|"maynard just sucks nuts"|
|Date: ||07/19/02 08:07|
|Game Type: ||Starcraft|
|Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 2, Max: 9, Min: 8|
Lifetime Rating for |]agomar: 8.6667
I am tired.
Oh so tired. Young one, you would not believe how tired I am. Hmm . . . yes . . . perhaps it is time I pause and reflect for a while. For a little while. I don't have all that much time between labors, you see.
Will you join me? I promise it will be . . . different.
I can see you are confused. Who am I? What do I do? Why do I do it? And for heaven's sake, why is a tired old geezer like myself writing to a group of hyperactive children like yourself.
The last question I can answer now: it's something different. It amuses me. And I think that perhaps writing down a thing or two about my life will better prepare me for what is to come.
What is to come . . . .
Oh yes - the questions. The first three I will answer the only way I know how. With a story. I do not know how much I will write, or what it will be, or when I must leave. Ah well. I linger too long. Forth we go!
I was born a long, long time ago - about two centuries into your past. I was a normal boy, perhaps a touch on the tall side, and with the most exquisite blue eyes, hah! My name was . . . Jacob? Yes, yes, that was it. I lived a normal life, near the very first iron plant in England. My father worked there - he was a stern man with shoulders like those of an ox, who rarely laughed and never cried. His eyes were a cool, flinty gray hue matching the metal with which he worked, and though I tried hard I never really loved him. I didn't have a mother - she died of some lightning-quick disease when I was but a child ( Your metaphors amuse me. Lightning quick indeed! ), and so my home life was sparse, to say the least. My friends were my real family, and I remember even to this very day our wild romps across the country side, our mischief near the iron plant, our boisterous excursions to the market.
Doesn't seem all that special, does it. Let alone different. Impatient, are you? Fine, I'll get to the point.
I found it the day I turned thirteen. No, it wasn't a magical stone half buried in the rubble, or a magician's staff lying in some god-forsaken cave. Rather, it was as if a portal opened within my mind, and a whole new realm of thought unraveled before me. I was lying in my bed that night, my sole present ( some worn-out boots ) in the corner of the room. Dreaming my first dreams about some girl I'd stumbled across in the marketplace the day before. Then, it started. A faint chill down my spine. My eyes flew open, my hands quivered. I felt something blossoming, brightening, around the corner - or, more specifically, flowing behind a sort of veil crafted by my mind. I reached out, touched the curtain . . . pulled it frightfully aside and . . . stumbled in.
The night bounded away as if stung, and light poured into my eyes, my mind, my soul. I felt a torrent of energy gushing within my psyche. Somehow, instinctively, I channeled it through my body. New realms spread out before me, new worlds shimmered into view. I felt my thoughts soaring ever upwards to new heights and, then . . . .
A Voice. A Voice I'd never forget, rippling, tumbling in deep tones through the very essence of my mind.
Hello, little one.
I reached out with my soul and sought to answer, greeting the Voice with a torrent of emotion and a frightened whimper. The being behind the voice seemed a touch amused and a little concerned, and when it next spoke it was in tones of comfort, relaxation, and a more gentle form of strength.
Calm, calm. All will be explained in time. I will help you along the way. You are destined for great things, my child, for true power. But the road will be a difficult one, and it may break you if you stray to far from its path.
There was silence for a little while. I squirmed a bit, enveloped in light gushing from every corner of my view. Still the questions poured forth in my mind, silenced only by a quiet chuckle from the Voice.
Be still for now, little one. Answers are coming. Take this power, this wisdom I grant you now, and use it wisely, for any greater might you obtain shall be through suffering and great trial. Some know who you are. They are coming this way, and their intentions are far from pure. But take heart, for I am with you always, and if you are that which I think you are, you shall prevail.
Sleep, sleep now . . . you will need it.
With that, the light disappeared, the vision faded, my eyes crashed shut and the rest of the night passed swiftly. The memory of those very first words, however, would stay with me forever. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.
