So, I got bored and this happened XD
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Garrison was the definition of wimpy, he was small, his voice was high-pitched, and he had almost no body hair to speak of, in fact, the Chief couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing when he walked onto the agency that fine Wednesday morning.

The Chief had just finished up his morning coffee when this tall, thin, black-haired kid walked into his office; he barely looked up as he said, “Kid, the video game store is across the street.”

Clearing his throat and attempting to deepen his voice as much as possible, Garrison said, “You find work for out-of-work super humans, right?”

“Yea, why, you have a complaint about one of my men,” Said the Chief, rising out his chair, showing his immense size.

Garrison shrunk in fear, his eyes growing wide at the mass of muscles before him,
“No,” he stuttered out, “I’m looking for work, sir.”

“You, you’re not a super; I could break you in two with one hand. This temp agency is for out of work super heroes, not wimpy little teenagers like you, go home kid, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“I’ve read over your list of pre-requisites and I fulfill all requirements. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I assure you, I am more than capable of being in your agency.” Garrison said, puffing out his chest and raising himself to look the Chief in the eye.

“Oh really, okay then, what’s your power?”

Garrison stepped back and took off his shirt, revealing a strange chain of tattooed symbols wrapping his arms and chest.  Before the Chief could comment on his lack of muscle tone, the tattoo began to bulge, slowly separating from Garrisons torso and arms, growing and expanding, until it finally stopped to reveal a large black snake about 10tf long laying of the floor at Garrisons feet.

“Her name is Thor; she can transform into any animal, and can grow and shrink to a minimum of 10 inched, and a maximum of 200ft when in the form of a snake. I can also take on many features of animals, but I can’t fully transform,” Said Garrison, smiling proudly as Thor slithered her way around his torso, resting on him, but not melting back in.

“Well, our numbers have been down since the whole thing with moon, with a power like that, I think you’ll be a good fit,” Says the chief, sitting back behind his desk and drinking more coffee.

Garrison walks off, slightly confused, but happy about maybe finally getting more work after leaving his hero-filled hometown. He walks throughout the large office, going from the Chief’s office through to the hangout area to the gym; the Agency was at one point a firehouse.

Meanwhile in the rec room, a great battle goes on, one that has been raging for over  50 minutes, a mighty competition between The Spartan, and Demetrious called Chicken. Whoever looks away first loses; loser is then called chicken until title is passed in some other sort of game. As they stare deeply into each other’s eyes, Demetrious’ eyes narrow and with a glare so strong it could kill any normal mortal, The Spartan begins to feel the urge to look away. He almost breaks, but he resists, and in return he says, “My mother gives dirtier looks than you.” With that insult, Demetrious cannot help but look away. The crown cheers, and The Spartan stands and bows, “Chicken, you gonna lay me an egg?” It was at then that Garrison walked in, drawing attention from the Chicken to the newcomer.

“Well, well, looks like we gots ourselves some fresh meat, eh boys?” Says a particularily daunting young man called the Moose.

That short story in (hopefully) one post
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As I enter the gates of the City of Nyare, I am astounded at the sheer amount of water. Never in my life have I seen so much water in one place at one time. Pathways lined with shallow streams, bridges leading over rivers. Pools and canals and ponds and water gardens, it’s amazing, and terrifying. I fall into one of those pools and I’m drowned; I cannot swim I’m a desert man; I can barely float in a bathtub! Of all the things I fear, water is my greatest enemy. As we continue onward, I cannot help but wonder how these people can live surrounded by the water, or how they can live in such a cool, wet climate. I respect their culture, but give me dunes and desert over sea and storm any day.

We enter the palace, a marble giant delightfully devoid of water. We walk through the ornate halls, until we come upon the throne room. I step forward and bow at the waist before I approach the King of Nyare. He is pale, like marble with tinges of red, his hair is the colour of sand, and his eyes are a deep sea blue.   

“Your Honour, I am Price Jericho of Sarai, I am here to confirm your assimilation into our great empire?” I say, I’ve found that when conferring with those who will soon be a lower rank than I, it is best to make them feel as though they have options, even though they often do not.

