For Lance Bradley, driving out to the Ophidian Valley Desert was the longest journey he had ever embarked on. It had nothing to do with how much gas his white Honda used to get there. It had everything to do with his mind racing even faster than his vehicle. With his father’s ashes in a golden urn in the back seat, why wouldn’t his mind be racing at a hundred miles per hour. His pale face hadn’t seen a smile since the day his father passed. His pony tailed brown hair was a disheveled mess. His black rimmed glasses did a piss poor job of blurring out the tears forming in his eyes.
It was a thirty minute drive to the desert with a lifetime of sorrowful thoughts and heartache to go with it. When he parked by the side of the road, he shook and staggered his way to the back seat to get his father’s ashes. Stepping out into the desert sand was even more of a chore for his aching body. Who knew depression could hurt so badly in more places than just the mind. After a while of dragging his heavy feet, Lance finally dropped to his knees and let the urn crash onto the ground, though the soft sand kept the golden container from breaking. The tears were coming much more rapidly and his face was turning beet red.
“You must be Lance Bradley,” said a sagely voice. The grieving son picked his burdensome head up and saw that an elderly black dog with hints of gray fur and an Indian head dress was the source of that voice. Lance had the urge to go over and give her endless belly rubs and ear scratches. Hearing her actually form words with her dog muzzle made him reconsider. This wasn’t an ordinary animal. This was the shaman of the Ophidian Valley Desert, Shadow-Pie.
The sagely dog went on to say, “My condolences for your loss, Mr. Bradley. I’m sure he was very special to you.” The pawl bearer cringed and shivered as he stood up with the golden urn in hand. Shadow tilted her head to the side and asked, “Did I say something offensive?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that…well…I wasn’t expecting a dog to carry out this ritual. No offense,” said Lance without making eye contact with Shadow.
“None taken, my child. I get that kind of reaction no matter who comes out here. That golden urn of yours. Bring it here so that I may perform the ritual. I take it you don’t want to spend the whole day out here. Let’s get this done so that you can go home and rest,” suggested Shadow.
Lance stumbled over to the talking dog with the urn clutched to his chest like a child’s teddy bear. Something was bothering him other than the fact that his father was dead. Not even a wise being like Shadow could make out what it was. The pawl bearer set the urn down in front of the sweet-hearted beast and unscrewed the lid.
“Are you absolutely sure you’re okay, Mr. Bradley? Is it just grief from the loss of your father or is it something else?” asked Shadow.
An agitated Lance said, “I told you, Shadow, everything is fine!”
The elderly dog barked at her charge and said in a stern voice, “That’s not the way you talk to a shaman, young man. I was merely trying to figure out if everything was okay. You don’t need to take your aggression out on an animal spirit like me!”
Lance stuffed his hands in his tan khaki pockets, looked down at his feet sheepishly, and said, “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“If it means so much to you, then we can discuss this later. Until then, I have a ritual to perform. Stand as far back as you can, because the air is about to get dusty. Wouldn’t want a fine young man like you to have a sore throat,” said Shadow.
After the grieving son stepped backwards as he was told, Shadow stuck her snout into the urn and breathed in the ashes deep within her system. A few more deep breaths later and the ritual was underway, which consisted of her blowing the ashes out into the desert in the form of a high speed wind. The black cloud eventually turned green. The high winds became even more powerful. Spiritual chanting could be heard from Shadow’s throat as she simultaneously blew the ashes.
The green smoke began to form a dark circle around Shadow and Lance, making the latter of the two shiver and dart his eyes from side to side. If he wasn’t scared before, he was now that the shaman dog’s eyes were dark red and her currently razor sharp teeth were trembling in anger.
Lance tried to talk down the normally friendly dog by saying, “Good girl. She’s a good girl. Would you like a belly rub?” The possessed Shadow barked angrily at her charge and growled at him with white spittle running down her jowls. “Okay, um…how about some beef jerky! I have a whole bag of it in my car!”
