Matthew Roland's Blog, page 4

SERIALIZATION: Episode 1 of "The Doom of Innocence"

URATHANE IVRONWINE made his way down the slight, rocky trail which wended ever westwards along the banks of the Dwarthéa, to the shores of the Great Sea just...

Tolerance––Or Truth?

Is truth tolerant? In an age where we are increasingly being impressed with the mindset that we need to be tolerant, the principle of what truth is and has always been, has deteriorated to the point that it is almost virtually nonexistent. Now, the epitome of what occurs when truth becomes outdated has emerged and taken its place in full force. From college students throwing tantrums when a conservative political commentator is asked to speak at their campus, to those who sue their pastor because he preached a sermon on unselfish love (albeit one that convicted and made them feel––wait for it––uncomfortable) this infestation has begun to reshape life as we know it. We have grown up in a society that is placing an increasing and ever-growing spotlight on such terms as “tolerance” and “social justice .” However, as I hope to make clear here, many of the people who go on tirades concerning tolerance of other viewpoints, are in reality, the very people who are doing everything within their power to shut down opposing opinions. TOLERANCE TRAMPLES DEBATE There is a profound deficiency in the realm of argumentation. In its place is substituted liberal political rhetoric and nothing else is socially acceptable any longer. In many circles, we can no longer debate and freely share opinions: because to do that is to be offensive. For by debating, you are in short, challenging and placing yourself at variance with the other side and anyone who disagrees with the cultural norm is often labeled as a hater. Sadly, these mindsets have even crept into the Church itself, and taken a firm hold there. Lines have become blurred between Biblical Christianity and the politicized, unscrupulous Christianity that has become so pervasive in our culture. In essence, what people call the “Church” is no longer the Church. Pastor and Bible Teacher, Dr. John MacArthur states the issue at hand well: “Those who dare to take an unpopular stand, declare truth in a definitive way––or worst of all, express disagreement with someone else’s teaching––will inevitably be marked as troublesome. Compromise has become a virtue while devotion to truth has become offensive. "But many of the issues being compromised within the evangelical movement today are not questionable. Scripture speaks very clearly against homosexuality, for example. The Christian position on adultery is not at all vague. The question of whether a believer ought to marry an unbeliever is spelled out with perfect clarity…These are not gray areas. There is no room for compromise here. "Nevertheless, I constantly hear every one of those issues treated as a gray area––on Christian radio, on Christian television, and in Christian literature. People want all matters to be negotiable. And too many Christian leaders willingly oblige. They hesitate to speak with authority on matters where Scripture is plain. The lines of distinction between truth and error, wisdom and foolishness, church and world are being systematically obliterated by such means.” For believers, these issues are not merely a political statement or affiliation. The stakes are much higher. In tolerating sin, we are essentially condemning people to death. As Paul affirms in Romans 6:23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” TOLERANCE TRAMPLES LOVE Too many times I hear that we should “be loving.” And we should. But instead of the biblical meaning of love, what we’re often being told is that because “Jesus wants us to love,” we are to excuse people’s sin and accept their sinful choices as who they are, on account of our “loving” mentality. The fundamental problem with this way of thinking is not in the phrase “Jesus wants us to love,” but rather what isn’t said. Yes! Jesus called us to love those around us (John 13:34, 15:12; 1 Thessalonians 4:9; 1 John 3:23, 4:7, 4:21). This command is permeated throughout Scripture. However, within all this talk in the Scriptures of love, there is also issued a stern warning relating specifically to wrath. “He who believes in the Son has eternal life,” says John 3:36, “but he who does not obey the Son will not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him.” Romans 1:18 further affirms this. “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness.” By demonstrating tolerance of other peoples’ sinful actions and shoving issues under the rug for the sake of peace, we aren’t loving at all: instead, we’re unloving. As Christians, we are to show love to people by denouncing their sin and calling them to repentance while we show them compassion, not embracing or ignoring their sin in an effort not to hurt or offend them. Doing so is one of the highest forms of love there is. SPEAKING TRUTH SAVES LIVES God is a righteous judge and none that sin shall go unpunished, save those that are covered by the saving blood of Jesus Christ. Take an example of a mother and a child. Letting your child run about in the street because he/she may throw a fit if you deny them, may be tolerant, but it certainly isn’t loving. In actuality, that only goes to show that you could care less whether or not they are harmed. Truly loving your child would be ably demonstrated by you stepping up to bring an end to said child’s foolish actions and leading them from danger. Tolerance is a Trojan horse sent to undermine the Truth. For our country, for generations to come, we must take a stand for truth. To be true lights that “illuminate the lives of others,” we must strive to defend and uphold truth as much as possible. For it is truth––not tolerance––that is the key to unity, peace, and a restored relationship with Jesus Christ. [the above was taken from Matthew's post on therebelution.com, which was originally published on Oct 28, 2019]

SERIALIZATION: Episode 2 of "The Doom of Innocence"

THE FOLLOWING DAYS passed without much to anything of importance occurring, and Urathane contented himself with various tasks to occupy his time; and when those ran out, he spent his time reading from some of the books or scrolls in his small study. Palisor visited here and then, though most of his visits were uncustomarily short; but still, he came, mostly it seemed to check upon Urathane and to see if he was in need of anything. The steward of his estate and his consort––Urathane’s housemaid––managed to keep him company some of the time when they were not otherwise occupied with the tasks pertaining to their functions. Their names were Alwen and Indra, and they had been availing themselves of Urathane’s comfort for nigh on twenty years. Long had he known them from before even that time and when he was still a young stripling, they had been young and the chief-caretakers of his father's house. Now, they were older and frailer than in past years, yet they were venerable: kindly and good-natured persons who still took pleasure in aiding and abetting Urathane in the maintaining of his house and the surrounding