“Ah, yes. When your father first sent me the parlance, I was at first wary. However after I realized the trade opportunities it would bring, I was overjoyed at the union. I hope we can be great allies in the future. The allying of your empire will certainly bring a greater sense of comfort to my people. However, I was wondering what you and your people gain from it? ” He says.

“Allying? Your Honour, you must be mistaken? We are not allying; you have agreed to become a state of the empire, have you not?” I ask, as he is sadly mistaken. The Empire does not ally; kingdoms either join, or decline.

“If I were to join the Empire of Sarai, it could only be through marriage. I would not stoop as low as simply being assimilated. Nyare has been under the rule of my House for centuries. I will not simply sell out simply for the sake of the comfort of my people, our laws and systems are more than adequate for our small populace.” He said forcefully, and to my growing annoyance.

“If you would excuse me for one moment so I may consult with my advisers,” I say, quickly turning out to the hall where a local adviser awaits.

I quickly tell him of the situation, however he is of no help at all, and I begin to pace. I’ve not met such a prideful king as this, nor have I met one so stubborn. I am baffled as to why he would not accept our offer! Does he not realize how much greater they will be! I stop my pacing, as a plan forms in my mind. I quickly return to the throne room.

“Your Honour, I have many younger siblings, perhaps one could marry a child of yours?” I ask. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve offered a sibling for marriage, but usually it’s planned.

“I have two daughters, one who has lived for thirty years, and one who is barely over seventeen. Since I will not have my youngest bedding with one who is so much older, you may have my oldest for yourself, although even that seems like quite the stretch.” He says, proud of his personal morals.

I find myself almost laughing as I say, “Your Honour, the weathering my skin has taken must be much greater than I ever expected, for being mistaken as being in my early thirties is normal, but I must assure you that I have only just turned twenty-five.”

I’m barely containing my laughter now; never have been told I am older than 30. How old must he think I am to be too old for one who has just come of age, 17 and 25 is young compared to most marriages, 13 and 30 being more commonplace outside the empire. I understand that a combination of extreme dry skin and a three weeks beard ages me in appearance, but his estimate is hilarious.

“Indeed,” turning to one of the door servants, “Bring about Luna.”

The door servant goes running off to find this person, and I stand in wait for a good fifteen minutes. The woman who walks in is unexpected to say the least. Pure white hair, skin and eyes, people like this are non-existent west of the mountains, but here in the River Basin they are incredibly common. I couldn’t help but stare as this was my first time east of the mountains, and I’d never seen one before. Not that the desert people are racist, it’s just that anyone lighter than bread crust is considered pale.

“My name is Luna. You are Prince Jericho?” She turns to her father and says, “You expect me to lie with a desert rat? I refuse, let him have Atari, not that he’s worth a servant.”

This set me off faster than a fire-cracker, “Your Honour, keep your daughters. Such unjust displays of intolerance will not be accepted in the Empire. We do not discriminate against colour, gender, or social stature. I had hoped you would be the same.” I almost yell.

I storm from the city with a fire in my heart. Nobody deserves to be treated with such indignation as this. As I pass through the gate, I notice another desert person. I call stop, and walk up to her.

“Pardon me; you are from the west, are you not?” I ask; she’s the first non-white person I’ve seen outside my small party.

“Yes. The only job I could get here was as a palace servant, the people here don’t like those of us from the desert,” I can hear the sadness in her voice as she continues, “I was stolen by the local slave traders and then sold.”

I reach up and grab one of the medallions that hand from the chain on my neck, and hand her the one that says my name, “You belong to me now. I’m employing you as my hand servant.”

She climbs onto the front of the carriage along with Karit, the driver and a close friend of mine. The three of us talk long into the mountains. By the third day out of Nyare, we are at the edge of the desert, and I am feeling much better now that I’m away from all that water.

We travel by night as the only way to navigate the desert is by stars. I lead the horse and we make good time, however we’re only about a day into our 10 day trip when a sandstorm comes howling in. We find shelter behind an old stone wall and wait out the storm.

