards the abyss of night. They have not a lust for blood, only ash in the pale light of the moon." These myths could be heard walking through the square, the stories of undying soldiers and the myths of the night backed flame were commonplace amongst the gossiping women, but none were afraid of being struck at night.
* * *
"Yyral?" came a voice in the pitch, "Yyral are you still awake?" the voice was gentle, yet urgent enough to evoke some kind of reaction from the heap of flesh and grunts that shifted in it's place.
"Reave?" came a second voice. This one belonging to Yyral, now woken up. Had a candle been lit, his face would be contorted into a mixture of confusion, anger, tiredness, and general disinterest. His pale brown eyes would be half open, surrounded by bags of a light purple. His hair, short and the same color as his eyes would be sticking out in all different directions. It would suit Yyral, to look so sleep deprived. When he did sleep it was often in a wrecked state anyway. His pale skin would be shining with days of not washing. After hours and sometimes days in the library Yyral would come back, looking sickly all over, even his face seemed to have less angles than any other time. "Reave what the hell are you doing? It must be passed the first hours of morning. What can be so urgent?"
"Listen!" Reave shouted in a hushed tone.
"To what?" cried Yyral, now lighting a candle and getting to his feet, clad in not more than a few tattered robes. Reave was no much more kept in his appearance. His long black hair fell back in a messy braid, starting at his shoulders, and stretching in a thick, single weaved braid down to the small of his back. The hair frayed out, giving him a similar impression as Yyral. The long hair framed Reave's gentle face, not curved, which would make it looks as if he was quite young, but not sharp, like that of Yyral. It had edges, soft ones that fell back into his hair.
Standing up, Reave pulled on his thin black cloak over his slim figure, fitting it snug around him and letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The walls of the temple shone a brilliant copper color in the light of Yyral's single candle. The intricate carvings of images from tales of old, tales of great magicians and sorcerers, tales of feats beyond imagination's invention. Them walls were lined with these images, and had always been, at least, as long as Reave had been there.
"The wind!" Reave grew impatient with Yyral, as did Yyral grow so with Reave.
"I hear not a thing!"
"Exactly!" in Reave's voice there was an urgency none like Yyral had ever heard before, "Come with me to the tower, something must be wrong." And as if another candle had been lit, this one within Yyral's head, the severity of the situation overwhelmed his body and without delay, thew his cloak of Reziehl sheep wool, as did Reave. Within minutes the two were running silently to the tower at the center of the temple, "Yyral?" Reave asked again, getting his attention this time without more than a first try.
"Yes?" replied the frantic boy beside Reave.
The both crept out of their room, slinking through the halls as fast as they could without waking the other spell casters. "We are either both out of our minds, or something awful has just happened. That is what's going on right?" whispered Reave as they rushed toward the tower. Yyral nodded, not willing to donate any more energy to speech. "I do so hope we are both out of our minds..." Reave trailed off, now reaching the landing of the tower stairs.
Silently the two raced up the stone steps, each one ringing out with the padding of their bare feet, each step up getting louder with more urgency to reach the summit. Within moments the both were at the top, gasping for breath, each near tears when they looked out and towards the valley to see what was thought to be the impossible. Reziehl, the village that the both had once called home, the village where their families resided, the village that should have been regarded as the untouchable was burning to the ground in the black of night. Ignited. Livelier than ever. Engulfed within scorching and terminating flames. The entire village was burning to the ground with not a wisp of wind to blow out the smallest of flames.
To Reave, it was not the lack of wind nor the flames, that were the most frightening factors. The lack of screams was. There was not a day when the village was ever empty, not a moment when every inhabitant was not milling around the square, bargaining in the shops, or safe within their own homes. Reave knew that despite the distance, the valley should carry the calls for help, but with none brought to his own ear the worst was to be assumed. The village yielded no more than the crackle of life taking flame. Each and every man, woman and child had burned to death in their sleep.
Night Fell over the valley, a shade of comfort an sleep enveloping the small village of Reziehl in a warmth, a chilling one. The valley offered not much as to protection from wind as it did protection from anything else. In the night, the valley became a sink hole, you could not see a thing from atop the hills and mountains that surrounded, at least, not with inexperienced. The blackness of the valley was a repellent. Fear would build with each step towards, anxiety would mount and with it, a sense that this was the threshold of no return. One step forward would become a journey through the infinitely empty.
The villagers, with time, had become adept at spotting the dark clay and stone, showing no reflection of the dull moon glow. The walls had become the key to seeing the village. From afar the outline was opaque and almost without visibility. Following the line created the village. See it often enough, and Reziehl would be more vibrant than the autumn trees. The brick houses, exposed in a resounding red, roads became a dark brown, small gardens, a pale green, like that of the persistant leaves that refused to join others in the transition forward, one still lingering within its summer glow. It was a grand and beautiful sight to admire, that is though, to those who could see it.
Of course, knowing nothing of Reziehl would reveal a wasteland of cold and baren field, not a bit of life to be seen. Even what looked like grass would be stripped of every bit of life. Harshness among the likes of which none would dare venture into created another barrier to Reziehl. Winds swept in and out of the valley with such a force that often a man would be swept into the darkness, not to show up again, but rather lost in the legend. The day was when one would have to travel. Whilst some might say, in travel, the high sun is something to avoid moving during, here, it was quite the opposite. Had one wanted to travel, the highest point of the sun would be the ideal time to.
