Those Summer days that are so fleet, those summer days that taste so sweet
Succumb in time to Winter's grace, whose fair, pale arms will embrace
Between the two we may find peace, and choose to linger in Autumn's streets.

Had lunch in the park, doodled that poem when I got back to work. A fair assesment of life in that particular moment.

Ok so this is rare, two blog posts in one month. Hopefully more to come next month as well. if I settle into an erratic twice a month schedule, then that might be ok. Thats two chapters of this current story a month... well we'll see :) Those drawing guys have it way easier. They can burp out a doodle in twenty minutes thats pretty rough but still works where as a writer's rough stuff is sometimes so incoherent that its really worth nothing. *sigh* Anyway, I think I got the second chapter kind of the way I want it. I cut a bunch of conversational stuff, so later I'll probably edit more information etc into it. Third part is easier since its alot of actiony things happening, and those tend to go quicker than plot heavy dialogue.

Other than that, I'm starting to give some thought to Nano this year. I made the word count last year even with starting over in the middle of the month. A couple 4000+ word days and I was back on track. That leads me to believe that I can hit the word count pretty easily, so this year my goal is to have something I'm relatively happy with at the end of it all. You know, a fairly complete story. With that in mind, here's my game plan.

I'll be writing on the same story as last year, basically. I say basically because I know know alot of what I did wrong in the first stab at it. For the scale of the story I had envisioned the story didn't move slowly enough and it moved in too many places. THis would be fine with an established arc, but not with a new idea. With that in mind, most of the first book will deal with people in one place and more or less deal with the same people. Last time I dealt with Palin in one part, Sabastian in another and Telin in another and so on. It was too many main characters. I'm focusing almost entirely on Matheus this time, and all the events that surround the summit where he's trying to form an alliance between pirate nations and the Arc to fortify the outworlds of Arc against the Harvest Duke who is growing more and more powerful. More info on that later :)

No more news for now. I'll post some comic related things when/if they happen.

for now enjoy part two of what I'm calling the Steampunk Mystery.