At one point the servant girl, her name is Kylin, asked me about my amulets. I don’t know why, but I love explaining about my amulets. I have seven including the one of my name. Everyone is different, and every one represents something.
     1.    The first one I recieved was my name, it tells everyone who I am, and it marks all the slaves who belong to me, as they carry a copy.
     2.    The second is my Mark of Satant, it says I’m a citizen of Satant, anyone and everyone born there carries one. It’s so if the empire every breaks I’ll have some where to go.
     3.    The third one I got was the Mark of Banishment; I got that when I became such a thieving menace they had to kick me out of Satant, they are changed every year.
     4.    My fourth is the Mark of the Trial of the Sands, its proof that I lived and thrived in the desert. It’s a symbol of great strength.
     5.    Fifth is the Mark of the Emperor, this is makes me a royal, it was given to me by the king himself when he found me in the sand, almost dead.
     6.    My final is Karit’s name. He’s my “personal guard”.

Kylin only has two, the Wanderer’s Mark, and her name. When we got moving again, she wanted to know all about my adventures as Imperial Diplomat. I was happy to oblige as so much of what I do is protocol and court action; I never have time to really ramble on about myself, or to think of myself in general.

Kylin has the bronze colour of a Northern Wanderer, but the green eyes but the darker tone skin of the south. Her high cheek bones and narrow face give a very regal appearance, much like Empress. She’s very small for a Northern Wanderer, although I suspect she’s only half, she has the long feet and fingers of the South, and she has the build of the south, too. It’s very unusual, but very beautiful.

We found an oasis on the third day, and for the first time about three weeks I can shave. When I’m done, I take a good look at my face for the first time in years. My deep, ruddy-brown skin, and dark blue eyes are so unfamiliar, and I can barely see the malnourished sixteen-year-old anymore. I can see my mother, though, we have the same nose, and the same ears, and we both have the same dimples. It’s comforting to be able to find her on my face. As for the rest, I’m not so sure.

I look over at Karit. He’s lucky; he’s got the rich, smooth, deep brown skin of the grasslands, and the rugged looks to match. When I took him as my “personal guard” it was so we could be closer, he is my best friend. I’m also a little jealous of him, he can choose whoever he wants for a wife, but I have to marry who I’m told.

I sigh and dip my feet into the water. I think back to the last time I was here. I remember waking up that day and feeling the heat of the sand before the sun was even up. By noon I was floating in the middle, barely able to breathe over the heat. That would have been about 2 years ago. Although palace life is excellent, I do sometimes miss the desert.

I soon fall asleep on the shore of the oasis, the sound of the small waves and the swish of Palm trees rocking me gently into a peaceful oblivion. A strange dream comes to me while I sleep. I sit upon a throne, and am high enough to see the whole of the empire, from the Southern Islands to the Waste of the West. I rule over it all, the people are somewhat happy and there is peace. I feel unbalanced, like only one part of me is here. I jerk myself awake and go back to the carriage. I lie next to the heavily snoring Karit, and soon find myself asleep along with him.

The next few nights are uneventful in the worst way, with nothing but hard traveling and silence. No songs are sung in the desert, nor are stories told. The desert is a forbidding place where you only survive with patience and silence. For five nights we travel, stopping at as many oases as we can, many of which are familiar to me.

On the eighth night we pass around the ruins of Ankorath, which was once home to the Kingdom of Rathar. Rathar was a great and terrible kingdom, ruling for over 50 generations. It was brought down by the Ry, great desert serpents that lived beneath the sand and grew to be fifty feet long. It is a cursed place; there are a thousand miles of tunnel beneath those ruins and the horrors within are unspeakable.

Another two nights and we reached Satant, my old home. Weather beaten, thousand-foot walls surround the great city. Between the outer and inner walls are farm fields, and the very center is the booming city-state of Satant. As I walk through the first gate, I can’t help but feel nervous, especially when I was kicked out of the city at the age of seven.