The diplomacy of the dead man’s son was unconvincing to the ferocious beast as she leapt through the air and landed on Lance’s chest, pinning him down and barking relentlessly in his screaming face. Lance stopped screaming for a moment when Shadow spoke to him in his father’s gruff voice: “It’s about time you dragged me out here, little boy. There’s nobody around here to save you this time. No cops. No social workers. Not even your clueless mother! I’m going to enjoy every single bit of this torture I have planned for you. The first thing I’m going to do is bite off each of your little fingers one at a time!”
As Shadow slowly went for the first bite, Lance’s pants-pissing fear was replaced with a berserker’s courage. “Screw you, Dad!” he yelled as he landed a palm strike on the possessed dog’s nose. Shadow stumbled backwards long enough for Lance to stand up and put his dukes up.
But this wasn’t going to be an epic fight to the death. A dog’s nose was the most sensitive part of the beast’s body. Instead of charging at the dead man’s son with bloodlust, Shadow began to suck in air quickly before sneezing a hurricane of green spiritual energy. Lance was blown backwards into his car, where the back of his head bounced off of the hood and knocked him temporarily unconscious. As his vision was going black, all he could see was the green energy of his dead father cursing at him with venom in his voice.
It felt like an entire year had passed since this incident took place, but only because Lance Bradley had a monstrous headache as he awakened from his TKO at the hands of Shadow. The sky was a dark blue and the golden sun was setting underneath the horizon. Just exactly how much time did pass? Lance didn’t care. He rubbed the back of his sore head as he was coming around. He had a little bit of a bump there, but nothing more.
Shadow seemed a bit wobbly herself as she waddled over to her client, who sat against his car door with his butt on the desert ground. Shadow also seemed a little upset with Lance as she stared into his eyes with a little bit of a furrow in her brows. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mr. Bradley? Is there a reason why the spirit of your ‘loving’ father caused me to nearly kill both of us? I want answers, Lance. I want them now!”
“I can’t talk about it, Shadow. I just can’t,” said a whimpering Lance.
“Listen to me, son,” said the sagely dog. “You came all the way out to this desert for a reason. Someone obviously sent you out here to carry out your father’s final wishes. But your father’s final wishes weren’t necessarily yours, were they, Lance? You don’t have to give me all the details of your father’s sins, but maybe a surface-level description would satisfy me. I need to know why I transformed into that horrible beast.”
A teary silence befell Lance before he finally mustered up the strength to say, “I was…I was…”
“You were what? Don’t run away from your past, my dear. Face it head on and create a better future. You were almost denied that future when I inhaled your father’s spirit. Are you going to let him do this to you from beyond the grave?” said Shadow.
After taking a few deep breaths, Lance Bradley spilled the beans on his father’s transgressions. “I was only eight years old. You don’t make an eight year old do those things. You don’t make him taste those tastes. You don’t make him feel embarrassed like that. You don’t touch your own son that way!” The last sentence was shouted with all of Lance’s pent up frustrations. The tears were pouring like rain at this point.
“Do you feel that?” asked Shadow. “Inside each of those tears is the spiritual energy of your past agony. They’ve stayed within you for so long. You were afraid to let them out for fear of reliving those days. I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to live those days anymore, my son. The truth set you free. You set your father’s soul free. And I am right here beside you. I always will be. Dogs like me were put on this earth to give comfort to those who need it. I am giving all of my comfort to you. Keep those floodgates open and learn to love again.”
Shadow nuzzled her soft head against Lance’s chest while the sobbing son wrapped his trembling arms around his new doggie. “Your fur is so soft. I could pet you all day long. Is it okay if I pet you?” asked Lance.
“You don’t have to ask me, my child. You can pet me for as long as you want to. Take your time and don’t let up until you’re ready to hit the road again,” said the loving Shadow-Pie.
The petting session, the flowing tears, and the heartache of it all lasted for hours that night. The sun had gone to sleep for the day and the full moon glowed brightly for the sagely animal and her new owner Lance. Peace and tranquility had come to Ophidian Valley once more.
