Untitled Sword-and Soul Story

This was my final assignment for my Creative Writing class. After reading this again, I could have done so much better. Then again, this was my first attempt at Sword-and Soul. MAn, I really have a bad habit of not editing my first drafts! Here it is, and this was written BEFORE Stormwizard.

Written by Brandon K. Markham

Draak sharpened his spear after he killed the two guards in fron of the fortress. The defensive bulk of rock rose from the surrounding hay field underneath a black sky that was dominated by the moon. Draak had no time to think of the two guards, he only came with one purpose in mind. And with that’ he walked in the rock fortress, into the hollow as qutiley and swiftly as possible.
Torches lit the darkned ways of the articifla corrdors. The walls were rocky, not marble walled like some of the cities. Magic hummed in the fortress, Draak inspecting intricately drawn runes on the walls and celings, and even stalagmites. The spearman saw his own bark colorecd skin glisten in the brilliance of fire, and saw other guards in the corridors. The guards wore silver tunics that reached their ankles, and wore sandals like Draaka’s and either swords or spears carried on their backs or waists.
So, it IS true…Draak confirmed. He look at the young face of one such child not ten paces ahead when Draak stole to the shadows. The boy had a hard look on his face, one of a patriotic soldier ready to die for his lord. Anger and hatred swelled with sadness, as the rumors of abductions were indeed true. If so true, then Draak needed to hurry-
The boy screamed. It was a more like a warcry than an innocent scream, his face hardening, ready for battle. It was only then that Draak relized his leg shone in the light out of the shadows. That cry summoned other children, notably a small girl no more than eight with her heair bradiied and seathed a long sinous blade, and another boy who looked to be a newcomer into the world, carrying a small smspear. What madness is this be! So Draak reveraled himself in thew shadows, and ran to the corrsor on the western wing, left of the hollowed entrance. The runes were getting more intricate with every foot forward, and less familiar. Draak never touched on the study of Magic anyways, since it was forbidden by the kings. Kony however, would be one such person to do just that to get his way, and all in the name of his GHod as well. Draak ran and aran, with the children screaming for battle, screaming for victoyr, when more children increased their ranks. Draak was a fast runner, something he learned in the seventeen years he prepared for this day, as well as training withg the assegai he crafted from elepahnt’s tusks. However, such skills would not ;last forever.
I will not kill a child! The thought of such and act taunted him,. He poushed it away, but it still lingered, as if that was the only option he had ahd. The children were still puashing with energy, and Draak, with his age of thruty eight, was brginning to tire. He was a master spearman who knows the arts in and out, but he…would…not…use..then…to..kill..a..chikle! I will not! The odds were against hium.
A he spear went into the toddler’s torso. The next hit sliced the girl, the boy fell with ease, and the teenager died behind him. The next child died, and the nect one fell, sand the next alonmg with it. The children were beginning to make a road to the start of the corridor. And all this snes eless killing…all this violwnce that Draak wrought upon the childred…the spearman begged for forgiveness. He feared that God would not look upon him with eyes of forgiveness, but those of hatred and anger. Draaak heated himself. After killing the children, Draak hurt himself and his stomach, when he turned those thought away, and travled the corridors. He would need no distractions when it came to saving his daugyhter.

When Kony had heard the news, he killed the child in blinded rage, then, after seeing what he did, asked for fogiveness. Children served the messiah of God, to destroy the goivernemtn that shackled mankind to a world of worldly desires and unending pain. For this end, Kpny began the Army of God, to rise fear from the politicians and tell them that God’s wrath was coming. But that was not the case. Kony dismissed the black shrouded figure.