The walk through the field is as fun as always, the people love seeing me, knowing that a street urchin managed to get himself as far as I have. It gives them hope for a better tomorrow. My father tries his best to keep the hope alive for his people, it’s one of the reasons the empire is so vast and so peaceful. They crowd around the carriage, reaching up their hands to me, cheering and laughing with the Prince of Man. I love the people; I often would spend hours and hours wandering the packed streets of Saharak, the Capitol.

As we enter the inner city, I feel like something is wrong. There are fewer people walking the streets, and those that do are all carrying knives. There are archers posted at many rooftops. One of the many more genius inventions of the city are the way the buildings are built. The streets are concentric rings, each ring having its buildings another floor taller, with the Sentinel in the center.

When we reach the Sentinel, I am greeted by an unfamiliar face. He has the pale skin of an easterner, but his eyes are black. His presence in my city is off-putting, I don’t like him.

“Who are you, and what happened to Lord Melcross?” I ask immediately.

“I’m afraid that Lord Melcross has been thrown from office by the people, and they have graciously voted me, Lord Seth, in. Now who are you?” He says, his voice is smooth and seductive.

He lies, as the people of Satant adored Lord Melcross. His son is another close friend of mine, a fellow Diplomat; he represents Satant in the Royal Court. Melcross was an honest and just leader who came from a family of Labourers. The people have been happily living under the rule of Melcross for over 30 years; his youngest was expected to take over in his place; the people would never throw him from office.

“I am Oakridge, I am a merchant. This is my friend and partner, Karit, and the woman is my wife, Kylin. We wish to spend a few days here before going onwards to the capital.” I say, wondering what truly is going on here.
“Welcome, Merchants Oakridge and Karit. I hope you find our citadel acceptable.” Seth says, smiling like a snake and guiding us forward to the guest rooms.

When we get settled I send my father a message telling him of the on goings of Satant and my failure at Nyare. I then begin to plan, this Lord Seth has replaced all the old staff, and he has clearly fortified the city. I fear he may try to separate, but the empire would not allow him to do so, and if he were to try by force our army is twice the size of the populous of the city. I should try to find an old staff to tell me what has happened, but before I do that I go down to the dungeons.

Dark and dry, the dungeons of Satant are a very familiar place, one that I had hoped I’d never return to. I walk down the main corridor; the prisoners are silent and sad, so different from my last visit. This Seth has enacted many changes on my city, none of which I am happy about. I look over to a prisoner and can see the bloodied bandages covering a whip scared back.

“Prisoner, what it is that you have done?” I ask him, he turns, and I see the face of a man I once knew, a baker called Altan who gave me his burnt bread on occasion. He is no longer the plump and jolly baker, he has withered into skin and bones, and his eyes have lost their mischievous sparkle. 

“Jericho, you have grown great and strong, but you have been from the city for too long. They have whipped me and burned my stand for the crime of selling bread made of foreign grain. I have always used island grain for my breads, you know this.” He says, his voice hard and cracking.

“What has Seth done to Lord Melcross, where is Miran and Kain?” I ask.
He shakes his head. I give him some water and tell him I will be back to free him. I continue onwards, and am saddened by the presence of many old friends and merchants. When I have passed all the cells, I return to the jail keeper and have Altan released.

I have Altan roomed with me, and then I go off to find Seth. I find him with a concubine in his private bathhouse, that’s three, maybe four imperial laws broken. I go charging in, my imperial seal held out, and 4 imperial guards behind me. His attempts to hide are pathetic and cowardly, and his claims of innocence are in poor nature. He’s removed, and all the prisoners are released, or moved back to the city jails.

That night I receive a messenger pigeon from my father. It said, My son your work in Satant has not gone unnoticed, good job. However you’re failure at Nyare is disappointing, you are to return as soon as possible, and we shall have words.

I’m not worried; my father isn’t the greatest at punishing failure because he’s too nice. The worst that will happen is a bop on the head and a, “Son, I am disappointed in you, next time, do better.” It could be worse, he could send me to mom; a thought that causes me to shutter in fear.