Showing posts with label Shaman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shaman. Show all posts
Friday, December 11, 2015
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Spiritual Medicine For Schizophrenics
***SPIRITUAL MEDICINE FOR SCHIZOPHRENICS***
In shamanistic cultures, whenever a fellow tribesperson is feeling depressed, anxious, or otherwise mentally ill, he would go see the medicine man. In order to fulfill his diagnosis, the medicine man would ask the tribesperson how his reaction to music was affected. Did he not feel like dancing? Was he too upset to feel the raw energy? Was his rhythm interrupted? Music was obviously a huge part of shamanistic culture and continues to drive the modern human being in today’s world. Music isn’t just mere entertainment. It’s spiritual medicine for the soul.
But for me personally, as a schizophrenic, my heavy metal music sometimes feels like an obstacle that needs to be conquered instead of spiritual medicine. Sounds backwards, right? Heavy metal legend Max Cavalera says he uses his music as a way to cope with life’s problems, especially the death of his stepson Dana Wells. I’d like very much to have the same attitude as Max, but my brain geography doesn’t allow that to happen. When I’m in the middle of a schizophrenic episode and I’m listening to a metal song, the hurtful voices and images are waiting for me at the song’s intense moments. So instead of getting fired up on guitars and drums, I get a head full of psychological garbage. As someone whose whole creative life is based on heavy metal music, I feel like my own mind is pulling a Clockwork Orange on me.
Music isn’t the only spiritual medicine for mentally ill people such as me. Other everyday activities could qualify as well. I’m currently friends with a Good Reads author named Deepak Charles, who by his own admission uses creative writing as a way of escaping the stressful world around him. Even when he’s mentally and physically exhausted from college assignments, he never misses an opportunity to write, especially when he knows about the therapeutic effects of such. For me personally, schizophrenia interferes with my writing sometimes and like listening to metal songs, writing can feel like an obstacle instead of therapy.
In order for something to qualify as spiritual medicine for my overactive brain, it has to have a certain calming effect and it can’t require a great deal of stress control. As of today, I have three different hobbies that I consider to be spiritual medicine: watching wrestling, drawing pictures, and listening to new age music. Wrestling isn’t the most sophisticated form of entertainment, so it doesn’t require that I max out my mental energies. That’s not a knock on wrestling, that’s just the way my mind works. Drawing a picture of one of my Dark Fantasy Warriors only requires that I have good awareness skills. I use reference pictures all the time for my drawings, so I don’t have to worry about being lost in the dark.
I talk all the time about new age music and how calming and sleep-inducing it is. The reason I continually talk about it is because it is my most important form of spiritual medicine. Heavy metal music is stressful in nature, albeit positive stress that encourages an energetic response. In order for a schizophrenic mind to calm down, the music has to be calm as well. It’s not just elevator music with randomized titles. It means something deep to me. It means that one day I’ll be calm and collected enough to return to what I love: rocking out and writing kick-ass stories. If you ever need a way to calm down, then read this song list I’m about to type out. They’re all new age songs and they’re so peaceful to listen to that they too can be considered spiritual medicine.
“Always Good News” by Bruce Becvar
“Amanda” by Aisha Duo
“Arati” by Rasa
“Bibo No Aozora” by Ryuichi Sakamoto
“The Children’s Garden” by Tingstad and Rumbel
“Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz
“Desert Skies” by Scott August
“The Dreams of Children” by Shadowfax
“Heartsteps” by Tim Wheater
“Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny
“Longing/Love” by George Winston
“The Lotus Eaters” by Darshan Ambient
“Mare Residuelle” by Aura5
“Moon Temple” by Karunesh
“Morning Coffee with Grandma” by Donovan Johnson
“On a Bright May Morning” by Loreena McKennitt
“Places in the Heart” by David Arkenstone
“The Room of Ancillary Dreams” by Harold Budd
“Saraswati Dreams” by Ananda and Jaya Lakshmi
“Watermark” by Enya
“Wing and a Prayer” by Mike Stern
“Your Heart Can Sing” by Bruce Becvar
I took each of these songs and made two CD’s out of them for my mother. She loves them. You’ll love them too if you seek them out on You Tube or any other music distributor.