grounds. Now, it was on the twenty-seventh of May––approximately a fortnight after Irolas’s departure––that Urathane received several letters: the first of which was the first communication he had received from Irolas as of yet. When the dispatcher had taken his leave, Urathane opened the first one and read thus: THE SHIP-YARDS, ELGAROST. May the 26th, Yr. 4679, 2nd Epoch. Dear Father, All is going well here, aside from some few matters of small interest which I shall disclose here shortly. This new position provides me with a much more substantial income than the previous one had proffered to me. I have furnished a ‘small’ house: one that fits me quite properly for the time being. I hope that you shall be able to pass by sometime soon (take care that you inform me first, as I am often put out to small excursions at sea more and more these days) and thus see it in its full glory if it could even be called that. Among other matters that I find worthy of recounting is the news that was posted by Lord Surentûr (I hope that you are not displeased that I mention him here) some days ago. He wishes to greatly increase our naval arms and to change the way in which we build our ships. In this at all events, I conclude that he does ill. For he has ordered that we––using his designs and teachings––construct ships wrought of metal which have the capability of journeying over the waters without sailcloth or canvas. These, which we have already begun to build are hideous to look upon in my eyes; and in this, it seems to take away some of the glory that Ared’dor now possesses. And also for matters of more gravitas: I can only deem that he wishes to increase our already extensive fleet for the sole purpose of expanding our borders into those of the surrounding realms, and of this I disapprove also. I am glad that we can at least agree upon some matters concerning this contentious subject betwixt ourselves, though the ways by which this has occurred I wish would not have presented themselves as they have done so. Lastly, but certainly not least, I have some stranger and maybe darker tidings to infer: it has been reported that several of the King’s Ships in the Royal Armada have disappeared, along with the men who had gone abroad in them. This was first brought to our attention when they failed to arrive at the ordained time, and now we are beginning to suspect that fouler work is at hand. Naught has been found or heard of them since the onset of their voyages, and we have already sent out inquiries to other ports along the eastern seaboard, in hopes that they might have alighted there; but so far, we have heard no word concerning them. Nervousness and tensions are beginning to mount. But then again it may all be for no point: perhaps they have merely been delayed by foul weather? Winter’s arm is grown long this year, and though the cold begins to wane, the sun has not blessed us all too often with her amiable rays. We do not know. I hope that we shall meet again soon and that all is well with you. Your son, Irolas. The next letter was unmarked and showed no sign of an address, save for a single word which had been transcribed upon the envelope’s opening flap: Thiräelaiu. This was evidence enough to the fact that only one specific person could have transcribed it: Jerushin. Jerushin was one of the foremost progenitors from which the small sect of ‘fools’––as Irolas referred them to be––had initially been engendered. They were obliged to keep all of their doings and communications as cryptic and clandestine as they could make them be; for Surentûr was vigilant and ever-watchful for any suggestion of disloyalty. Wherefore, though they had not openly begun practicing anything akin to treason as of yet, they still had to carry out everything they did, in the most covert fashion available to them. Another reason for this, in part, was that not long ago, Surentûr had openly forbidden any form of ‘philosophy’ and had attempted to gather together and amass as many narratives as he could which pertained to a historical and philosophical nature concerning events of the past. Needless to say, Urathane and those of the same disposition as himself had been attempting to preserve and consign as many books and tomes as they could into more prudent hands, in an attempt to uncover and hopefully discern what Surentûr’s over-reaching intent was, in addition to their shared goal of preservation and eventual restoration. Hence the reason for all the secrecy involved. Quickly unfolding the single sheet, Urathane scanned the slanted script that appeared to have been written in much haste: To Those Whom it Might Concern, Friend, it might be of interest to you to thus discern that there are certain persons in certain places that are performing certain deeds at a certain time with a certain approach for certain people of a certain travesty. It is Certain, that after reading this you will have bound together your assessments for the resulting judgement. It is elemental, that you keep safe your precious wherewithal, using all Instruments necessary to retain that which was bequeathed to your friends and enemies from falling into the hands of a Thief and a Deceiver. In doing so, you may yet preserve many fates told and the old tales and lays of past times may be sung yet again in portents of Lustrous Shadow. Show not your ignorance by disregarding the slight blade when beginning the allotment of bread. Betake yourself to preserve that which may be lost forever, if let rest in soiled hands. Scour the Monuments of Memory and make to sing the Song Reborn of Ages Past. Unremembered, Unsought, Unfound. Thiräelaiu. The script ended there. Urathane set aside the letter and leaned back in his armchair. “So a storm is coming then,” he muttered––half to himself, half to the letter. “Or is it all a feint? Who knows?” The air inside suddenly seemed stuffy and hot. He needed fresh air: a cool breeze upon his face and some time to clear his mind and process the abundance of information that had just been imparted to him. Alwen and Indra were out in the marketplace spending the afternoon at their own leisure, so he was alone. Standing, Urathane walked to the door, which led to the back of his house and was greeted straight away by a soft, cool breeze that flowed gently over the stone walls surrounding his garden. Almost immediately, he felt refreshed, although the burdensome weight which had fallen upon his heart still remained. Raising his eyes to the expansive clouded skies that stretched out far above him, he searched them with an uncertainty born out of many years of anxieties and hardships. Already, the day was beginning to wane, as all the while, the sun descended ever further into the horizon. Urathane felt as though he needed to move his abode of residence from within sight of Elgarost to someplace much farther away: a place where he might live in peace without the strains and encumbrances of disquieting news, troubles, and all the subsequent anxieties which naturally pertained unto these matters. But alas! Where in all Pergelion could such a place be found? He could think of naught. The wild, untamed regions of Pergelion