The cool night air washed in off the desert, and I had just found my old hideout, a ten foot niche in the inner wall close to the southern gates. I had found it when I was 4, and had hollowed and smoothed the curved walls over the next 6 years. It relaxed me, being able to see what my home was for 6 years of my life. I leant my head back against the wall, and closed my eyes.

That was when Kylin walked in, her footsteps light and silent, I wouldn’t have noticed her if it weren’t for the sound of the door against the ground. I was surprised, but pleased as I’d begun to grow attracted to her during the 11 days of travel.  But something was wrong; she wouldn’t risk coming to visit at this late hour if it weren’t important.

“Kylin, such a late hour for a visit, is something wrong?”

“You shouldn’t travel with me. There’s a reason the slave-traders were able to capture me. I’m too great a risk for you to carry me with you.”

That confirms my suspicion about her being both northern and southern wanderer. It’s a strange superstition we have about combining them; I’m surprised she made it past birth. The tribes say it is terrible luck to combine north and south in one soul, as they will tear themselves and the tribes apart. I shudder; things like this don’t go unnoticed amongst the spirits. Her life must have filled with hardship and pain, as she too would have been forced out into the desert. As soon as her heritage was found, she must have been sold. Slavers usually keep the most beautiful of women for themselves; I knew there had to be a reason for her sale.

“If the spirits were going to strike us down, they would have done so during the sandstorm or as we passed Ankorath. Fear not, Kylin, for by Monday we shall be home in Sarai, where no spirits can harm you.” I comfort her.

She runs up to me and hugs me tightly. The feeling of her body squeezed against mine, and of her soft, silky skin makes me excited, but I hide it. The worst thing I could do is allow myself to become infatuated with a servant, the court would reject me and my father… he would not take kindly to the betrayal.

She leaves me with nothing but the thought of could be, and a somewhat heavy heart. I shake it away, and fall into a restless sleep. The next day, I am delighted to learn that next week is the beginning of the Festival of Wind, a city wide carnival celebrating the arrival of the winds from the south that cool the days and help speed the growth of the fields. I send word to my father of my intent to stay for the next two weeks, and throw myself into the planning of the Festival. The two weeks soon pass, and before I know it, the first day is upon me.

The festival passed by too quickly, and before I knew it, the final night had arrived. I decided to spend it atop one of the wall-towers, looking over my city with great pride. I was precariously balanced on one of the wooden juts when Kylin walked in. I hopped off my perch, and we met in the middle, where she wrapped her arms around my neck and ****** me. We slept together that night, and I made my fatal mistake. I, in my slightly drunken state, forgot to wear a sheepskin. At least my child will be entertained.

More of the short story (Its getting long)
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Sixteen Years Later

    “Mom, when is dinner gonna be ready?”

    “Call your brother, its ready now.”

    “Raja, dinner’s ready, come and eat!”

   
My brother comes strutting in like he always does. He’s only nine, and we’re trying to teach him to be more humble, but it’s not working. It’s not even that he’s selfish, he’s just proud to be my mother’s son. He looks like mom, same skin, same face, and same big smile. Not like me at all, I have a strange ruddy-brown skin, prominent cheek-bones, and icy blue eyes. I don’t look like my mother or anyone from Satant. As we sit down to eat, I can’t help but dwell on the differences.
   
“Mom, when is Dad coming home?” Asks Raja.
   
“Soon, Sunny, I told you; first moon of September, only one more week now.” She says.

   
Raja’s dad, Sanjay, is a merchant, he sells food and things to the Wandering tribes, so he’s gone for two months, and then he’s back for one. He’s nice to mom and Raj, but he doesn’t really like me much, we tolerate each other.
   
“Hey, isn’t that when the Emperor is supposed to be coming for his annual visit?” I ask, I was chosen to be a foot-man this year, a great note of personal pride.
   
“Aww! Dads never gonna get here!” Whines Raja, and he’s right, at least figuratively. The arrival of the King always creates massive traffic jams, but hey, it gives me a break.
   