Chapter two

Jonas picked at the plate of delicacies that had been ordered for him, selecting a morsel and chewing it slowly while he thought. The mood of Cafe L'Oreit was set by a soft and subtle blend of pipes and strings, currently one of Mokette's earlier sonnets, low lighting and the smells of a thousand wonderful dishes. The food was excellent, and the the cool interior of the place was a blessing after the heat of the streets below. He sat across from Samantha Taras at the Taras' private table, in full view of the splendor of her beauty. Her dark hair cascaded in ringlets to her bare shoulders, her smile was angelic and a man could lose himself for hours in the color of those perfect eyes. Jealous Goddesses had turned women into pigs for being less lovely, Jonas was sure, or perhaps this was the goddess come down to amuse herself among the mortals. There certainly seemed to be a some divine joke at work; Samantha Taras had not come alone. Jonas cleared his throat subtly and dared to speak.
"I must be honest, when I received your, er... letter of invite, this is not the lunch I expected."
Samantha Taras smiled brightly, holding a soup spoon delicately in one gloved hand. "Why Mr Mynfield, whatever did you expect?"
From her right hand Samantha's Stoic brother raised an eyebrow, "yes Mr. Mynfield, humor us, what did you expect?"
If Jonas had been wishing for a private affair, perhaps some candles and a nice wine, he had been terribly mistaken. Samantha had come, as the note had indicated she would, but with her she had brought her brother, a family Stewart who looked like he might have been a pirate in a former life, and six body guards all bearing the Tara's family crest. Jonas had no doubt that they were instructed to kill anyone who laid a hand on their young charge; whether it was a wanted hand or not. This perfect lunch date was turning into something much less perfect and no where near a date. For someone like Jonas who danced very lightly ont he edge of teh great powers, this was down right dangerous.
"I didn't expect it to be so formal." Jonas said quickly. "I might have taken the time to put on my good coat, if I'd have known."
"Hmm, yes. Your good coat." Randal Taras said blandly, cutting deep into the meat on his plate. "I wouldn't worry, I doubt we'd have noticed the improvement."
Jonas opened his mouth to remark, but instead wisely bit into a slice of roast quail. This was their territory, they were at the advantage and and if insults were all Jonas had to stomach, he could consider himself lucky. Randal Taras wanted something, that was evident, and if the man had used his sister's invite as a ruse for this meeting instead of calling using the red phone for an official request, then it was something he wanted to keep quiet. Royal matters that were to be hushed up were expensive and delicate matters and for that reason Jonas was glad that Paddy had stayed home. She was not very respectful when it came to dealing with royals.
"Don't worry Mr Mynfield, this, sadly, isn't a social call; we'll not judge you on the cut of your coat, however shabby it is." Samantha said brightly, sipping her soup with grace, "we're here on business!" She nodded in what she must have thought was a grave manner, but came off looking like a five year old trying to be serious while her puppy is licking at her knees. Samantha giggled. "You did come very highly recommended. Having been, what's that quaint expression, 'around the street'?"
"Around the block, dear sister." Randal corrected, leaning back a little as an attractive waitress set a basket of bread down to the side of his plate. Randal hardly noticed her.
Randal Taras had been appointed to the seat of Herring Town magistrate at the tender age of twenty two and had used the last five years to secure his power through clever politics and ruthless domination of any opposition. He wore the black sleeveless tunic of his office and a solid gold chain, no doubt of mystic origin. Like his sister his skin was a light brown tone and his hair was as black as pitch, cut close but still with a distinctive curl that no amount of barbering could erase. They might have been twins, but Jonas knew for a fact that Samantha was years younger than her brother. The two were as similar in appearance as they appeared to be different in every other way.
"It is true I seem to have acquired a very, ahh, diverse skill set that has rendered me useful to people such as yourself from time to time."
"A good thing too." Randal said, breaking bread with his hands, "this city has little need for more beggar nobility. Heaven knows how many fallen royals use their once good names to prey on the charity of those with better sense."
"Oh yes. I quite agree." Jonas muttered, "though even as a royal of repute I always found science and adventure more to my liking than politics and courting."
"And if the reports are true, you've had quite a number of adventures", Samantha said while the tables automatic brewer was busy refilling delicate cups and spinning them into place in front of all the patrons of the table. "Have you any stories to share with us?"
Her brother scoffed. "Come Samantha, such stories are beneath you. This man is little more than a commoner, his claim to royalty is a stretch, at best. I daresay any stories he has would not be fit for a lady's ears and he's not the kind of gentleman that censors his words." Randal's mouth curled in a sneer, "I've heard of some of your adventures. Damsels in distress; distressing damsels more like."