were becoming more unsafe by the day. Since the onset of the Second Epoch, after Eldamír the Renowned had forever driven the Great Oppressor from the reaches of the world, thus bringing peace and security to all, order and solitude had fallen across all of Pergelion like never before and the peoples were content and no longer feared to betake themselves of the lands beyond, as they had in times past. But now, the mood of the people was grown dark, and a shadow of malice seemed to lie upon their hearts. This was one of the reasons why Urathane distrusted Surentûr so: as the years seemed to darken, so also did the hearts and minds of the people. Surentûr, for his part, seemed only to encourage this: spurring them to the desire for more and better things than they had already, so that if they were content before, now few abstained from putting themselves forth to these things. His deliberations were broken up by a rustle sounding to his side. Looking around himself so that he might discern the source of the racket, he beheld the old, nearly rotten back-door to his garden being pushed open on its hinges. It creaked noisily till it had made almost a full turn, to reveal Palisor. “Palisor,” said Urathane, turning to face him, “Whatever are you doing here at this late hour?” “Hullo, old man,” replied Palisor, with a seemingly-forced smile. In truth, however, he did not look particularly cheerful. “I knocked upon your front-door; but when you did not answer accordingly, I thought to find you here; and lo! I have guessed rightly, for here you stand. Oft is it that I find you here of late, it would seem. Yet, you look as though you are greatly troubled and weighed down by some great burden more and more these days, wherefore giving me cause to wonder.” “Wonder for what?” “Why, wonder for the way you conduct yourself, if not the reason for your troubled mind, of course. But I did not make my way hither for small talk on matters such as these. Would you mind if we sat alone for a time? I have some things upon which I would confer with you if you would be so inclined to spare me some of your time.” To this, Urathane assented, and he wondered at Palisor’s sudden if unusual forwardness; for this did not come across as the Palisor he had been acquainted with in years past. They sat on a long stone bench which lay beneath an alcove, surrounded by several stooping elm trees. Urathane waited in silence for Palisor to say whatever it was he wished to say. “So,” said Palisor, “have you heard the recent news? It is not long past.” “Nay,” replied Urathane. “At least I think not the kind that you speak of mayhap. I have not been the recipient of much news lately, and all of that has come only through letters or rumors spoken by those visiting me at my house, such as yourself. If I may so ask, what is this ‘news’ that you allude to? Does it bode good or ill for our welfare?” “We shall see, as some would say that it bodes both ways and maybe you would think it ill; but I am undecided.” Here, Palisor paused for a brief moment, then proceeded to say, “In the streets of Elgarost, they are saying that the King has been taken ill by some malady and now lies upon his deathbed, with no hope of healing. It is said that he has just weeks left at the most, ere it takes him.” “Poisoned, more likely,” Urathane muttered darkly under his breath. “What was that?” Palisor leant forward in his seat, lips twitching slightly. “Naught,” said Urathane. “What do they say is the cause of his…” He struggled to think of the word. “Affliction?” supplied Palisor. “Aye.” “From what I have heard tell, the royal physicians are thoroughly mystified as to what is causing it; but whatever it is, it’s burning him up frightfully quick.” Urathane nodded his head grimly. “That’s what I would have suspected.” Palisor cocked his head to the side, an eerie sort of look loitering within his pale eyes. “You believe his ailment to be the cause of some dark malice, do you not? I suspected that you might.” Urathane did not reply: his gaze was fixed steadily upon Palisor. Palisor paused before seeming to resolve something in his mind. “Lord Surentûr will preside in his stead for the time being until the Head Council reaches a settlement on who will succeed the throne, as the King has left behind no heir to receive it.” “You need not tell me of that which I am already apprised of,” said Urathane. “It has long been known unto me the uncertainty surrounding the heirship, though maybe that circumstance is not all as they say it is.” Palisor dismissively waved his hand. “Forgive me, I spoke more than was needed. For the other matter, there is also talk that Lord Surentûr wishes to break off all the ties and alliances that we have with the surrounding kingdoms and realms so that Ared’dor might advance its borders.” “And what think you of this?” said Urathane. “Do you think it good or bad?” “Ared’dor is one of the most prodigious and distinguished realms in all of Pergelion…” said Palisor, a small hint of caution entering into his voice. “So once was Asgalarion, ere it fell,” interrupted Urathane. Palisor looked at him, curiously for a small moment before continuing. “It once had ample room for its peoples; but as it has grown in affluence, so has the populace increased likewise. It has now become if you will forgive me for the vulgar usage: densely populated, unvaried, and to a degree, over-familiar. Dissatisfaction is growing: the people are murmuring not so quietly. The old is thrown aside for want of the new. Maybe it is, in my mind at least, a good thing for us to expand our borders. But I am not sure if you would approve of my assessment.” “Indeed, I would be at variance with you on this,” said Urathane. He was opening his mouth to say something further but then checked himself. “Again, that was the outlook I expected the more from you,” said Palisor. “However, this does not change my opinion. Lord Surentûr is wise, and he looks ahead to a future hitherto unknown. Where else can we grow but outwards? If we tarry within our borders, then we will erupt from within. These are the only choices laid before us: expand our borders, put restraints on how many offspring can be brought forth from each respective house, or another, more unfortunate option.” Urathane's eyes darkened, and he looked as though he might give voice to something, but again, he desisted from this resolve. “Surely you have some further sentiment in these matters which you would express, Master Urathane,” said Palisor, impelling him to speak. Urathane stared at the younger man for a hard while, before finally speaking. “What is it that you are endeavoring me to say, Palisor? Your apparent exertion has not gone by unnoticed by me, and I feel as though you are somehow trying to ensnare me within my words.” “It is known to an extent that you have expressed some enmity towards Lord Surentûr in the past, have you not?” As he said this, Palisor's eyes seemed to glint with some strange thought. Urathane studied Palisor's face with a small trace of thoughtfulness, as he tried to discern his real motive; then he nodded slowly in concurrence. “Aye. I have, and I still do at times, though