   
We finish eating, chattering about the arrival of Sanjay and the king, and of my upcoming bath. I hate baths, and it’s not so much the soap and the scrubbing as it is the floating in the tub. But even still, a footman of the king must be clean and well dressed. If I’m really lucky, I’ll be chosen as a page, and from there I could become a nobleman, living a life of luxury.
   

Before I know it, it’s the day before the arrival of the King, and my day to take a bath. As we walk into the bathhouse, my stomach drops, and I begin to wonder if it really is worth it. Mom pats me on the back, and I walk into the big tub. It’s warm, and squishy, and really wet, like I’m bathing inn my own sweat, ignoring the ick, I get scrubbing. As soon as I’m clean, I’m out and dressed and back with my mom. I hate Bath Day. Mom puts her arm around me and we walk back home.

The night, Sanjay came home. He was drunk, and angry, so he took me out back and beat the living **** out of me, nothing out of the ordinary for this City. I barely made it to the south gate of the outer wall, where I curled up and slept.

   
“Footman Jericho, wake up. It is time to be dressed.” Said Lord Melcross with a look of disgust on his face.
   
I stand and follow him, limping and cringing as we walk. Me and four other boys who are older than I are stood at attention and forced to wait for three hours. By the time the Emperor arrives, I feel like passing out and I can barely stand straight due to lack of food. He step out of his carriage and walk to Lord Melcross. The two embrace, and then the Emperor begins his inspection of us.
   

He walks from one to the other, first looking at our amulets, then asking us questions about our parentage. He seems particularly interested about a young man called Rahik, who, like me, has both Satant and Wanderer citizenships, but after a few questions he moves on to me.

I take a deep breath and start coughing, the old pain in my chest returns, and I start coughing blood. After about ten minutes it subsides, and I stand as straight as possible, which is only about half-way after an attack like that. I have always been a sickly child, and these spasms have been happening for as long as I can remember. My mother claims that the spirits are taking vengeance for her being born of both the north and the south on me. I believe her sometimes.

“Son, what ails you?” Asks the Emperor.

“The spirits take their vengeance out on me instead of my mother.” I say simply.

I hand him my amulets, and he frowns. “You share my name. Who is your father?” He asks, grabbing me firmly on the shoulder.

“I have none, he abandoned my mother and I before I was born.”

“Your mother then?”

“Kylin Norsou, although she goes by Kylin Sanson, now.”

“Do you have the strength to lead the convoy?”

I nod, and the procession starts with me at the head. We walk through the city’s winding streets. The people cheer for the Peoples’ Emperor, and he waves making the crown roar louder. By the time we reach the Sentinel, the crowd has turned to a cacophony of sounds, screaming and clapping, it sounds like a swarm of desert bees.

The silence is deafening after doors of the sentinel are closed. The other footmen are dismissed, but I am led to a small antechamber to have my injuries cleaned, then I am taken to a large dining hall where we are joined by the advisors of Lord Melcross and my mother, Raja, and Sanjay. I flinch when I see Sanjay as some of my wounds still bleed.

My mother runs over to me and gives me a big hug, “I knew you could do it, honey. Congratulations.” Raja follows and hugs me too.

Then I overhear Sanjay saying to head of Guards, “I knew he would make it, I’m so proud of him. I picked up his mother when he was two, found them begging for food on the street. I took them in, raised Jericho as my own son…”

“Bullcrap! You’ve hated me since the day you took us in, the only reason you kept me was because mom wanted me, and the only reason you kept her was because, “She’s one of the best looking women in the crap city!
You’ve been beating me for sixteen years, I’m fairly sure you’re the reason I cough up blood, don’t you talk like you did us a favour, we would have been better off without you. The only reason I haven’t run off is because Raja is more important to me than anything else. Get off your high horse, you aren’t doing me any favours.” I scream.

The coughing starts again, worse than before but still manageable. I’ve had worse, one summer it was particularly hot, I was working the fields like usual, but it was so dry I couldn’t breathe. I ended up having such a bad fit I passed out due to blood loss. Another time, Sanjay kicked me in the chest after I spilled a bucket of water when I was 8, I lost about a pint that time. I could go on and on about all the times I’ve ever coughed this **** up.