"Oh Randal, you're no fun. Always at work, never taking time for any play." Samantha pouted, "we have a seasoned glory seeker at our table and you have no want to hear, first hand, some recount of his travels?" The pout turned to a hungry smile, "besides, sometimes I just hunger for something that isn't censored. Life can be so..."
"Wonderful? Pampered? Beautiful?" Jonas offered.
"Boring." Samantha said. "I'm never allowed to have the kind of fun I read about in books."
"Those books, dear sister, are partly the reason why these wild fancies of yours have taken root." Randal said, "and those stories aren't true. Even real adventures aren't glamorous, they're full of hardship and pain. Isn't that so Mr Mynfield?" There was an edge to his voice that said he would not be disagreed with.
"Very true, actually. Danger and whatnot. Why, any number of times I can remember thinking that a nice book by a fire would be the way to go instead of slogging through some swamp in the pouring rain, or traversing sewers tracking some slime beast or being chased by cannibals through bug infested jungles just because you've managed to steal their tribal idol." Jonas said, plumb sauce from his mouth with his napkin. The sauce must have been sticky as as soon as Jonas put his elbow in it, the napkin stuck fast.
"Swamps?"
"Oh yes, adventure is often a messy business." Jonas nodded, glancing at Randal for approval. The man's face was expressionless. Jonas forged on. "And the people you meet. If I don't ever have to see another bush pilot of questionable hygiene again, I'll count myself very lucky."
"I think those are just the sort of people I'd like to meet." Samantha declared. "swamps dirt and all."
Jonas raised an eyebrow at the ravishing young woman with her pristine dress, perfect skin and impecable table manners. It was hard to envision her outside in the street, let alone tramping through some gods forsaken land swatting bugs and breaking nails. Whatever books she read, they probably had pictures of shirtless men holding tight to princesses while firing rounds into incoming hoards of necromatic soldiers. The man would always defeat his aggressor and the the woman would think him an awful sort until, perhaps, the fourth time he saved her life and then about the moment she caught him playing kick the cube with street orphans, she would realize she'd fallen madly in love with him. Samantha Taras lived in a very, very small world.
Randal finished the last piece of his roast and grunted, "since you insisted on coming today, you may well get your wish. We'll see how well you like your scoundrels and dirt when you see them close at hand. Mr Mynfield, if you're finished your quail, may we get down to business?"
"I'd like nothing better." Jonas said. He was rubbing his elbow against the table cloth gently, trying to dislodge the napkin, but to no avail. He ended up lowering his arm under the table, but kept his other hand firmly on his tea cup.
"Good." Randal said flatly, gesturing to his Stewart. The Stewart opened a black case and produced a sheaf of papers from it, passing them along to his master's hand. Randal flipped through them slowly, selected a few and slid them across the table. When Jonas reached for them, Randal kept his hand firmly in place, pinning them down for a moment. Their eyes met.
"This is strictly confidential. I'd like to keep things very discreet. If you breath a word of this to anyone, you shall find that my arms can reach you almost anywhere."
"I am a professional." Jonas said, "I shall keep your words close to my heart." With a smart tug, Jonas took the papers and quickly scanned through them.
The papers were mostly photographs of a device with a few shorthand notes written over top. It was an oblong sphere, decorated with brass waves and terrifying sea creatures. The brass was tarnished, and obviously in the middle of being carefully cleaned by the white coated technicians that surrounded it. The artifact's surface was broken by a series of crystals and small windows. Since the picture was not printed in color, Jonas could not tell exact details, however there was little doubt in his mind of what it was.
"This is a Von Eskhieser, isn't it?" Jonas asked without looking up from the photos. He flipped to the next page, the graphic showed the device from a different perspective.
"We suspect it is." Randal said grudgingly, "and if the tests the University preformed are correct, it may be the oldest device of his yet unearthed."
"The University hmm?" Jonas said, "you're storing it there?"
"No. It is still on site. We dare not move it until its full function can be discerned." Randal tapped his nose, "there have been other attempts to tamper with Von Eskhiesser's devices, most of those have ended... unfavorably."
"To say the very least, yes." Jonas muttered.
"At any rate the professors I've hired are at a loss and you have much experience with such devices, or so I'm told."
"More than I'd like, to be honest." Jonas pursed his lips. The last photograph in the set displayed the back plate where a simple engraving was etched in what might have been crystal. The engraving was of Mycalychin, a trickster figure in the folklore that Von Eskhieser had weaved into his science.