Did I end up in sime kind oif labyrinth? Draak was starting to get annoyed and it rose with every minute. The corridors seemed to be going arounf circles, and was perplexing and hard to navigate. He marked one of the walls with a mark from his assegai, and he came back to that same spot three times. As frustating as it was howvewr, he could not give up hope. It had been seventeen years since that grim day. When Kony destroyed his village and took his daughter. Seventeen years since he last saw Mawu. Now he was a master spearman, and now is the time to save her. Now…he only had to find his way to Kony, that deranged maniac!
Draak stumbled upon a room. It had many cages, some hanging from the rock iciles on top, and some just on the bottome. The child guard dlept in a chair at the far end of the room. Draak made his way to the prison cells, and could tell that the women were beaten and ravished. Young women who lost their beauty and diginity, their prime shattered…could have been bo other than Kony! Face so tight that the wrinkled did not hide…not her. Short and a bit plump…not her. After looking at nearly twenty cells both on ground and up, Mawu was noit ina sinlge cell! Then a woman called for him
“Who…who are you?” She was old, but no wrinkle scarred her face. She was garbed in a green dress with tiger prints and embroidered in gold with a matching felt. Somehow…Draak felt a connection with this person…but it was not Mawu, he was certain.
To answer her question, Draak said, “I have come here for my daughter, whom Kony stole from me seventeen years past. Do you know who she is?” At first, silence fell in the room, but the woman spke.
“Mawu…Mawu…” she spoke, her eyes rolling, searching for any conection to that name. “Could she be the mother of these chilfren?”
Mother? No…
“I believe she is. Yes…I remember her now. Seventeen years past, she was kept in a cell like this all the time. When she was of age…she birthed the majority of his children…he always took in beatigful women.” Draak fell to his knees. The slain children’s faces rose in his mind, thought ravaginf his mind. He could have screamed, but did not want to wake up that guard. He did not want to kill anymore of the children, now that he found out that theyr were…they were..his-
A warcry pierced his ears. Draak stood to find a child rushing towards him, spear first. Draak uncounsciuly raised his and the child ran into it. Streams of blood kissed Draak’s face, who just realized what had happened. The child fell, with not even a signle scream. He dide a soldier’s death as Draak withdrew his spear. His eyes widened in disblief, and they reflected with the woman’s smiliar brown eyes.
“That was your…” the tired voice of the elderly woman suggested, but trailed off. “From here, there are stairs…go up the steps. You will find your daughter…and Kony.”
Draak almost did not hear her. I did it again….God, forgive me…please God…forgive ME! As he curtsied and left the door, tears swelled up in his eyes.
“He wasn,t always a bad son you know” Draak snapped his back towards the woman. His jaw dropped, but he snapped it back up, shutting it. He turned to the wodden and splintered door, and opened it, returning to the corridors.

Following her directions, the spearman came to a corridor with screaming children. Not aain…please God…noit AGAIN! The children came with their swords and soears. Draak did not even raise his. He would not kill children…he would not kill his own blood.
A whistle echoed. The children stood, backed into the walls in ranks, as if to surround the spearman. I was their, that a black shrouded figure whose face was covered I darkness walked up the steps and into the torchlights, carrying a spear. Draak paused and looked. This was no child. The figure attacked, charging the spearman with a the spaer. Draak parried and tried to stab the figure, but it jumped back, and threw the spear. Draak split it upon impact, splinters pirecing his armorless skin. The figure produced another spear. Draak held up his in defense to the plunged that could have killed him. The figure then, suddenly, swung the spear, blade maning the cut into Draak’s neck. Draak caught it, but wiced at the pain. He pushed it away. The figure battle hard in an organized way, and with every move a touch of death followed. Draak could not die just yet, so when the figure jumped into the air and plunged, Draak rolled, and stabbed the figure in the back.
The figure’s hood dropped, and the light reflected on the beautiful ebony face that was Mawu. Draak let go of his spear, and she fell. The children all ran to her body, whose cheeks were still rosy, and eyes were widened. No…had she known?
Draak cried. His tears fell on the cold ground and heard the childrens cries as well. He did not even bother asking God for fogiveness. He could not push these thoughts away, as the faces of his slain children filled his mind. Slian…by this hands. Vengence…that was all he could think about. Draak had some fault in this…but if Kony did not even come ti his village, then none of this wouldn’t have happened. This Gave him the drive to stop Kony from ever doing this to anyone else again. This gave him reason…this gave him courage. Draak moved across the children, who did not even break to kill him. Threy wew stilol distruahgt. Drak enetered the wooden door, and faced Knoy.