“Mrs. Kylin, when exactly did Jericho start coughing up blood like this?” The royal physician asks my mother.

“When he was about four, why?” She asks in reply.

“Was that when the beatings began?” Asks the Doctor

“Yes, do you agree that there is a co-relation between the two?” My mother says, wrapping her arm tightly around my shoulder.

“Absolutely, unless he was kicked in the chest by a horse, his continued abuse must be causing some kind of permanent damage. When he is moved into the palace, these spasms will lessen or disappear.” The doctor finishes, and then he turns to go talk to someone else.

The doors at the end of the hall burst open, and the Emperor walks in, everyone bows, except my mother. She simply crosses her arms over her chest, and begins to tap her foot against the ground, just like I’ve done something wrong and she knows about it. The Emperor walks over to her and looks into her eyes. Everyone is standing, shocked at her disobedience, and surprised that she has the balls to not bow to the Emperor. After about five minutes, he looks down in shame.
Awkwardly running his hand through his hair the Emperor says, “I guess I owe you an explanation,” he pauses, then in an attempt to lighten the situation he adds, “Or sixteen years of child support.”

Then, my poor, sweet, loving mother slaps the Emperor across the face, grabs him by the arm, and drags him from the room, where she begins to yell. She doesn’t yell often, but when she does, she is a force to be reckoned with, one of the guards at one point during the screamfest that she is scarier than every guard captain he’s ever met combined. The he nearly shat himself out of fear that he insulted the Emperors son and scurried off.

The gist of her chew was that he abandoned her and me out of pride and fear and stupidity, and the he owes her. She probably would’ve gone on longer if she hadn’t mentioned my abuse at the hands of Sanjay. Then the Emperor got angry-not that he was even close to being as scary as mom- and he comes storming back into the room, thunder in his heart and lightening in his eyes.

“You’ve been beating my son?” The Emperor asks, he grabs Sanjay by the collar, and lifts him about half foot off the ground.

“I-I- I didn’t know at the time, it’s a very common thing for parents to hit their children, I was only disciplining him.” He says, almost crying out of fear.

He is right, it’s socially accepted to use physical force for punishment, a slap in the face for being a smart-*** is normal, beating the **** out of your kid simply for existing however, is abuse of power, which is punishable by death if it’s in the third degree. The Empire is built on peace and fairness for all people, so we don’t take abuse of power lightly.

“Guards this man is charged with abuse of power, 2nd degree. 100 lashes should do him some good.” He orders.

He walks up to me, places his hand on my shoulder and says, “You’re coming back to Saharak with me. You can bring your mother and brother too, although he will only be treated as a noble and not a prince.”

I turn to my mother and she says, “Raja and I will stay here, he can help me run the Apothecary.”

The Emperor calls for dinner to be served and we all sit down to eat.

the rest (so far) of the short story
Sorry about the strange chapter break, I'm writing this in word not here
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We start with a light garlic soup, followed by salad. The main dish is garlic lamb with peppers and baked tomatoes. I wasn’t really focused on the food, my father was too busy telling me of far of cities and beautiful princesses and daring nobles. Before long, dinner was over, and I was heading back to moms. As we left the Sentinel, my father pulled me aside.

“Jericho, I hope you know that what I did was for your own good. If I’d married your mother you would have been treated as filth. At least here you had a chance to be a good person. In the palace things are strange; you would have been ridiculed and stepped on no matter what I did.” He said, then he went back inside, and I went with mom.

The next morning, after waiting for over three hours, my father arrived with his personal guard and the carriage. I had all my stuff packed, and for the first time in over a year I have my amulets hanging off a thin goat-leather strip. I’d tied back my hair and had taken another bath. By any definition, I’m ready to go.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here so soon,” says my father as he leads the horses, “don’t you sleep in?”

“Sleep in? Nobody has time for that, were all too busy harvesting or weaving or baking or doing things that are more important than sleeping in. You grew up here, you should know this.” I say exasperatedly.