No matter what form of spiritual medicine you choose for yourself, know that you will one day realize what it means to be healed. If you don’t feel like it’s been a perfect recovery, don’t worry, because you’re perfect to me just the way you are. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***THE GIRLFRIEND WAGER***
If you follow me on Good Reads, you’ll know that in addition to “Silence of the Lambs”, I’ve also been reading “The Girlfriend Wager” by my good friend Edward Davies simultaneously. He did me a solid by reading and honestly reviewing Occupy Wrestling, so now I’m returning the favor by doing the same thing for his sex comedy. I’m 55% done with it and I originally had plans to blitz right through reading the rest of it. Why not? It’s fast-paced, easy to digest, and it’s easy on my eyes. Unfortunately, my plans took a detour when I dumbly decided to watch massage videos on You Tube instead. As much as I need a good massage, “The Girlfriend Wager” needs attention. I read 30 pages of it today, so I can definitely manage the other 45% of the book.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
As soon as I get back into the writing groove, my next independently-written short story will be “Sage Against the Machine”. Here’s the synopsis for it:
CHARACTERS:
Eli Magruder, Hermit Sage
Caitlin Sparks, Swordfighter
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Did I not just say this will be independently-written?
SYNOPSIS: In an apocalyptic future dominated by authority, Caitlin goes to the mountains to seek advice from Eli on how to combat the oppression. The answers she gets are so unbelievable to her that she considers walking away and trying her own brand of justice. But the more time she allows Eli to speak, the more he makes sense.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Since drawing these characters is a secondary form of spiritual medicine, I think I owe the internet a nice picture of Leif Kampmann from the short story “Gates of Hell”. He’s a demon mask-wearing MMA vampire who used to be one of the lead characters to a novel I wrote in 2011 called “World of Darkness: Washington”. That novel met the same fate as every other crappy piece of literature I wrote during that time: it’s gone forever. Now Leif will have new life (see what I did there?) as a lead villain from “Gates of Hell” and in my drawing of him, he’ll be wearing his demon mask.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“A cloud of eiderdown draws around me softening the sound. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And the candle dies. When night comes down, you lock the door. The book falls to the floor. As darkness falls and waves roll by, the seasons change, the wind is warm. Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan. Behold a dream, the dream is gone. Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn. And deep beneath the ground, the early morning sounds and I go down. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And I rise like a bird in the haze and the first rays touch the sky. And the night winds die.”
-Pink Floyd singing “A Pillow of Winds”-
In shamanistic cultures, whenever a fellow tribesperson is feeling depressed, anxious, or otherwise mentally ill, he would go see the medicine man. In order to fulfill his diagnosis, the medicine man would ask the tribesperson how his reaction to music was affected. Did he not feel like dancing? Was he too upset to feel the raw energy? Was his rhythm interrupted? Music was obviously a huge part of shamanistic culture and continues to drive the modern human being in today’s world. Music isn’t just mere entertainment. It’s spiritual medicine for the soul.
But for me personally, as a schizophrenic, my heavy metal music sometimes feels like an obstacle that needs to be conquered instead of spiritual medicine. Sounds backwards, right? Heavy metal legend Max Cavalera says he uses his music as a way to cope with life’s problems, especially the death of his stepson Dana Wells. I’d like very much to have the same attitude as Max, but my brain geography doesn’t allow that to happen. When I’m in the middle of a schizophrenic episode and I’m listening to a metal song, the hurtful voices and images are waiting for me at the song’s intense moments. So instead of getting fired up on guitars and drums, I get a head full of psychological garbage. As someone whose whole creative life is based on heavy metal music, I feel like my own mind is pulling a Clockwork Orange on me.
Music isn’t the only spiritual medicine for mentally ill people such as me. Other everyday activities could qualify as well. I’m currently friends with a Good Reads author named Deepak Charles, who by his own admission uses creative writing as a way of escaping the stressful world around him. Even when he’s mentally and physically exhausted from college assignments, he never misses an opportunity to write, especially when he knows about the therapeutic effects of such. For me personally, schizophrenia interferes with my writing sometimes and like listening to metal songs, writing can feel like an obstacle instead of therapy.