The mage known as Kornelius Ashona, or Kony for short, was shroudee in deep purple with runes lacing his eyes, neck, hands, and face. The cvoiel was purple as well, but it did not hide his dark face and emerald eyes that held no guilt. Drakk rose his spear. The room was more like an altar, deep steps from froue directions laeding to the center, and KKony was standing on top.
“Are you another one of the kings dogs?” Kony had asked, Draak gave no answer. “No…you afe not…I know you. Well, at least heard of you.” Draak gave no impression. His thoughts were to only kill the man who destroyed the lives of these vhildren…knowing that he himself has destroyed others as well. “You are MAwu,s father…she always said that you would come to save her. Howq much do you love her? Do you eeven know? TO come seventeen uyears later, come into my and…” Knoy’s eyes widened, then a mocking smile came on his face, unnerving Draak who lowered his spear by a few inches “Your grandchildreds blood and Mawu’s as well screams from your stained blade...” Knoy let out a laugh “How did it feel? To slay your own kin…how did you feel to kill my children. Do on tfear, I seek not vengeance…that is is less children needed for what I am poaniing.” Draak let his face lead him into perplexity. Kony’s tone implied that the children were used more than just fighting.
“You know, like all the rest of the people, that my army fights the kings who control us all. Out kings are corrupted with power, and we are suffering everyday…do they help us. No. They do not care for human life. RThat is why murder and rape are commonplace, why thievery has not been solved, and why the problem of evil is still a problem” Draak nevber knew this side of Kony. But still…!
“The children are needed for so muchg more. They will not fight” Draak dropped his spear. Thoese children with weapon…if they were not going to fight, then what were they doing?
“I need sacrifices to summon a beats so powerful, that the government will be destroyed.” Picking back up his spear, He pointed it to the mage once more. Draka now understood the runes in the foirtress.
“You…monster! You destroyued whole civilazations to take these children, ruined the lived of people, and changed their mentalility. The givernemnt is not the problem, the people running it is! You talke odf God as your father, and tat you are our Messiah. A real Messiah is no monster like you!”
“Killing one’s own grandchildren and daughter are noit acts to make a monster more than a fiary tale than? Draak?” Draak did not move, hiding his frustaion behond a face that scvreamed for Kony’s death.
“Very well then…” Kony lauched himself into the air and stayed. Levitating, he darkned the room as the sun rose and let its rays flood into the room. “You may die like the dog you are then. I will rule, and we will all be happy!”

Draak dodgyed the fifth ball of fire, but it was too close. This was like fighting a bird, Kony did not stay still! Sure, Draak had gotten him a few times, but they were all grazes at Kony’s feet. In a last ditch effort, Draak threw his spear at Kony at a close range, since attacking from the ground was useless. Kony couahgt the projectile however, anmd threw it.
Pain flared in Draak’s torso when the spear protruded from his chest. His heart slowed, Draak feeling his life give way so fast. Kony laughed.
“The kings will all die, and the kingdom of God shall rise from the world’s ashes…yes. This entire world is filled eiith sein, and so….with this beast, I shall burn this dammed world into nothing, and rasie it again from the ashes! It is the wioll of God!” Kony did not laugh, but instead turned away. The runes suddenly bvrightehedn in the dark room, and hummed. Lights of blue, red, and gold laced each other and travled to the centewr of the altar where Kony was. The room lightened more with every second. Screams could be heard from the opposite side of the door.
Draak unseathed his spear from his cheatst, and immeduiately felw into a world of pain. But this did not stop him. With every piuece of strnght he had, Draak stepeped small steps toward Kony, and within seconds, stabbed him. The Runes died and Kony with it, as his head looked down, DRaak thinking it was in horror. Then Kony fell. Draak followed.
In the surrounding darkness, the children entered the room. Among them, was a woman in black. Draak wanted to open his eyes, but found no strength to do so. He found however…words.
“My grandchildren…this world must change for the better of the people…please…” Mawu, bent over, obviously in pain, and kissed on his cold cheek. Draak died, with a smile on his face, knowing that was forgiven for his transgressions. Draak thought that hopefully, this world will change.
The End.