The people of Reziehl knew how to protect themselves from the bitter cold. The sheep bore wool so strong that not even the coldest of nights could lift the feel of a warm hearth and a good meal. This was made into cloaks, each villager wore the black wool. This too prevented them from being seen at night. With time would come the innate sense of where the village was, this of course was if you had ever been to Reziehl. The village was quite unknown, even to the traders and merchants who passed by. They would do their bidding at the temple at the peak of the south west hill. The temple was scarcely visited despite it's uses and it's convenience as a trading center. The villagers had a strict belief. If you alter anything natural, you had no place in the village.
Everyone at the temple had once been, or were descendants of villagers. They were outcasts, law breakers, magicians. To practice magic, to bring forth that which was not there before was punishable by exile. Those found to practice were sent up the road to the temple, where they would be taken in, like refugees they were cared for and helped to recover from the path to exile. This made the temple a place most avoided, despite the convenience of trade. All throughout the spring, the summer, and the fall, merchants would come with their pricey relics, their shiny jewelery, and whatever other foreign items could be sold for a profit, but not now, not this season. It was winter, dark, cold winter, but safe.
News came daily of Vherkain soldiers advancing southward. The neighboring country was large enough in origin, but now, with it's expanding borders, fear swept into all but those of Reziehl. Winter months kept them safe, as did the absence of sun.
"They travel by the moonlight." said the whispers, "They make sure that the blazing flames jump towards the abyss of night. They have not a lust for blood, only ash in the pale light of the moon." These myths could be heard walking through the square, the stories of undying soldiers and the myths of the night backed flame were commonplace amongst the gossiping women, but none were afraid of being struck at night.
* * *
"Yyral?" came a voice in the pitch, "Yyral are you still awake?" the voice was gentle, yet urgent enough to evoke some kind of reaction from the heap of flesh and grunts that shifted in it's place.
"Reave?" came a second voice. This one belonging to Yyral, now woken up. Had a candle been lit, his face would be contorted into a mixture of confusion, anger, tiredness, and general disinterest. His pale brown eyes would be half open, surrounded by bags of a light purple. His hair, short and the same color as his eyes would be sticking out in all different directions. It would suit Yyral, to look so sleep deprived. When he did sleep it was often in a wrecked state anyway. His pale skin would be shining with days of not washing. After hours and sometimes days in the library Yyral would come back, looking sickly all over, even his face seemed to have less angles than any other time. "Reave what the hell are you doing? It must be passed the first hours of morning. What can be so urgent?"
"Listen!" Reave shouted in a hushed tone.
"To what?" cried Yyral, now lighting a candle and getting to his feet, clad in not more than a few tattered robes. Reave was no much more kept in his appearance. His long black hair fell back in a messy braid, starting at his shoulders, and stretching in a thick, single weaved braid down to the small of his back. The hair frayed out, giving him a similar impression as Yyral. The long hair framed Reave's gentle face, not curved, which would make it looks as if he was quite young, but not sharp, like that of Yyral. It had edges, soft ones that fell back into his hair.
Standing up, Reave pulled on his thin black cloak over his slim figure, fitting it snug around him and letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. The walls of the temple shone a brilliant copper color in the light of Yyral's single candle. The intricate carvings of images from tales of old, tales of great magicians and sorcerers, tales of feats beyond imagination's invention. Them walls were lined with these images, and had always been, at least, as long as Reave had been there.
"The wind!" Reave grew impatient with Yyral, as did Yyral grow so with Reave.
"I hear not a thing!"
"Exactly!" in Reave's voice there was an urgency none like Yyral had ever heard before, "Come with me to the tower, something must be wrong." And as if another candle had been lit, this one within Yyral's head, the severity of the situation overwhelmed his body and without delay, thew his cloak of Reziehl sheep wool, as did Reave. Within minutes the two were running silently to the tower at the center of the temple, "Yyral?" Reave asked again, getting his attention this time without more than a first try.
"Yes?" replied the frantic boy beside Reave.
The both crept out of their room, slinking through the halls as fast as they could without waking the other spell casters. "We are either both out of our minds, or something awful has just happened. That is what's going on right?" whispered Reave as they rushed toward the tower. Yyral nodded, not willing to donate any more energy to speech. "I do so hope we are both out of our minds..." Reave trailed off, now reaching the landing of the tower stairs.
Silently the two raced up the stone steps, each one ringing out with the padding of their bare feet, each step up getting louder with more urgency to reach the summit. Within moments the both were at the top, gasping for breath, each near tears when they looked out and towards the valley to see what was thought to be the impossible. Reziehl, the village that the both had once called home, the village where their families resided, the village that should have been regarded as the untouchable was burning to the ground in the black of night. Ignited. Livelier than ever. Engulfed within scorching and terminating flames. The entire village was burning to the ground with not a wisp of wind to blow out the smallest of flames.
To Reave, it was not the lack of wind nor the flames, that were the most frightening factors. The lack of screams was. There was not a day when the village was ever empty, not a moment when every inhabitant was not milling around the square, bargaining in the shops, or safe within their own homes. Reave knew that despite the distance, the valley should carry the calls for help, but with none brought to his own ear the worst was to be assumed. The village yielded no more than the crackle of life taking flame. Each and every man, woman and child had burned to death in their sleep.
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