In order for something to qualify as spiritual medicine for my overactive brain, it has to have a certain calming effect and it can’t require a great deal of stress control. As of today, I have three different hobbies that I consider to be spiritual medicine: watching wrestling, drawing pictures, and listening to new age music. Wrestling isn’t the most sophisticated form of entertainment, so it doesn’t require that I max out my mental energies. That’s not a knock on wrestling, that’s just the way my mind works. Drawing a picture of one of my Dark Fantasy Warriors only requires that I have good awareness skills. I use reference pictures all the time for my drawings, so I don’t have to worry about being lost in the dark.
I talk all the time about new age music and how calming and sleep-inducing it is. The reason I continually talk about it is because it is my most important form of spiritual medicine. Heavy metal music is stressful in nature, albeit positive stress that encourages an energetic response. In order for a schizophrenic mind to calm down, the music has to be calm as well. It’s not just elevator music with randomized titles. It means something deep to me. It means that one day I’ll be calm and collected enough to return to what I love: rocking out and writing kick-ass stories. If you ever need a way to calm down, then read this song list I’m about to type out. They’re all new age songs and they’re so peaceful to listen to that they too can be considered spiritual medicine.
“Always Good News” by Bruce Becvar
“Amanda” by Aisha Duo
“Arati” by Rasa
“Bibo No Aozora” by Ryuichi Sakamoto
“The Children’s Garden” by Tingstad and Rumbel
“Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz
“Desert Skies” by Scott August
“The Dreams of Children” by Shadowfax
“Heartsteps” by Tim Wheater
“Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny
“Longing/Love” by George Winston
“The Lotus Eaters” by Darshan Ambient
“Mare Residuelle” by Aura5
“Moon Temple” by Karunesh
“Morning Coffee with Grandma” by Donovan Johnson
“On a Bright May Morning” by Loreena McKennitt
“Places in the Heart” by David Arkenstone
“The Room of Ancillary Dreams” by Harold Budd
“Saraswati Dreams” by Ananda and Jaya Lakshmi
“Watermark” by Enya
“Wing and a Prayer” by Mike Stern
“Your Heart Can Sing” by Bruce Becvar
I took each of these songs and made two CD’s out of them for my mother. She loves them. You’ll love them too if you seek them out on You Tube or any other music distributor.
No matter what form of spiritual medicine you choose for yourself, know that you will one day realize what it means to be healed. If you don’t feel like it’s been a perfect recovery, don’t worry, because you’re perfect to me just the way you are. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***THE GIRLFRIEND WAGER***
If you follow me on Good Reads, you’ll know that in addition to “Silence of the Lambs”, I’ve also been reading “The Girlfriend Wager” by my good friend Edward Davies simultaneously. He did me a solid by reading and honestly reviewing Occupy Wrestling, so now I’m returning the favor by doing the same thing for his sex comedy. I’m 55% done with it and I originally had plans to blitz right through reading the rest of it. Why not? It’s fast-paced, easy to digest, and it’s easy on my eyes. Unfortunately, my plans took a detour when I dumbly decided to watch massage videos on You Tube instead. As much as I need a good massage, “The Girlfriend Wager” needs attention. I read 30 pages of it today, so I can definitely manage the other 45% of the book.
***POISON TONGUE TALES***
As soon as I get back into the writing groove, my next independently-written short story will be “Sage Against the Machine”. Here’s the synopsis for it:
CHARACTERS:
Eli Magruder, Hermit Sage
Caitlin Sparks, Swordfighter
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Did I not just say this will be independently-written?