Chapter One(and the only chapter) of Una Historia de dos Almas Gemelas

I helped a friend out who knew nothing of writing, re-write this story into something more powerful. I'm not a romance guy. I'm an Epic Fantasy fantatic. But my friend-Marilyn Tepepa-was a great friend of mine, so I couldn't say no. You can say that this was "our" project. I lost the other two chapters, but here is the first.

I really like my descriptions. If it's one thing that I love about my writing are my descriptions, and I improve everyday. Thank You Robert Jordan!!!

Una Historia de dos Almas Gemelas

On one particular Saturday night, Mary and her friend Leila were driving to their destination: La Mirage. It was the hottest place to go, for the time, and Mary was looking pretty hot herself. What, with her knee length fitted black dress that exposed legs that most guys would die for, and curves that women were envious of. Leila was a bit darker, being garbed in earth green and brown colors, but her short and wavy hair colored autumn leaves highlighted her earthly eyes that glistened like the visible stars above them. It was a clear night, and with every inch forward, Mary saw crowds and crowds of people.
Guys here are a trip, Leila had said once, warning her of the men that hunt women like tigers pouncing like pray. Mary had remembered a Chinese proverb: Corner a mouse, and it will scratch like a cat. She came here to party, not to fast talk with some guy. Leila came to party as well, but the way she partied…Mary knew that she was the designated driver. Already being put on edge that she could not touch a drink, she pushed the anger away and focused on the night ahead. The thought still lingered in the back of her head.


It was a fun night…so far. Men and women wearing today’s fashions danced and shook and did whatever just to have fun. Music occasionally switched from Hip-Hop to Soft Rock, but never touched on Metal or Pop. Some people left because of that. To Mary, however, it did not matter. She danced, not in an attracting way like some of the other were, but that still did not ward men from approaching her. She must have turned down six guys before that lingering thought crept back into her mind. As much as she fought it, it was there. That urge to drink. Maybe after a drink, I can calm down…
The bar had a window that kissed the roof, and a imitation palm tree was its side, with fluorescent lighting bordering the window. She slumped on a stool, trying to cover her legs from the sheer coolness that suddenly entered the room.
“What would you like to have…miss” The bartender had asked. He scanned her up and down, measuring her, objectifying her. She reconsidered having put on that dress. Leila was having the time of her life. Any drink would give her a good time.
Can’t drink. It was useless thinking that, as she already asked for a miller draft. To her surprise, however, another man stepped up to the plate. She was going to have to strike him out as well. Though he was pretty big, arms heavy with muscle that made it seem his shirt were to rip, sandals and blue jeans, golden like eyes that just shined in the white light…and…and…
Well…his guy can’t be bad.
His approach was normal. A normal walk, hands out of pocket and chest up.
“How many guys already tried to talk to you?” He had a low tenor, which made Mary’s legs shake a little bit. Something was stirring within her. IT was a…weird feeling…something she has not felt in a while. As she was scanning him from head to tow, his eyes were dead-set on hers. He was not objectifying her…
“Countless.” It was more like six, seven including him, but the answer just came out.
“I can imagine. Oh, where are my manners, certainly not in some dumpster!” He let out an open hand. “I’m Raphael Alma Sustantivo, but everyone just calls me ‘Rafy’”