in these dark days, one must be discerning with what they give voice to. Oft it is that we are more and more harried by restrictive and imperious ordinances which increasingly regulate our freedom; this is one such repercussion among a sea of many: no longer are we allowed to openly contend with the Royal House and any assertions made against it are considered of a fallacious nature.” “Indeed they are, Master Urathane. And though I am quite aware that you may think otherwise, you err in your reasoning. Lord Surentûr seeks to uphold the morale of the kingdom in these dark times: he endeavors with as much power as he has been granted, to deliver us of the petty grievances and affronts of the past. Quarrelsome contentions made flagrantly, only serve to darken the mood of men and stir up the insurgent and unruly emotions which naturally lie within them.” “You speak of freedom, my young friend; yet as with my son, in vindicating Surentûr, your words solely function to work against you and not for you. If you would only look to the past, to history, to our history: then you might not be so quick to flaunt the celebrated folly which Surentûr has instilled within you and those of your generation.” “You have become suspicious and maybe even foolish in your old age, Master Urathane,” said Palisor in response. His voice had grown cold and almost haughty now. “Folly you say? Many enervating worries may yet cloud a shrewd mind and thus become blind to the folly in its own perception. In bidding me not to flaunt my own supposed indiscretion, take care not to parade the seeming astuteness of your judgement.” Urathane laughed brusquely. “Do you not see how Surentûr has twisted your mind?!” His voice quickly took on a dismal quality, and he said half to himself, “But no: the young are naive and therefore do not have the weight of years which the old have, which in of itself brings wisdom, and through their gullibility, they are thus easily deceived and led astray.” Centering the whole of his attention back upon Palisor, he said, “Wisdom we debate, and on imprudence, we utter our sentiments. Yet none have demonstrated a greater display of folly than our king himself. And wherefore, from that folly has spawned all of the quandaries upon which we now exchange discourse in our wrangling words. The King was a fool to bring that sleazy, duplicitous rogue into his company. Surentûr befouls the hearts and minds of all who place great merit in the quintessence of their vanity and thus would they hearken unto him, just as the King has done. His forked tongue may speak of things high-minded and scrupulous, but Surentûr is a deceiver!” Urathane’s voice, which had at first been equable in its tenor, had slowly risen with the all-encompassing range of his wrath until at last culminating in a shout. Palisor's eyes glinted again. “It would be wise if you kept your words down,” he hissed in a snake-like whisper. “Lord Surentûr has ears everywhere. Sleazy or not, he is now the most powerful man in all of Ared’dor, and he will not be refused.” “Refused! Refused!?” Urathane laughed almost bitterly. “Tell me this, Palisor: when has he ever been refused?” Palisor began to reply, but Urathane cut him off. “Nay,” he said, “We both know he hasn’t been refused. Bit by bit, his ill counsels have prodded the King to some overarching goal of his. What that is, I know not; but I am enlightened enough to tell about things such as these, I think. He has not been refused ere now, and I deem that unless this kingdom is shaken by the roots of its foundation, then he shall not be refused again, even if it be the kingship.” “The kingship he could very well gain if indeed the King fails in his illness.” “And since the day Surentûr first arrived here, our fate has been sealed. While our body may look strong in appearance, inside, we rot like a corpse that has been left to weather the world's storms. As the hunted prey takes the bait laid for him, so did the King fall into the trap laid for him. Honeyed words are a snare for those who would thus be tempted to take them, and unwholesome company corrupts the good people.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Especially in the race of men.” Palisor's sharp ears heard him. “What of the ‘race of men’?” he asked. “Men are weak,” said Urathane, almost contemptuously. “Their most regrettable feature is their quick satiety with good. Throughout history, a continuous pattern has developed: whenever evil's day hand and the world is at peace, they become discontented and restless, eventually finding some way to stir the old evil back to life. Their hearts are easily corrupted and can be led to treachery on a mere whim. “It is like unto a tree, which can never be completely felled. For all our efforts, it continues to sprout forth dark fruit which falls like seeds into the hearts of men. It seems that no matter how many times we may fell the tree or hew off its branches, it grows swiftly anew and again spawns much evil with its darksome yield; maybe even so until the end of days when Oros returns and the Day of Doom* wreaks its path upon us.” Urathane desisted from his tirade as if becoming aware for the first time how contemptuously he was spitting out the words. “Much is upon your mind I see,” said Palisor. His face grew doubtful, though, beneath that benign demeanor, there seemed to lurk a loftful smile, sinister almost in its nature. “Maybe,” he mused, as if to himself. “But then again, maybe not. Perhaps darkness has more power than light, and your question is answered by the fact that light cannot fully overcome the darkness because of this. People speak of a ‘Final Battle’ or a ‘Day of Doom’ as you so purported it to be. A battle, where a final epic clash of Good and Evil shall take place: a struggle in which Evil shall at long last be overthrown. I wonder though if this is but a ruse: a fairy tale as some might call it; merely something perpetrated by those who would consider themselves of the Light. “Throughout the ages, Good and Evil have warred and still, after many thousands of years, darkness yet endures. Mayhap, in the end, it is the darkness that shall triumph, and it shall be the light that is overthrown, never to rise again.” As these last words left his mouth, a mad light came upon his face, like an eye into his very soul. And what Urathane saw there greatly disturbed him. For a little while, he eyed him warily. “I have grown weary of this discourse,” he said, at last, rising from his seat and turning to leave. Inside, his heart had grown cold, as if a raw iciness had crept into his body and now surrounded his bones, chilling him to the marrow. Palisor said quickly, “You speak of a ‘Dark Tree’.” Urathane stopped dead in his tracks and turning back midway, inclined his head to Palisor, a chary expression upon his face. “Aye.” Palisor’s eyes seemed to grow larger, and so did the strange leer which resided within their depths. Then, with a whisper as soft as night itself, he said, “Then you have heard of Malaketh?” Overhead, a cloud shifted in front of the sun, casting a dark pall about them. Something seemed to rumble tremulously in the skies above, and