"Splendid! Then you will accompany us to the site and help us! It will be our adventure, and you shall be the chief of it." Samantha said, her eyes shining.
"Help you what?"
"Make it work." Randal said, "it's for our father. He is a collector of these devices and his sixty-fifth birthday approaches. We would make a present of this Von Eskhieser to him. When we can make it work, and understand its workings, we'll be able to move it."
"You realize this could be very dangerous work? Von Eskhieser pieces have been known to collapse time, turn flesh into lead, that sort of thing." Jonas said.
"I'm well aware of that. You payment will be proportionate, I assure you." Randal snapped his fingers and the Stewart drew a small box from the same case as he had produced the pictures. Samantha took it before Randal could and pressed her lips to it gently before passing it onwards to Jonas.
"For good luck." She said with a smile. "And our coming adventure!"
"Consider this a downpayment, to help make up your mind." Randal said.
Jonas took the box, opened it briefly. His eyes widened and he closed the lid very carefully again before staring out the window intently.
"You agree then?"
"Hmm oh yes. very agreed. I don't think I could afford to refuse to work with a Von Eskhieser artifact, or refuse the Taras family for that matter." Jonas said quickly, rising to his feet and striaghtening his jacket. The napkin finally fell from his coat and fell to the floor. "Now if you'll excuse me...?"
"Excuse you? Why, Mr Mynfield, we haven't had desert yet and the pastry chef here does an apple crumble that is simply devine." Samantha said, "you must stay."
"I do apologize for having to deny the request of such a beatuiful girl." Randal growled at that, but Jonas forged on, "but I must. It seems my time is demanded very ... ah, urgently elsewhere."
"What demand is so urgent that it risks insulting us?" Randal asked tartly.
"Er, that will become evident in a moment, I'm afraid," Jonas said, buttoning up his jacket and pulling a small thin cylinder from his pocket. "You see this morning my associate received a call on what I've called our red phone. It's red you see, and a private number for royal use only. It was a request for help from Jurrik Labs, they needed something returned. I told my companion not to fret, that we would handle it when I returned with this meeting. Based on what I'm seeing outside the window, I must assume that Jurrik Labs called back and were much, much more demanding the second time."
The cafe shuddered a little from a tremor, shaking the glassware gently agaisnt each other causing a pleasnt ringing. The patrons, usually so absorbed in their own petty conversation, all suddenly looked up to see what the disturbance was. The Tara's family all reached forward to steady their glasses while the bodyguards reached for weapons, looking around for any immediante threat. Jonas, unphased, continued.
"My companion is very strong willed. I think she must have agreed to help without bothering to inform me. This is the only reason I can think of that she is currently hanging onto the neck of what appears to be a Red Tortiose cross bred with a giant Baverian mole that is rampaging through the street outside. Although I would much rather not help her, I think she will be flying through the glass of the window directly behind you in about thirty seconds. I don't think it can be avoided." Jonas paused, "err... you should all probably move."
The tremors were now regular and in true Kinnel city fashion, the patrons of the cafe joined those in the lesser buildings next to it and ran to the windows to see what was happening. They were greeted with the sight of Paddy hanging tight to a rope and net that was wrapped tightly around a horn on the creature's shell. Obviously Jurrik Labs had been unspecific as to the size of the creature, else Paddy would have brought a bigger net.
The monster looked to be more tortoise than mole, with a hard beak and red shaded shell, spined with hard looking spikes. The paws were bow legged with monstrous claws made for spooning dirt out aside. Right now those claws were doing an excellent job of pushing aside street cars, vendor carts and the footings of various local business. With a final heave and buck, the monster sent Paddy whipping around on the end of her rope with enough force to break her grip on it and send her flying through a window five paces to the right of where Jonas had predicted. The patrons of the cafe panicked while the hostess tried clapping her hands briskly to get everyone to remain calm because, it had always worked before. Jonas donned his hat and tucked the box securely under his arm.
"I must be off, we'll be in contact to arrange details later. I might try the back stair for your exit from here." Jonas said tipping his hat, "farewell."
"Good bye brave adventurer," Samantha stood and held a hand to her heart, a move mimicked from watching a thousand actresses bid farewell to a thousand heroes. "Be careful."
Jonas grimaced before running off towards where Paddy had landed and the very large hole that . Be careful. As if a woman's wish could protect him from being crushed under foot a giant mutant turtle. It was women that were the problem, most of the time. In this case a very specific woman by the name of Padilla Nimmers-Sach. There would be a very stern talk with Paddy on their return to the office, a very stern talk indeed, providing they both survived the next few minutes.