SYNOPSIS: In an apocalyptic future dominated by authority, Caitlin goes to the mountains to seek advice from Eli on how to combat the oppression. The answers she gets are so unbelievable to her that she considers walking away and trying her own brand of justice. But the more time she allows Eli to speak, the more he makes sense.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Since drawing these characters is a secondary form of spiritual medicine, I think I owe the internet a nice picture of Leif Kampmann from the short story “Gates of Hell”. He’s a demon mask-wearing MMA vampire who used to be one of the lead characters to a novel I wrote in 2011 called “World of Darkness: Washington”. That novel met the same fate as every other crappy piece of literature I wrote during that time: it’s gone forever. Now Leif will have new life (see what I did there?) as a lead villain from “Gates of Hell” and in my drawing of him, he’ll be wearing his demon mask.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“A cloud of eiderdown draws around me softening the sound. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And the candle dies. When night comes down, you lock the door. The book falls to the floor. As darkness falls and waves roll by, the seasons change, the wind is warm. Now wakes the owl, now sleeps the swan. Behold a dream, the dream is gone. Green fields, a cold rain is falling in a golden dawn. And deep beneath the ground, the early morning sounds and I go down. Sleepy time when I lie with my love by my side and she’s breathing low. And I rise like a bird in the haze and the first rays touch the sky. And the night winds die.”
-Pink Floyd singing “A Pillow of Winds”-
Monday, November 17, 2014
Audrey Chainsaw
Okay, so chainsaws weren’t invented in the dark ages, but it’s still pretty damn sweet to see a sorceress with the name Audrey Chainsaw coming to Deckard Cain’s rescue. The name alone is enough to send shivers down the spines of imp demons (not that they don’t already have them as evidenced by their constant evasions). If my Diablo II: Lord of Destruction sorceress was named Audrey Periwinkle, her dead enemies would come back to life just to laugh at her. She would die of low self-esteem, which sounds nastier than some of the things Diablo’s minions did to the rogue soldiers with their torture devices.
Although Audrey didn’t carry an anachronistic weapon around like a chainsaw, she was still a deadly sorceress to play with in Diablo II. She was just like any other sorceress I played with in the sense she specialized in cold magic. Just one blast from Audrey’s mystic energies would either slow down or completely immobilize her opponents (the latter provided it wasn’t a boss enemy).
Once the enemies were frozen in place, Audrey whacked them relentlessly with whatever weapon she had until they turned into puddles of water. Puddles of water can’t be resurrected in the same way a fresh corpse can, which is bad news for an imp shaman as well as Blood Raven. Then again, it’s also bad news for any necromancer that might want to be in my adventuring party since they too can raise undead minions.
In a game where fast enemies can cause a fast death, slowing them down with frost magic is essential. Unfortunately, that’s where the fun ends with Audrey Chainsaw and any other sorceress using cold magic. Audrey became so dependent on her magic that she never had the chance to beef herself up into a legitimate warrior. And what was she supposed to do against an enemy with mana burn? Or what if she used her magic so many times and drank all of her mana potions? Limited mana is the one thing about magic users that pissed me off no matter what fantasy-themed game I was playing, which is why I favored warriors since they could take a beating as well as give a relentless one.
Audrey never made it past the first act. Every time she engaged in battle with Andariel, she was killed so easily that resurrecting her became a pain in the ass after a while. While it may be too late for Audrey Chainsaw to become a legitimate threat in a videogame, it’s not too late for her as a book character.
Seeing as how her last name is Chainsaw, she’d have to have powerful cold magic right off the bat. No learning, no sharing, no growth, just straight up cold magic. But if she’s not required to learn anything, then it means she can’t be the main character of whatever book I’m writing. Main characters grow and develop while side characters may already be there and villains weaken over time. I loved playing as Audrey in Diablo II, but if she has to play second banana in order to make a story believable, then so be it. I wouldn’t even be opposed to making her the main villain. We’ll just wait and see what happens.
***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
ME: Tomorrow in school, Reina is going to learn about the Norwegian deserts and the Mexican glaciers.
SUSAN: Why would she be learning about that? Wait a minute, you’re an asshole!
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Mars Deathstyle
If you work in a creative field, you’ve probably heard the phrase “Inspiration can strike anytime” at least a million times. When it came to the creation of a character named Mars Deathstyle, inspiration was a handicapped match in which my opponents were Diablo II and Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II. You see, Mars is a dual class character. He’s a barbarian (Diablo II) slash Jedi consular (Star Wars: KOTOR II). If we need an official name for his combined character class, it would be a shaman since they’re basically primitive wizards.