“It’s late!” Rafy had exclaimed. His gold watch read one o’clock in the morning. He and Mary had been talking for a while about so many things…life, dreams…love was inevitable. His journey might end here with this woman, his journey for his maiden. So many have left him before, but something about her just felt…right. He figured that she felt the same way. He wanted to speak some more however, but his watch told him not too. He saw Leila, who was introduced. She was knocked out cold. He needed to wrap this up, unfortunately.
“Mary.” He called, and she spun, a great smile as bright as a crescent moon paved her face. “Puedo obtener su número de teléfono ... amigo?” It was his killer move, a low voice that was surprisingly a whisper. It crept underneath women and made them shudder. Not in a bad way…but in a more…sexy way.
“No” Wait…what just happened? Being around women his entire life was not working for him right now. Great, he just blew it, the one chance at love, and he just-
“Dame el tuyo y yo te llamo.” Raphael blinked. She was playing hardball…Raphael’s arms tensed with excitement as a smile started cracking on his face. He sighed and smiled, writing his phone number on a spare piece of paper, then handed it to her.

Final Draft of Love of the Spirits

I love this story. It still seems a bit shaky, but at less than 1000 words, I think I did a good job. But I know I have to improve. I wrote this story BEFORE Stormwizard.

Love of the Spirits
By Brandon Markham

To see my wife-sister again, I must kill mama. She’s a Witch, a heathen and enemy of the council, but my love sees beyond that. You are the only one who can Sohma they mocked while beating me, after stealing my love, Zula. Death will not be the worse for your wife if that Witch is not dead by sundown.
Funny how they say I won’t die as well and something in my stomach told me that they knew of my powers. Inheritance, I suppose. The power of the Spirits.
The falling sun took the once azure sky into a cold night as I shifted my cloak and my once glistening bark colored skin toned down, keeping a fastidious eye on the dial. Fifteen minutes, and the council’s dogs were their already, and on one zebu, in an array of chains, Zula sat with her eyes tracing the ground
“ZULA!” I called, but instead of Zula turning to see me, the black faces of my enemies stared.
“Sundown is near, Witch-son. Do not let your love fall with it” One of the pelt clad men said with the other four nodding in agreement. One looked to have other plans, but my plans were already in place. Just thinking about it made thousands of knots in my stomach. More came with the first scream from the small hut ahead. The men stared at me in horror, like I was some kind of monster.
“We knew you had her gift, Witch-son, but…a poison?”
“She would not die any other way. She is a powerful Witch, my mother.”
“And whatever does not kill you, only makes you stronger”
Like a demon in flames, Wadjiine was in the middle of a ring of fire, having engulfed her house in the same fires. “Spirits I thank thee, for your messages of my future”
Divining the Spirits…she saw me-
“You” Mama stopped me in my tracks and I froze to the ground. The five men rose from their great horned cattle, and invisible to the normal eye, took out their spears. Mama wasn’t staring at me, I realized but to the soldiers that were charging at her. Suddenly, a light shrouded her. The power of the Spirits fed her what she wanted, not too much though, as I saw it. With that power, she tore the ground and shaped it into a mouth. A small hole, really a gap, but nonetheless the earth ate two of the soldiers, the other three leapt over the hole like tigers after prey, and they were snaking to Mama. Zula tried to get out of her chains, I saw.
My heart must have sunk into my already sick stomach when I realized a harsh reality. One or the other, one must live…and one must die. I was in the middle of the fight, not far from either…but if I abandoned one…
Closer and closer the soldiers came to my mother. The aura around her glowed brightly, meaning to kill them all, but she would die before that happened. And then Zula…my love. I love them both. The Spirits forgive my crime and witness to my tounge, I do! The soldiers upon reach now, their spears about to drive home in seconds, I Called. The light around me was furious and growing with each second as the spears came closer. There was no time to cast, the Spirits divined to me, but that was not my plan. Mama seemed to know too.
“Sohma! NO!” Even after I tried to kill her, the love in her voice was only stronger.
Heat flared from my body and burned everything around me to ashes. The soldiers were screaming in the quintessence of agony, and I joined them as well as I suffered the consequences of eating too much power. But it worked. When the flames died out, the men laid on top of each other in a blacked mound. I fell over. Mama called for me, begged me to wake up, commanded me to wake up, but I would not obey. Out of love for my mama and Zula, I would not obey.