March 13th 2009,

Spring!

Hi all it's finally spring here in Saskatchewan again. I don't know why I'm surprised, it happens every year about this time. All I know is it's nice to be able to go outside without the definate threat of frostbite. Anywho, this is a small post, as life is gernerally good. No new exciting things with the comic projects as the recession is hitting the comic industry extra hard.

Lately I have been working on my 'Mirror, Mirror' project with some satisfying results. I think the thing I'm most excited about is the scope. It's big enough for a novel but I can't see it being any more than that. So its a big idea, just not epic and I have a really hard time most times limiting myself to one novel sized story in a story arc. I think this is a good thing for me and I'm putting alot of other projects on hold as I pour effort into this one. Anywho, the prologue is in it's first draft, so I'm posting it here. More to follow, I promise. Enjoy!

John, the Writer.

"I looked down to the earth and saw the black horde, a multitude of thousands rising like smoke from the east. Death and ash were in its wake and the righteous crumbled before them. I despaired. I then raised my eyes to the heavens and saw an angel descending. His appearance was radiant and his sword burned with holy fire. He was alone, but he was mighty."

Prologue - Fate

Three large figures wrapped in white stood silently in the middle of the swamp, the darkness around them broken only by the small pinpoint light given off by fireflies and will-o-wisps that floated above stinking pools. The air buzzed with insects and hung heavy with water and rotted wood. Their boots were black with mud up to the knee and the hammers the two larger figures carried were crusted with dried blood and gore. The swamps were not kind to those from the cities and the snakes and beasts that made the tepid waters their home were vicious and feral, hungry for meat. The three had started as four, but the result was worth the cost. Before them stood the house they searched for.
It was no more than a hovel, a muddy hole in a mound of moss and debris piled by unskilled hands. The door was the only part of the house that looked solid, beautiful red painted wood banded in brass and inscribed with faint Crystal lettering. It was fitted with a brass knocker in the shape of a ghoulish head; teeth barred and frill of horns worked in cold iron. There was nothing else besides the door to show that the mound was any different from the hundreds of others that dotted the swamp. There was no lane or lamp to light the way and the door was facing heavy brush so that one had to be looking for it to see it. One of the hooded figures reached out to grab hold of the knocker while his two companions wiped black gore from their hammers. The sound from the knock was muffled in the heavy air.
There was a moment of silence before the door creaked open, spilling a knife's edge of light out into the darkness. A bulbous nose pushed itself out through the crack and two eyes as black as beetles peered out with suspicion at the visitors on the other side of the door.
"Hello?" It asked gruffly, "if you're lost then that's too bad for you. You can't come in, I won't allow it. If you're dying I'll put some food out on the step, the salamanders won't come near here. You can stay the night on the step, but you can't come in. Are you dying? You can't come in."
The man outside cleared his throat, a sound like a locomotive driving on gravel, low and gritty.
"We know a threader lives here." He said in the same rocks-in-tumbler voice.
The nose behind the door bobbed, "Where you from? The provinces? From outside our time stream? There ain't no threaders anymore, there isn't. The Queen, may she sleep in peace forever, killed them. Some might say murdered, but not me. I say they got their justice. No one should be able to twiddle with the threads of fate, it's too powerful."
"Are you Abe Capus?"
Again a moment of silence, the nose bobbing quickly in thought, trying as quickly as possible to determine the correct answer to this man standing in his doorway. Two shapes loomed behind, indistinct shadows, tall and menacing. They still held their hammers by their sides, the heavy metal gleaming in the light from the door. Their presence made up the small man's mind.
"Nope, never even heard of such a man. You lads look like you can take care of yourselves. I'll leave you to the swamp. It's a fine place to be if you don't mind the smell and the snakes. Good day to you. Or night; I don't have a clock. Good riddance at any rate."
The man outside caught the door as it was being closed, but could not pull it further open. There was some magic in the red painted door. The nose had retreated and now it bobbed back, the beetle eyes slitted and angry. "What?"