Mars Deathstyle was the voice of reason character in a 2006 dark fantasy movie script I wrote called City of Darkness. The movie was about an ongoing war between the light paladins (followers of Luther) and dark paladins (followers of Quinn). Apparently, being the voice of reason in this movie script is a 24/7 job, because the main characters changed alignment every five pages. There was one character who went from a light paladin to a dark paladin to someone completely neutral. The other characters were no more decisive.
When you’re a staff-wielding badass barbarian wizard like Mars Deathstyle and you have to preach a message to these indecisive bastards, how do you do it without going insane? You’d truly have to know something that the main characters don’t. That secret ended up being Luther and Quinn purposefully pitting human warriors against each other for their mutual amusement. The whole war was one big sham. Imagine that: war isn’t the answer after all.
Okay, so you have access to this very dark secret, now you have to get your message out to the participants of this war. The only problem is, the followers of these two “deities” are paladins and paladins are known for being devout zealots. Mars would have had a better time rehabilitating members of the Westboro Baptist Church. The stronger the zeal, the taller the task.
To do Mars’s job of convincing people they’re wrong, you have to have a certain set of skills. These skills include, but are not limited to powerful voice inflection, research of facts, natural charisma, and resources to spread this message where a booming voice isn’t always enough. To my surprise, Mars was actually able to put an end to this war with these things alone.
Ergo, the next time he gets used in a story of mine, he will be known as a wise peacekeeper. The only time when he’ll use his combative magic is if his life is being threatened. And trust me, with a last name like Deathstyle, you don’t want this crotchety old man throwing a fireball or a lightning bolt at you. Mars may be close to the retirement age, but his career is far from over.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at the barrel of an ArmaLite. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days keeping out of trouble like the soldiers say. I don’t want to spend my time in hell looking at the walls of a prison cell. I don’t ever want to play the part of a statistic on a government chart. There has to be an invisible sun. It gives its heat to everyone. There has to be an invisible sun. It gives us hope when the hope is gone.”
-The Police singing “Invisible Sun”-
Mars Deathstyle was the voice of reason character in a 2006 dark fantasy movie script I wrote called City of Darkness. The movie was about an ongoing war between the light paladins (followers of Luther) and dark paladins (followers of Quinn). Apparently, being the voice of reason in this movie script is a 24/7 job, because the main characters changed alignment every five pages. There was one character who went from a light paladin to a dark paladin to someone completely neutral. The other characters were no more decisive.
When you’re a staff-wielding badass barbarian wizard like Mars Deathstyle and you have to preach a message to these indecisive bastards, how do you do it without going insane? You’d truly have to know something that the main characters don’t. That secret ended up being Luther and Quinn purposefully pitting human warriors against each other for their mutual amusement. The whole war was one big sham. Imagine that: war isn’t the answer after all.
Okay, so you have access to this very dark secret, now you have to get your message out to the participants of this war. The only problem is, the followers of these two “deities” are paladins and paladins are known for being devout zealots. Mars would have had a better time rehabilitating members of the Westboro Baptist Church. The stronger the zeal, the taller the task.
To do Mars’s job of convincing people they’re wrong, you have to have a certain set of skills. These skills include, but are not limited to powerful voice inflection, research of facts, natural charisma, and resources to spread this message where a booming voice isn’t always enough. To my surprise, Mars was actually able to put an end to this war with these things alone.
Ergo, the next time he gets used in a story of mine, he will be known as a wise peacekeeper. The only time when he’ll use his combative magic is if his life is being threatened. And trust me, with a last name like Deathstyle, you don’t want this crotchety old man throwing a fireball or a lightning bolt at you. Mars may be close to the retirement age, but his career is far from over.
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking at the barrel of an ArmaLite. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days keeping out of trouble like the soldiers say. I don’t want to spend my time in hell looking at the walls of a prison cell. I don’t ever want to play the part of a statistic on a government chart. There has to be an invisible sun. It gives its heat to everyone. There has to be an invisible sun. It gives us hope when the hope is gone.”
-The Police singing “Invisible Sun”-
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)