the very air stilled: a hushed quiet enveloping the garden as if all had been turned into stone. “Malaketh?” Urathane’s eyes momentarily widened in some ancient horror; before they quickly steeled over. He said in a low voice, “You should not speak of that darksome name with such flippancy. The mere utterance brings a black shadow upon us all.” He paused. “Tell me Palisor, where do all of these prodding and probings of yours lead to? What is it you are trying to gain from me? Do not believe that I have not noticed your offhanded manipulation. You have slowly guided our wandering words to some hidden purpose of yours.” “You run from the past, Master Urathane; however, eventually, that past will catch up with you. So it also is with the world. More so even, you could say. That which was hidden ages ago now seeks to regain that which was lost.” “Why speak you in riddles?” said Urathane. “Still does your purpose remain unclear to my mind. Speak that which is upon your mind and bedim not that which you would.” Now Palisor stood. With some abruptness, he took some steps away from Urathane and gazed outwards at the cloudy sky, shifting slightly. He said, “A growing number of people are not content. This, you have undoubtedly already noticed. The old look backwards, searching in vain for the past: in this, they have blinded themselves. Us that are young instead look to the future and that which lies ahead. Lord Surentûr was sent as a sign: a portent and preamble to that which will return. We look now for the fruit of that preamble's promise; for we know that the time of its coming draws nigh. Do not be naive, Master Urathane; if you merely make to look into the innermost depths of your heart, you will know of that which I speak.” He turned and shifted his head to look full on at Urathane, a knowing simper on his face. Urathane leaned forward, his eyes searching Palisor's. “What does this growing animosity plan to accomplish?” “Animosity?!” Palisor shook his head. “Nay, not animosity, but aspiration eternal.” For a time, both men stared at the other, their eyes locked in a silent battle of determined will, each waiting for the other to give. “Neatly have you spurned my attempts for answers,” Urathane said, finally breaking the silence. “Why do you evade my question, Palisor? I would believe that you had something to hide, were it not for the fact that you dangle small morsels that promise fruition; yet at the last instant, you snatch them away. Why?” Palisor paused, then said slowly, “I will tell you all that you wish to know if you join me at the place of the Duar-Aranaoth at the first hour of night, clad in black. However, you must come alone; otherwise, your questions will remain unanswered.” Having said these things, Palisor finally took his leave of Urathane's garden. For a long while, Urathane stood still as a statue, gazing into the grey sky, yet seeing naught. Palisor’s words profoundly disturbed him––so much so that it took him great strength of mind to even begin wrapping his head around the matter; he also felt the considerable unease of some unsettled dread swirling about within himself. He knew that all was not as it seemed in Ared’dor––he had known this for some time––however, his conversation with Palisor had managed to radically heighten his fears and suspicions. If one such as Palisor was apart of it, then how many more were there also to be figured in? All of them? Palisor had seemed to hint that something of the sort was close to the truth. And indeed, though his words had a profoundly disturbing effect on him, Urathane could not help but think that deep down inside, there was some truth to them. While the older generation looked back to the past, the younger generation––goaded and manipulated by Surentûr’s duplicity––looked forward: to things that were better left unsaid and let be for all of eternity, if that could be. Their dabbling, whatever they were, would only bring forth evil if left alone. This sudden change in Palisor’s character seemed so abrupt, so sudden, so unexpected, and so unlooked for that he wondered how many others were hiding a darkened heart beneath a fair facade, just as Palisor appeared to have done. Again, his heart went cold as he thought of Irolas. Perhaps he was wrong, maybe he was so burdened by worry that he saw darkness where there was none; and in doing so, had wrongly discerned Palisor’s motives. “Yet the mere blithe with which he had mentioned that dark name, the leering gleam that had seemed to lurk deep within his eyes…” he said to himself. There was too much. Too much to go through. Whatever it was that was manifesting itself in Ared’dor, he did not know with any sure certainty what it was. In fact, he might never know––until it was too late––unless he accepted Palisor’s offer. Though he was wary of it and the prospective implications that might arise thus in such a venture, he decided after some thought that he would betake himself of this journey; though he would bring his sword hidden within the folds of his cloak, just in case things happened to take an unexpected or unwanted turn. Deep, down inside, Urathane suspected that something dark, secret, and deadly, was at work in Pergelion. Something evil was simmering under the fragile blanket of what people called peace these days. He resolved to learn what he could from Palisor––if he truly knew anything at all––then depart as soon as he was able. He did not wish to be about outside too long when night lay upon the land and when there was the chance for evil to be prowling about; the dark was no longer wholesome in Ared’dor anymore. TO BE CONTINUED: SERIALIZATION: Episode 3 of "The Doom of Innocence"

SERIALIZATION: Episode 3 of "The Doom of Innocence"

WELL-NIGH AN HOUR later, Urathane sat in his study, slumped over Jerushin’s enigmatic letter at his desk. He had spent some time poring over its contents, and he was still utterly confounded as to what the correspondence pertained to. No matter how hard he tried, Urathane felt that he was no closer to the seeming verity contained therein, than where he had been when he first began. Clearly, Jerushin was endeavoring to impart some consequential information, something that he wanted only Urathane to have knowledge of, something so indispensably crucial that he had been compelled to create a cryptic paradox that called for Urathane to somehow elucidate. Undoubtedly, Jerushin believed Urathane would have the sagacity to construe the indicators straightaway, thus enabling himself to ascertain the real message; but even so, Urathane remained at a complete loss as to what Jerushin sought to convey. So he read the first line again. To Those Whom it Might Concern. Plainly, that was an impartial reference to himself. There was naught to be discerned here. He perused the next section. Friend, it might be of interest to you to thus discern that there are certain persons in certain places that are performing certain deeds at a certain time with a certain approach for certain people of a certain travesty. “Why seven uses of the word ‘certain’?” Urathane thought. This was where he had first gotten stuck. No matter how hard he tried, he