"You are Abe Capus. I know this to be true. Would it be that I could force you to help us instead of merely requesting your assistance. I know you will not be forced into anything. I also know you to have lost much in this life and given a chance to change your own fate may, in gratitude, give us aid." The words came out slow and steady, unwavering in their absence of emotion, sublte as a landslide. Still holding the door open, he withdrew a small shrouded object from the depths of his cloaks. The shroud fell away and the thing in his palm gleamed in the light cast from the door.
It was round, nearly perfectly round and filled the whole of the man's large hand. The surface might have been any color or no color, shifting the way it did in any bit of light, taking parts of the light in so that shadows resulted or else amplifying other bits so that brilliant rainbows danced. Looped around it many times was a fine golden chain, the delicate links wrought in the likeness of a a beast's mouth, the jaws holding fast to the neck of the link in front of it. Delicate locks hung on the chain at random, seven in all, and it looked like one had already been opened. That part of the object was not as glimmering as the rest and looked to be dead as if it's light had been used. The nose behind the door bobbed.
"Do you... you... ah, ehem." A mouth still hidden by the door cleared itself, "that is to say, what have you there?"
"You know what it is."
"Perhaps I do... perhaps..."
"It is yours to do with what you would, should you preform one task for us. One lock we require opened, it's thread changing a bit of fate. One lock was used long ago. That leaves five for you to do whatever you wish."
"And you think I can open the locks? Could be I don't know what you're talking about! Coming in the middle of the dark, disturbing an honest man's sleep. I say I shut my door to you all!"
"Five fates to change anyway you wish. Think, Abe Capus, think of what you could do with five fates. Your honor restored, your order restored, is that not worth a small task?"
Now the nose quivered like a fiddle string drawn taunt. The eyes narrowed.
"Come in." The owner of the nose said quietly, the eyes darted out into the darkness beyond the shape. "Only you, your friends must stay outside. It looks as if they can take care of themselves. Come in, and quickly. Before I lose my nerve. Come in before the energy attracts other... things. Fate magic, very strong. I should know... huh oh do I know."
The door opened quickly to the exact space needed for the man outside to edge past the threshhold. He had to duck past the door and even once inside stooping was necessary to fit inside the house. If what the stranger was expecting inside the door was more mud and sticks, he was pleasantly surprised. The room inside was spacious and clean, with wood paneled walls and shelves filled with books and small pots. Small round doors designed in likeness to teh one outside dotted the walls between the shelves. Lavish rugs covered the floor past the doorway and the stranger found that the mud on his boots had been left outside when he walked in. There was magic at work here, strong magic. The stranger closed the door and studied it briefly, there was a brass tag stamped on the back that stated 'Holland Holland and Sty: MasterWork Doors'.
"A portal." The stranger said quietly.
"Hmm, oh? Oh yes yes, a portal. Professional. Bought it in the the city, the biggest city at the time. DevenPort I think." Abe stopped pacing about and smiled, "in excile it is amazing what neccesities you can live without when you have some simple pleasures. A magic house in the middle of a swamp. Heh, I guess that is a bit of a necessity, isn't it? I did favors for the Sty family way back when. That door was made special by Griff's own claws. Delicate, delicate things these portals. Masterful work."
Abe Capus was an imp of a man, small and stooped with a brush of grey whiskers collected underneath a massive nose. His beetle black eyes peeked out from underneath eyebrows of similar size and color to his moustache. His fingers never stopped moving, weaving into and outside of themselves like spider's legs; long and delicate. He had the appearance of someone who was very, very old but kept on existing through power of will.
"Prudant. You would not have lasted the swamp a month otherwise." The stranger kept his hood drawn and his face shadowed. "I need you to preform a transfer, to change a fate."
Abe Capus squinted his eyes and then his shoulders sagged, "I suppose it is now wasted breath to deny that I can. After I've invited you into my home, no, it would be wasted breath. Set the egg there, in the table. A fate egg. How did you find it? I had thought them all destroyed. Well all the ones available to us, to me."
"Does it matter?" the stranger set the egg on the table that Abe motioned to.
