Prologue


In the land of Sartu, the many tribes of the Western Lands were often warring. In this story, main plot will be following an elite warrior magician called Durit in the tribe of Larre, a small mountainside village near the sea of Garsh. When the first chapter begins, Durit will be training on horseback to prepare for the upcoming military parade in which all of the Sarturian nations will be presenting their tribe’s greatest feats, and in Larre’s case, they’re military.

Chapter 1

Durit charged forward with immense speed of his horse, Farlen, swinging his war staff wildly and bellowing a ferocious cry.
“Very good! Very good! Congratulations to you!”
The counselor, Perfu, had been silently waching Durit’s progress and taking him by surprise. Durit turned once again and rushed at the attack dummy. He slashed at it with intense power and it was dismembered in a matter of seconds.
Perfu walked forward with a catlike kind of agility. Durit dismounted Farlen and strode toward Perfu, hulking and sweating buckets.
“How is my report, counselor Perfu?”
Perfu replied in a nonchalant but proud answer.
“I am sure all of the savage attackers that plague us now will think about
swinging their crudely made stone blades and clubs at our ranks after this year’s parade!”
Durit smiled and thanked Perfu. He tied Farlen to a post and returned to his own quarters for a cool bath and a practice with his newly learned spellfire barrage. In his quarters, his old friend, Gedumac, was laying in his bunk, softly weeping. When Durit asked him what had happened to make his good friend so sad, he replied,
“My son, Dunlos, was captured and enslaved by the Crimson Ring traveling nomads. You remember our last encounter with them, right?”
Durit thought back a moment. He recalled the Crimson Rings as being a brutal, noncaring tribe of barbaric fiends who took pleasure in torture and using totally untamed wild animals as mounts for battle. In their last meeting, Durit had broken his wrist in a tussle with a Crimson Ring warrior of his own rank mounted on a massive baboon, which was covered from head to tail with spiky armor that seemed to be quite painful, for it was protruding through the rider’s own armor and piercing his skin. The rider had a deadly aura about him that made Durit feel unsafe, even with his trusted war staff and his horse, Farlen.
“I will go after them immediately!” cried Durit. Your son is an honorable young man, and he will most likely face certain death if he is with them too long!

I was sick today and yesterday. I was home from school because I puked a few times. I pretty much watched TV for ten hours straight, having to pull myself through grim horrors such as "The Land Before Time V", and "Spy Kids 2: The Island of Lost Dreams", which were both on the *shudder* "Disney Channel Daytime Movie Bash". Wow. That rolls of the toungue easily, doesn't it?

There once was a small town. This town was inhabited by small, mute blobs the color of newly fallen snow. These blobs had a simple economy: work and rest. They lived together in harmony, and whatever they did was silent. No one was more equal than one another. The only exception was one blob called Harvey. Everybody new his name, only because he had something different: a small red blotch on his cheek. Harvey thought of himself as a normal person, but everyone else treated him with extra respect because of the red blotch on his cheek. One day, something very strange happened. Two cone shaped blobs appeared, except each of them was bright green. They shouted strange words and moved in strange ways. The snow-colored blobs had never heard a sound in any of their lives, so they were quite overwhelmed when the green cones arrived. They took things from the blobs, without their permission. The blobs were mute, so they couldn’t object or speak out. All of the blobs looked to Harvey to guide them, and Harvey opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak. All that came out was a single sound.
“No.”
The blobs all began to cheer for the first time in their lives. Harvey smiled and cheered, too.



The moral of the story is:




IT’S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS.

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Ok, so me and my friend Brendan want to start a band- maybe. We've been brainstorming names for it, but can't seem to decide on a name, and new ones keep popping up. Got any ideas? Leave me a comment if you have an idea. Oh, and we want to keep it appropriate (non-explicit).

Yeah, I kinda-sorta forgot that imeem existed. Now I'm BACK, BABY!



I like teh rhino.