could still not determine the meaning of ‘seven’ and what it pertained to. Could it perhaps be a reference to the seven prophecies of Lemuel, the olden sage? He did not know; nor could he discern how it stood in relation to the sections proceeding. It is Certain, that after reading this you will have bound together your assessments for the resulting judgement. It is elemental, that you keep safe your precious wherewithal, using all Instruments necessary to retain that which was bequeathed to your friends and enemies from falling into the hands of a Thief and a Deceiver. It was clear that Jerushin was exhorting him to safeguard something that, at all costs, must be preserved from falling into the wrong hands. He was, however, altogether perplexed in settling on whether it was some relic or information. Yet, although he was undecided as to how ‘Thief’ stood in relation to ‘Deceiver’––whether they were one person or two––he knew beyond any doubt that ‘Deceiver’ was a clear and obvious reference to Surentûr; it was a frequent watchword that they used whenever referring to him. Beyond this, however, Urathane could glean nothing further. He turned to the final paragraph. In doing so, you may yet preserve many fates told and the old tales and lays of past times may be sung yet again in portents of a Lustrous Shadow. Show not your ignorance by disregarding the slight blade when beginning the allotment of bread. Betake yourself to preserve that which may be lost forever, if let rest in soiled hands. Scour the Monuments of Memory and make to sing the Song Reborn of Ages Past. Urathane slumped back in his chair. For some reason that he could not determine, he was utterly stumped, unable to understand Jerushin’s intent in the slightest. Likely there were others besides himself who, when merely sparing a glance at it, would be able to pick up the meaning forthwith; Urathane, however, was not blessed with such an aptitude for cognizance. In desperate need for a change of scenery, he stood, letter still in hand, and departed from the room. Passing through the hallway to the sitting room just beyond, he entered therein and seated himself comfortably into the folds of his large, high-backed armchair which was positioned appropriately beside the fireside. Placing his feet atop the footrest, he settled back and once again, began to re-read the letter. At that moment, Indra bustled in, her slight frame passing through energetically and her hands holding a tray whereon were set nourishments and provender concocted for the day’s end. “Here now, just you fix yourself there, Master Urathane; enough worrying about the winds of the world for today: there’s naught you can do to stay them at the present.” She set the tray down on the small stand neighboring Urathane’s chair, while simultaneously sweeping off two books to make room for it. Expressing his utmost gratitude, Urathane momentarily set down the paper to take a small draught of the tea she had so conscientiously prepared and to sample some of the food alongside it, so as to satisfy her probing eyes. “Simply delectable, my dear woman,” he said. “Now where is your good husband? It has been some time since I last saw him walking about. I hope he is not ill?” “Nay, lad,” she said in her usual, genial fashion. “The man is out in your garden, studiously exerting himself in an undertaking to maintain some herb or another. Can’t he see it’s evening already? Supper is nigh on ready yet.” She clucked her tongue. “Honestly, that silly man! In all frank sincerity, I don’t know where he would be today, if not for me. Ah, well, what does it matter? I must call him in.” Then, in a brisk flurry, she had gone from the room, leaving Urathane alone. He smiled and simultaneously set down his mug of tea; other matters preoccupied his mind, and though his body hankered for food, he had a task before him that was unfinished: one that he knew should not remain so in such a state. He reread the letter again. The sun had nearly set beyond the uttermost extremities of the sea and eventide was nigh upon him, when Urathane departed from his house. Before betaking himself of the path that had heretofore been determined for him, he made his way to the waterside and took a moment to observe the sun, set in the west. A soft ocean breeze was blowing in; it ruffled his hair and calmed his unquiet spirit to a point. As the sun disappeared below the distant horizon, Urathane was struck by the beauty contained wherein the panorama before him. Slowly, the sun sank further and further, hovering above the water’s periphery, thus engendering a fiery blaze that lit the oceans with a ghastly, red hue, yet still glistered iridescently whenever he shifted his position. “A great storm is coming upon Ared’dor,” he said aloud to himself. For some reason that he did not know, the words came unbidden to his mouth, and it was if a sudden foresight had come upon him in that moment of verity. The sun sank at last, and then the gloaming of twilight was upon the whole land. Urathane sighed and left the tranquility of the opulent sea to take the path ordained unto him. As he trod down the trail that led to his journey’s end, doubt suddenly clutched at his mind, and he almost contemplated turning back; but then thought better of it and continued onward. Momentary caution ran through his mind like dark arrows of foreboding crashing against his soul with the breaking of the wave; some commanding in their plow, some deadened. For a moment, Urathane felt as though he were being followed, and indeed, it seemed to him that he heard the pattering of footsteps on the winding path behind him. Slowly, his hand came to rest upon the hilt of his sword, and he gripped it tightly, while glancing back over his shoulder. Not seeing aught, he relaxed, if only slightly. The Duar-Aranoth was placed in the very midst of the small settlement that existed only several miles downhill from Elgarost. It was called so for the great fountain that rose in the middle, sprouting forth great bursts of white water which then fell upon the undercurrent sustaining it, with a great splash that foamed thickly; it stood over three persons tall and four just as wide. Tarrying near the edge of the center, so as not to appear fully in the moonlight, Urathane peered into shadows which encircled about him, as he sought for a familiar face. At first, he could descry naught. Then, just for a second, he thought he observed a small movement in the shadows of an outcropping tree nearby. Peering into the shadows which seemed to cloak all, save for the very center of the small square, he was able to discern that someone was standing there. Stepping out of the darkness, he strode forward resolutely. Better to show courage than to show naught at all. From his new vantage point, it was become easier now for Urathane to see what lay within the enshrouding darkness. The figure in the shadows seemed to shift his weight. “Palisor?” whispered Urathane. The shadowed figure stepped forward into the moonlight. “I am here,” said Palisor. “Have you come alone as I asked of you?” “Aye.” “That is well.” Palisor’s face gave way to the same leering smile