Final Draft of His Last Day

The piece of work you about to read is a piece of mess. It sucks. I wrote this thinking it to be a Horror short story. I really like how I open up; I've been working on the "hook" for months on end, and recently found a new way to do it. It seems that By the middle of the story, I get lax. Also, their is no theme. This story was written BEFORE Stormwizard.


His Last Day
By Brandon Markham

Today’s job was Robert Milton Jr., a sixty-five year old pedophile charged with the murder and rape of a two year old. Ben always loved putting these guys to sleep. The executioner strode down the corridor, the very air permeated with rot and death. Over a hundred of these people Ben condemned, and a hundred more would come before he would die. The thirty year old loved his job. It gave him a reason to kill.
Today was the last day however, He served his time in County, but he would commit another crime to go back. He pushed these thoughts back, pondering how he should kill this person. Should he do it slowly with nail clippers like last time? Nah, that was slow. Ben always loved slow things and thought. It gave him time, and every second he savored it.
Ah…he thought, a wicked smile crept on his pale face. With a dirty and blood soaked hand, he reached in his pocket of his overalls, and produces a mask. It was a medieval thing that mask, one that could always be seen in comics and cartoons. It was black and covered the head; two holes were made to see through the veil. It was also pointed. Yes…the traditional executioners’ mask.
The door in front of him was made of iron. The other side would soon be in blood. He opened it, and an ancient sound crept out as the door was pushed further and further, and he was their.
The man, Robert Milton that is, was blindfolded and naked. He was fat and disgusting, his hair almost seemed like second skin. A yellow puddle was beneath the molded wooden chair he was strapped to. The room was comforting however. All the tools he needed were right on that table. Brass knuckles, knives, screwdrivers, chainsaws…Ben laughed, who uses chainsaws anymore?
He shut the door, Robert turning his head this way and that.
“Who’s there?” He screamed in fear. “Where am I?”
“You’re in County, Robert, you’re in County.” Ben replied
“L-l-l-look…I did nothing wrong! Nothing you hear? Please, just-“
“You’re not getting out” Ben interrupted. He wanted to make this point clear, and it worked. Robert thrashed…or attempted to. His screams were heard throughout, something Ben hated. Screams were music to others, but to him…they were just annoying. He walked over with his butcher knife slowly. Ben enjoyably slashed at Robert’s mouth. In return’ the naked man screamed in gurgling horror, blood filling his mouth, but it did not choke him.
“Please…I’m begging you…please…”Robert pleaded
“How’d she feel? Young and untouched…like a little girl huh? You had ultimate control over her. She feel good right? You feel good knowing that you killed her?”
The blind fold moved upwards, Robert’s eyes has widened
“Uh-what are you talking about?” Robert exclaimed. “I did no such thing!”
Ben laughed. Liars get extra treatment.
“Well then, let’s get something clear: you raped her Robert. You killed her as well. Your own daughter”
“What the fuck are you-gah!” The knife penetrated Robert’s knee and he screamed a scream that that sounded like a sharp squall. The nest penetration went to his ear, but not all the way. Ben was not finished.
“I hate screams…reminds me to much of how I screamed when I was just a runt. Daddy shoulda never came at me like he did. So bear with me’ alright?” Ben walked over towards the stone table and grabbed a pair of p.v.c. cutters. They were like pliers, but a short thin blade replaced the locking part, leaving only the handles. Immediately the cold from the metal was gone. Ben walked back and removed the blindfold, ripping it. He grabbed Robert’s penis and placed it between blade and handle.
“Don’t scream alright?”
Ben squeezed the cutters once; the blade did not touch the penis…yet. Another squeeze cut into the meat, a Robert disobeyed. The next squeeze ended it, Robert’s manhood taken from him.
“Now then…how about those eyes? Jesus always said to cut out your eyes if did adultery. Oh yeah…didn’t he say something about hands?”
The scream rose sharply, and lasted into the night.
* * * * *
The Boss was standing outside the door with a gun. Ben was surprised when he saw this. His joy was stolen. Six hours of nothing but skin peeling, bone pulling, hair pulling, eye plucking, and finally decapitation through his torso was all stolen with that gun. The Boss shot, was Ben faltered.
“What the…what the…hell…” Ben trailed as the puddle of blood was being formed. The Boss, with his ebony face and graying hair answered.
“You know not to kill anyone innocent Ben, so I should be the one asking that question.”
“Uh-what are you talking about?” Robert exclaimed in memory. “I did no such thing!”
Shit…Ben thought. Before he drifted of to his death, there was Robert. His final moments were enjoyable, though he did tell the truth. In fact, Ben knew that Robert did not commit such a crime. Things were so slow around County, even for Robert. He laughed in the face of death in the end. Also, for the fun of it, he let out a weak scream