Abe paused, shook his head, "no. But... there were twelve, I think. most were used in the great war. We were a great order then you know, very powerful. Kings, magicians, everyone came to us when things got to their worst. We were the last resort. If no one else could do it, they said, give it to a threader. We did alot of great things during the war. Great and terrible things. After the Queen ... well, threaders were not welcome. You would know that of course, common history I would suppose. But text books take away the emotion of a time, the raw expierence. It was a very terrible time, when the strongest magic's in the world clashed. The threader's sided with the wyrm, we had to. It was his eggs afterall. Didn't matter much, really, Queen or Serpent, they both looked the same in the end. The bodies. They had to pile the bodies when it was done. You've never smelled anything like it, felt anything as horrible. She killed the threaders then, throats cut with our own knives. I was left for dead but escaped 'cause I wasn't quite gone, crawled out of a mound of flesh before they set fire to the pyres. She destroyed the eggs too, too powerful she said, but I think it's just because she couldn't figure how to use them right. I had thought all the eggs destroyed. You can't make new ones you know, they're unborn dragon eggs. So much untapped potential, caught by the egg itself, guarded by the locks." Abe spread his hands out on either side of the egg, fingers unfolding and making a net around the swirling colors of the egg. "No more dragons, no more eggs. No more fate magic, no more threaders."
"Will it take long?"
"Hmm?" Abe lifted his eyes from staring at the egg. The colors still shone in his eyes. His was a life that had lived fullest in the past and seeing the egg brought all the memories back. The stranger was far less patient.
"Will it take long?"
"No... not long. Funny, I always thought it was funny. It's not so hard to change the course of a fate, takes very little time. It takes a steady hand, of course, and a sharp knife, but not time." He sighed, "what fate do you need me to change?"
"The fate tied to this scroll. A prophesy. This is the original text, the thread will be there." From inside the sleeve of his robes the stranger pulled a tightly rolled piece of parchment.
"Give it here and we'll begin then, sooner I'm done, the sooner you can leave back into the fell dark that brought you."
"I'll keep it until it's needed."
"Fine then, have it your way. I'll not ask questions, even though I probably should. I don't need it until the end anyway. You may want to stand back, don;t want to mix your thread up with the others." Abe took a bowl of water from a stand and threw it into his stove, killing the light to a dim glow. Walking to the egg he seemed to grow in stature. Somewhere through the decades he was remembering what he once had been, remembered that Kings had bowed to his power. The wisemen who had come for advice and the queens that had paid dearly for his service. He took a case from a small drawer in the stand and set it on the table, opening it to reveal a knife wrought in pure silver, hilt and blade one long piece with no other ornamate. Then Abe Capus turned to the fate egg. It was with steady hands that he spread his fingers around the egg and summoned it's power to his will.
The swirling colors quickened and flowed steady over the surface of the egg. In the absence of the firelight the colors made the room swim in rainbows. After the miles and miles of darkness and swamp the stranger leaned closer to it, appreciating the light. Abe turned his hands around the egg slowly, tilting them and puling his fingers back and forth as if he were playing the strings of a harp. His black eyes were slitted and the stranger thought he heard some muttering, but it was incoherent to his ears. It did not take long for Abe to call the threads present in the room to be visible.
They came in patches, shimmering lines drawn through the air. In the presence of the threads everything else in the room became less physical, as if the the threads were the only thing real, the only thing of any consequence. Each thread was remarkably different; some were faint and undecided and some were bright, the fate concrete in its destiny. The colors varied in no order, reds and golds and deep blues mixing and twining with green and orange and white. The strong ones held in their threads pictures and memories of what was to happen. Glimpses of people and places flashed along their surfaces impossibly fast to follow.
"They are echos, glimmers of what might happen," Abe said, sensing the stranger's interest, "see how they move? Through solid objects, through you and me. Nothing physical hampers them, they care only for deeds and thoughts, plans and convictions. Nothing is quite so complex as a fate. A thousand different strands weaving and fraying to make a thread. Always changing. All it takes is one thing, one event to change a fate. With a fate egg though, you can change the course of history!"
Abe kept his fingers twitching and the stranger saw that a few of the threads were now keeping time to the movement. One looped lazily and the loop inched closer to one of the locks in the egg. One end of the loop poked it's way in and twisted around, the lock opened with a pop and a new thread emerged from the egg. This one looked as if it were on fire and the end twitched like a live snake. The stranger could almost see it snap a tiny mouth as it looked for a place to belong.