he had borne earlier in the day. “Then let us take a walk, you and I, Master Urathane; a pilgrimage you might call it, succinct though it might be in its replete veracity.” Urathane did not stir from where he stood. “To whither do we wend our way?” “To whither I say!” snapped Palisor, instantly breaking any reverie which might have once lain upon the commune. “Let us not tarry on the road set before us and depart from this place henceforth.” He made a move to absent himself down a nearby trail. Once again, Urathane refused to betake himself of the path Palisor had indicated. “I would know to where I was being led hither, ere betaking the road unto it. It is certain folly to walk blindly ahead and to place your trust in anyone and everyone who would durst to lead you down an uncertain path.” “Yonder and near the high knoll not far from us,” said Palisor in an even tone that still seemed fraught with impatience. Urathane sighed. “My heart is at a great unquiet, due to the sudden waywardness of you and your irascible words, and I cannot fully portend as to what your true intentions be as of yet. Be that as it may, I shall yield regardless and be led whither, you say; for I would not bereave myself of a chance to learn something of consequence yet unknown to my ears.” “Then let us be off,” said Palisor. And they departed. The path Palisor had evinced, was one Urathane had yet taken some times before; and for some time it appeared to be well-trodden. However, many other trails spawned from this one and snaked off in different directions. It was one of these which Palisor betook them of and the many marks and impressions of which the first path had been so privy to, began to fade away, or rather, be dispersed in their number. Darkness had fully descended upon Pergelion when Urathane perceived the hesitant flicker of light playing off the surrounding foliage about them and a faint chanting which echoed from some ways away. The intonations rose and fell in their tenor, and though Urathane was unable to make sense of the words at that time, he perceived that they were harsh and menacing: full of anger and hate. He had not walked more than a little ways further when the overhanging trees cleared away abruptly to reveal a great hall that seemed to be somehow built or ingrained into the stony hills that twisted and turned ever northward and away from Elgarost. In the murky windows inset within the enclosures, Urathane beheld the light of many flickering candles wherein were illuminated the silhouettes of many persons within. The settlement in which they resided was in fact, more undergrowth and foliage than aught else; the buildings that existed there, were merely a small cluster of brown scattered about in a sea of green. However, if one happened to withdraw from the central core of this community and venture far enough away, then there was a good chance that one might happen upon one of the abandoned halls and forsaken shacks that were strewn throughout the countryside. It was to one of these that Urathane found himself being led hither. Passing through shadow to the edifice, Palisor turned the door-handle, and thus they entered within. The hall was large enough to accommodate many people, and accordingly so, Urathane found himself to the backs of at least a hundred. They moved in a fluctuating fashion with the swaying and murmuring of those within, while the insides of the darkling chamber danced and glimmered with the red light of many burning candles. At their ingress therein, some few turned and spared a quick glance or two. However, many did not for some reason, instead, staying where they already stood. All in all, it was a rather eerie and most disturbing side to behold and almost at once, Urathane began to find himself again wishing that he had not taken up Palisor’s offer. Not content to be positioned by the door, Palisor strode soundlessly to the wall at their right, motioning for Urathane to follow him. He halted at an open place in the wall, and they stood shoulder to shoulder on the outer fringe of people that lingered at the very edge of the assembly, their backs to the engirdling walls. “What is this? What are we doing here?” asked Urathane in a furtive whisper to Palisor. He did not make any attempt to veil the dubious and chary expression which resided upon his face. “You shall be enlightened ere long,” breathed Palisor. “You have asked for answers, Master Urathane: this is my rejoinder. Be forbearing for a time and do not let your onerous irascibility show itself at a time such as this. Listen to the singing and be illuminated!” Urathane regarded Palisor darkly for a moment, then turned his eyes and ears to those before them. All had their eyes closed, and they swayed back and forth as one, chanting in an ancient language that had long lain in disuse. Though it had been many long years since Urathane had last felt it fall to his ears, he bethought himself again of it, and as the intonations washed over him, he knew the words for their true meaning. Here is it rendered as much as can rightly be remembered: On dark shadows rising to mar, we hear a sigh as if from afar. A murmur in the windless bay, a shudder in stone born of sunless day. The vale is swept; shadows gnaw and devour, the blade gleams in crimson light dour. A forest of masses gathering near; hearts beating with a wrenching fear. Thunder roars and lightning crackles, an austere voice laughs aloud and cackles. The Dread Lord rises from darkness enthroned; and makes to wield the dark blade honed. Urathane grimaced inwardly at the resonance of those sickening utterances. Averting his eyes, he looked to those around himself, his gaze finally falling upon those persons who stood at his side. Several of them did not appear altogether at ease; some shifted apprehensively, while others eyed the oscillating assembly with either disinterest or intrigue. However, there was one person who caught Urathane’s eye. He stood near the back of the hall, leaning against the innermost corner; one hand rested upon the pommel of his sword, while the other vaguely fingered the hairs of his ragged beard. Though he had a hardy look about him, he still appeared young. Broad-shouldered, yet tall, his bare head was overlaid with thick, golden hair that was shorn just past his shoulders; his beard was of the same hue also. His eyes were dark, and a small curl of his lip displayed the evident distaste for which he held the ceremony. Before Palisor could have time to react, Urathane left his place by the wall and silently crossed the other man and himself. Behind him, he heard Palisor grunt in slight irritation; yet he made no move to follow him. Without so much as a word, Urathane slid into an opening at the man’s right. For a moment, the other regarded him almost contemplatively; but eventually averted his gaze when Urathane did not exchange eye contact with him. After a time, Urathane said in a small undertone, “I see that I am not the only one ill at ease in sight of such an odious spectacle to which we are held privy.” For a moment, the man persisted in his silence. Then he said in a low voice, “It is indeed true that I hold