I awoke, rubbing my eyes as the sun rose cumbrously behind my curtains - much like an old man stumbling out of bed I thought, chuckling a little. Oh what strange dreams I'd had! Their memory was a little frightening - what the voice had said still rang clear in my mind - but I was reassured by the knowledge that I was safe and secure in the real world.
I started, and bumped loudly into my closet. A whisper darted through my mind and was gone, and for a brief, terrifying moment I wondered if I hadn't been dreaming at all. Then, tentatively at first, a wry smile wove its way through my face. "The brain does play tricks on you sometimes!" I thought, and bounded downstairs.
My father was just opening the door to leave for work, and his grubby overalls shone orange in the sun's first rays. He nodded curtly, and simply said "be a good boy" before he was gone. Perhaps it was with a first glimmer of foresight that I looked long and sadly after him as he walked surely down the road, his buttons glittering as the crows flew overhead. I remember sighing. He lived a hard life, full of loneliness and constant toil, and the way he treated his only child showed it. My father stopped a long ways down the road, and cast a quick glance into the brilliance of the rising son. That's funny. I'd never seen him do that.
Then he turned around and disappeared in the torrent of light.
I kept looking. Somewhere within me I could feel a sort of panic growing. My head throbbed and my heart pounded, and I could feel my arm trembling. Slowly, I mastered my fear, and stumbled to the kitchen. Something was badly wrong, I could feel it but what could it be? Everything seemed in order . . . I turned around . . . looking at the walls and suddenly, there, peering through the window at me -
our kindly old neighbor, Jim Teroil.
"Hey there boy!" he said in that warm, rasping voice of his, "You look kinda frightened, everything alright?"
"Oh w-why yes Mr. Teroil, j-just gettin' ready to do the dishes." I breathed deep and wiped my forehead, managing a quick, flustered smile. He chuckled.
"That's a good lad! You mind helping me with a little somethin' first? I'm an old man and these arms just aren't what they used to be," he said, looking down at his scrawny arms with a little mock grumble.
"Right away sir!" I chirped, leaping through the backdoor and running over to his house. He was still looking through the window. I waited, staring at his back, but he didn't move a muscle.
"Everything alright Mr. Teroil?"
He staggered, and whirled about faster than I thought he could.
"Alright?! Don't you be sneaking up on an old man like that Jacob!" He was breathing rather deeply and his face was quite bright red. I was overcome with shame and opened my mouth to speak, but he stopped me with a gentle gesture.
"It's fine boy. I just wanted you to help me bring some tools outside so I could finally fix the ol' train." He grinned broadly as he pointed to the ancient black carriage he'd built some decades before and now was slowly languishing beside his house.
"Sure, I'll get right to it," I piped, laughing a little at the pride he had for the old wreck.
Together we sauntered back to the house, and he pointed to a little heap of rusty wrenches, crowbars and God knows what else ( he really does, I got bored and asked him ) lying in his shed.
"Just gimme a crowbar and the two biggest wrenches and I'll get straight to work!"
I stooped down wordlessly and heaved the biggest wrench up off the ground, just as Jim's shabby old horse came clattering into view.
"Ho there Jackson!" he hollered, waving to the animal as if it were a person. He glanced around, making for a corner over his barn, then stopped short.
"Well will you look at that," he said, gesturing to a large empty space strewn with a few golden filaments, "not a bale of hay in sight! Hm . . . say, you wouldn't mind going with me to pick up a couple wouldya? I'll get you a proper breakfast in town, I will!"
I thought about it briefly - very briefly. I was poor, and a good breakfast, with scrambled eggs and maybe even a sausage or two was not something you passed up.
"That sounds great. When do we leave?"
"Oh the quicker the better, we can finish this when we get back."
"But it's only a few tools-"
"Nay boy, the quicker I get my horse fed and you full the happier I'll be!" he laughed, and put a gnarled hand on my shoulder as we walked out.
There was still something screaming at me within my deepest heart, but I ignored it. Together we set off upon the dusty road, upon a journey that would haunt me for years.