“I was kicked out when I was seven, and I then spent 5 years in the desert. How should I remember?”

“I remember my first festival, I was three.”

“Touché.”

My father placed his hand in the centre of my chest, directly over my heart. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. I gasped, and his head snapped back, his eyes whipped open, and his veins stood out against his skin as he clenched his teeth together. He breathed in one, long, ragged breath, and then he sagged against the side of the carriage.

I can’t breathe, it’s like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs, like I’m breathing in a vacuum, I start to cough. What comes out isn’t blood, nor is it mucus or water; it’s a big chunk of black spoiled milk curd, and t moving. I inhale the universe, and nearly pass out. I look down at it, but before I can pick it up or poke it, my father has taken the butt of his shoe and mushed it into the hard-packed sand.

“What the **** was that!?” I scream as I grab my throat, still having some troubles breathing.

“Small demon,” he gasps, having as hard a time as I am.

We get into the carriage and leave the city. As we pass through the outer fields, the workers bow at first, but when they catch sight of me, many frown in confusion until the realization hits. They see one of the worst-off kids, one of those kids they just know will end up a beggar in the street riding in the royal carriage, and they gain hope. I am a source of hope. I wave, and more cheers spring from the farmers. We ride the wave of cheers out of the city, and into the bright desert sun.

Chapter 2

The desert is a cold, silent place where old spirits wander eternally. Where dark things scream and growl and groan and moan. Where the forsaken lie in wait for redemption or death. Where even the bravest weep, and the meek go boldly into the sunset. The desert is the night’s mistress, and we are simply its playthings. For thirty days we traveled across its dark face, in silence and in reverence we walked and rode.

When I first saw Saharak, thought it was a thousand-foot-tall cliff. It wasn’t until we got closer that I saw it was a titanic wall. The gate we came through was enormous, larger than anything I’ve ever seen. The city inside was beautiful, red sandstone buildings and cobbled roads had a striking affects against the white bleached walls. Many temples and spires stood out, and in the centre was the largest building I’ve ever seen. A wall surrounded the innermost part of the city, only about 100ft, it was ornate, covered in emeralds and rubies and red-and-blue alexandrite in swirls and vines of colour.

The lowest point of the palace was higher than the tallest of spires in the main city, and the highest of towers towered over the outer wall. It’s a miracle of architecture, and it’s still standing the same as it was over 500 years ago. The inner gate is pure ruby with swirls of gold throughout. The sheer size of everything makes me feel small and infant-like. I find myself rendered speechless. My father squeezes my shoulder and smiles, and I feel a little bit better.

I blame Linkin Park for this one XP
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“You’ve given up, then?” I say calmly, I’ve known this was coming for a while now.

The Alpha nods, then turns to leave, but before he does he says to me, “Remember your place, and always rise above.”

I hear a large resounding boom, followed by the familiar shockwave of Alpha’s departure. He owes me for last time, but this time I let it go. He can’t always handle everything

I spread my arms wide and tilt back my head. I bring my hands together in one clap. Everything tears away, and I reappear in the Tides. I see Beta and Pi fighting the enemy. I snap my fingers, and the enemy is gone. They thank me, and go elsewhere. I teleport somewhere else, and continue to help the Brothers. They do not know who I am, or why I help them, but whence the war is quiet, they know.

I am the Omega. When the Alpha has given in, and the Brothers are out matched, when the bell is rung, I appear. I am the end, I am the exit. I am the end of the line. I am Death, Destroyer of Worlds, I am the Great Equalizer, and I shall not be moved. You cannot defeat death, for all things must come to an end, someday.

We meet at the cliff, and they gather around me. They wait for the final bell to toll. It does, and they disappear, leaving me my winnings.

A poem

As the sun rises bright and cheery
turning dust to light
I find myself pondering thoughts
about the moon
the stars
the things which prowl silently in the night
with the last of the night winds blowing,
I wait for my lost moon to come home
for the sweet darkness to surround me again