"A blank thread," Abe breathed, "it can be anything, it is raw potential with no fate of it's own. That is the power fo the fate egg. Quickly! it will latch onto a different thread soon if we do not hurry, it doesn't care where it belongs, it only needs to belong. Joining it so the desired outcome is the result is the real magic. The scroll, quickly!"
Abe's eyes were lit with the fire of the burning thread, his grinning mouth betraying intense joy at the work he was completing. he held out his hand without looking, not taking his eyes off the living thread emerging from the egg, gesturing wildly for the scroll. The stranger placed it in his hands with a grim smile on his shadowed face. Without looking at it Abe Capus unfurled the parchment and plucked at the thread attached to it, feeling it and measuring it's wieght between two fingers. It was solid, thicker than any thread in the room and as pitch black as sin. The fate egg thread turned towards it with obvious hunger, slowly snaking its way closer. It only took a moment for understanding to wash over Abe Capus, he saw the thread lead to the prophesy, he saw what events it was prescribing to transpire and his face drained of color.
"This... no! This prophesy must not be tampered with!" Abe screached, his voice going high from terror, "it is written on the stones! It was foreseen five hundred years ago!"
"It must be." The starnger kept his distance, out from teh web of threads in teh middle of the room but he paced the edge of it, face still hidden by his cowl, "Even this is a small price for what I offer you. I offer you your former life back?"
"It is written on the stones! Before the queen and the serpent, it was set down in the beginning!" Sweat poured from the brow of Abe Capus. In one hand he held the scroll and the other he kept near the egg, keeping the magic running. "I can't, some things can't be changed, some thing shouldn't be changed!"
"The prophesy can not be put off any longer, the prophesy must come true now!" The stranger growled, pacing faster around the edge of the threads.
"Do you know what you are asking? The events that this will change will devastate the world! Our world will be plunged into war, the Queen herlsef will awake and finish her work! All of us will perish, there is not one alive who will survive her wrath!"
"Do it! You have the skill to change this prophesy, Abe Capus! Change this one fate and you will have a fate egg to help you survive, there is nothing more powerful than fate magic, and there is no threader alive more powerful than you!"
"I..."
"If you do this thing, change this one thing, you will be legend."
"But... the stones..."
"Kings will once again come to you for your counsel, your power and your order will be restored! This one thing, quickly! Before it is wasted!"
The firey thread from the egg was writhing frantically now, squirming towards the other threads. The other threads shied away from the egg thread as if it was a preditor, a vile monster in their serene midst. Abe Capus's hands shook, disturbing the rythmn of the magic and the threads started to fade from mortal sight, drifting into the chaotic colors of the fate egg's light. Swaet glistened on Abe's head, his conscience tearing him assunder.
"It's old prophesy... the Queen!"
"You have done worse than this, in the old days men died at your hands, their threads cut by your doing. This is not murder, it is progress. We have not the time to wait another two hundred years for it to be fulfilled! Doing this will make you a hero!"
"I..."
"Do it!" The stranger roared, his voice filling the room. Abe shuddered and then regained control, his fingers were deft as he snatched the silver knife from the table. The cuts were quick and the red fire of the fate egg's thread blended seamlessly with the ethreal fabric of the scroll's thread. the thread's color dulled to the black thickness of the scroll and when it was done Abe Capus hung his head to his chest, tears streaming down his face.
"It's done, the prophesy has been changed. It's unnatural, even for me." He shook his head, "you've condemned us to the lowest pits of torment, it was a prophesy written on the stones! Those can not be so easily changed, you'll see! It takes more than a fate egg, it takes more than a threader!"
"It will be enough."
"It won't! I did it but I shouldn't have, a fate egg. Even for a fate egg, a soul is worth more than that. A lifetime passes too quickly... the eternal is more," He shook his head, "I am condemned, the stones... the stones... They know! Leave now, go... you've brought nothing but pain to me."
Abe didn't even look up as the hammer came down, striking his small frame to the ground. The stranger gathered up the egg and scroll, all the magic in the room dying with the small threader and fading back into the dimness of the embers in the stove he walked out through the door, now hanging open on it's hinges.
"Burn it all." He told the two massive figures waiting paitently outside. Carefully he returned the egg and the scroll to his cloaks, walking back the way he had come. Behind him flames licked upwards, a funeral pyre. The stranger didn't look back.