First Draft of Stormwizard

Now that I look at this story, it IS character driven, but the plot is too vague. Orginally, it was going to be 1500 words, but because I was too afriad to expand upon it, I wrote it in less than 600. Needless to say, I must re-edit this story, but because of the lack of material on this site, I'll put it on here. =)


Stormwizard
By Brandon Markham

Arash P’vonik, stopped believing in the Great One when he became Stormwizard of the ark, the Hopechaser. His dreams of having a happy life with his family drowned with the coming rain, just like the hopes and lives of countless others. The ark treaded furious waters, wave after buffeting wave threatening to rip the ark asunder.
Then their were the storms.
They roll from nowhere on the sea like hills, lightning whipping indiscriminately from their black battlements. One such storm came this night, like every night; the storm of someone rapping on the Stormwizard’s door.
“Master Stormwizard! Master! It’s huge!”
Arash rose from the bed apathetically, wondering if this night would be his last. He hoped so. Routinely, he threw on his marble colored cloak and held his storm-repel ivory staff. It wasn’t odd, the staff. It drew in electricity like a rod, and with proper form-since anyone can do it-throw a lightning bolt right back at the clouds. The people gazed at the storm battles like a mythic war.
Arash lost his family, to one such storm, and lost friends when the flood rushed over them. Why had he continued living on? What connections did he have with these people? Why not throw himself of the ship like countless others did? A tempting thought that was. Nonetheless, Arash moved forward.

The hallway before him was filled with the same lost and empty hopes that he once reserved.
“Stormwizard!”
“Help us!”
“The Great One save us all.”
That last one stabbed his heart. No…he won’t save us. But he moved on, on onto the bridge where he faced the storm.
Rain pelted on his once-dry face and clothes, and drummed on the wooden planks. The storm surged forth, a whip of silver electricity lashing out Arash’s way. He countered by drawing the lightning into his upraised staff and repelling it back.
Bolt after bolt Arash repeated desperately. The past twenty years weren’t tiring as a Stormwizard, but it was still desperate. They say that in times of need, a simple prayer to the Great One answered all needs. Where was his need when Arash needed his family? Where-
A lone bolt struck out at him. He raised his staff, but the power was too much for him. The staff broke into pieces. Arash flew backwards.
That was it. With the staff broken, the Hopechaser’s chase died. Arash slowly rose up, knelt.
And prayed.
The storm seemed to be giving the Stormwizard one last request. He prayed for salvation and forgiveness, for aid and hope for all. For the world. His head pounded; he prayed. His heart tightened; he prayed. His body felt cold, tired, and uncaring. He prayed.
As the storm began to move again, a power filled Arash, waiting to rise up like a geyser. A bolt came.
Arash stood, understanding that the Great One had entered him. His spirit raged like the storm in front of him, such fury and might engulfed him in a silvery light. The bolt bounced of him, but something was different. He held the bolt.
With every pound, ounce, and pint of strength he could muster, he threw the bolt back. The cloud sent back more in return. The two fought but never backed away, but with one bolt to the cloud, the black thing fled.
When the people rushed out to thank Arash, and gaze on his glory, he spoke. “Glory to the Great One. He’s just on time.”