this mindless susurration to be of an unsettling nature; but this I would ask: who are you and what is your interest in me? I am a hard man who has lived a hard life; and I would not hesitate to draw forth my blade or loose an arrow if any thing or person were to show the slightest of threats towards me or mine compeers.” “I understand well the wariness that you harbour towards those strange to you,” said Urathane, still not turning his eyes away from that which lay before him. “And I wish there were more of like mind to you and myself: chary and not one to be led so easily astray on feigned words.” “You speak then of the madness which has originated itself within the hearts of the Ared’doreans: that which has been fostered and nurtured by the Lord Surentûr?” “I do.” A hard edge had grown in the man’s voice. “You speak then of the lunacy which is ensuing before our eyes this very night?” “The one and the same.” “Then it is indeed true that we have an accord.” “Their ‘enlightenment’ is the subterfuge by which the full encompassing nature of their ken shall be depreciated. So do all things once held glorious fall into the rot of decay.” “Dark, are accounted the works of Agandaûr,” the man said. “But methinks darker still to come are the deeds of Ared’dor and its peoples, and wherefore, I deem that they have drifted too far astray for there to be a hope of renewal.” “I too, account all of these happenings to wholly spawned of the dark,” Urathane concurred. “They must be ended ere their roots are grown too strong for us to hew off.” “However many times you would cut off the branches, so then shall they grow swiftly anew,” whispered another voice at his side. In his pronouncements, Urathane had failed to mark the sudden arrival of Palisor, who had surreptitiously made his way back to Urathane’s side. “Palisor,” said Urathane in a decidedly equable voice. “You promised me answers, not the mere descrying of a multitude of muttering and babbling fools. What are the intents and ambitions of these mad rites to which we are witness? Answer me quickly, for my patience is at an end.” “The Dark Tree,” Palisor murmured softly as if he had not heard Urathane. “The Ascension of the Unnamed; the darkness descending upon men.” He turned and gazed suddenly at Urathane; a glazed look was borne in the gloaming of his eyes. “The Incantations of the Dead are the wherewith we avail ourselves of to bring forth our liberator.” Urathane narrowed his eyes at Palisor. “The Unnamed? What is––” He abstained from further words, as the enigmatic chanting came to a sudden, halting end. “It is ended,” said Palisor, the glazed look fading from his eyes. “And we are come nigh unto the very zenith of our rites.” At the far end of the hall, a man robed in drab black raised twain hands in the air to signify the end of the intonations. The room had gone dead silent. “Nataryã,” said the robed man. “This gathering of the enlightened has now come to full order. I, Verath, chief orator and ordainer of this assembly proclaim that the time has come.” Verath drew his hands together and then spread them outwards, bringing them at last, to rest upon the table in a clenched fashion. “Draw near all you who have heard the Call, for we have come now to the time when we suffer any would-be-initiate to join themselves to this assembly.” A small surge of about twenty people pressed forward and formed themselves into a line. To each one, the chief orator said, “Wilt thou take an oath to forever conform thine mind and life to the well-being and furtherance of this assemblage, and wilt thou pledge thy forevermore loyalty unto the Lord Surentûr and the Unnamed?” And each said yea, and they were thus made to recite the words of avowal in the harsh, grating tongue which those persons already joined together had been chanting in. Then, the chief orator took forth a ceremonial knife which he used to make two long lacerations upon their left palm; while at the same time holding beneath it a silver chalice in which to accrue the blood loss. Then it was ended, and the new acolytes took their place in the assembly. “Are there any more who wish to be joined to Us?” asked the chief orator. With birdlike eyes, he scanned the room, probing each and every corner. When none came to step forward, he said, “Then, let us come and––” “Wait just a moment now!” said Palisor at a sudden, seizing Urathane’s arm and thrusting him forward aggressively. Verath’s eyes darkened at the disruption. “Palisor, son of Saëgor, do you have an explanation for this unseemly behavior?” “I do,” said Palisor, undaunted. “This very night, I bring before you one Urathane, scion of Neldoreth, last sovereign of Asgalarion and a direct descendant of Eldamír himself.” A collective gasp ran through the crowd and Urathane, who had wrenched his arm away from Palisor, stared at him, eyebrows arched in surprise. How has he discerned this? he wondered to himself. In all of his years, Urathane had never spoken of his ancestry to anyone, save his own son, Irolas. How then had Palisor found him out? “Is this true?” asked the chief orator, eyes widening. “If it is not so, then I proclaim my own life to be forfeit,” said Palisor in return, his voice ringing with assurance. “How?” Urathane asked Palisor in a low voice. “How did you know of this?” Palisor gave Urathane a disparaging smile. “Do you think I am blind, Master Urathane? You may hide your traditions and your lifestyle in favour of parading yourself as someone else; however, you can never fully shroud the inherent nature of your upbringing. There are other ways from which I was able to discern this verity, but now is not the time or place for them.” Palisor turned back to the chief orator. “Yea! This man is a direct descendant of Eldamír himself. As such, you then know what this portends for all our efforts and now at last, we can see if they have all been for naught thus far. Let us make the trial: either by that of a willing acolyte or by way of the other, more unfortunate route.” “Willingly and agreeably would we accept this, if we had but one certitude: where is your proof?” Without hesitation, Palisor reached within his trouser-pocket and brought forth a small, gold ring. The ring had a bezel, upon which was an engraved design––like a stamp. “I have here, his very own signet ring. No further evidence of corroboration should be required.” “Let me see this thing with my own eyes,” said the chief orator. Confident and self-assured, Palisor passed the ring to one who stood nearby, who then subsequently presented it to the chief orator. “Not only have you intruded into my own personal affairs and concerns; but you have also managed to bereave me of one of the few possessions that I was able to preserve from the fall of my house,” Urathane said angrily. “I am wroth at you and your deceptions. Never again, shall I be taken so easily! And I say this to you Palisor, son of Saëgor: a bane and plague be upon you and your house forever!” For a moment, Palisor looked stricken; but then the same lofty leer which seemed to have become an ever-pervading feature of his face, returned and he regarded Urathane with a haughty expression. “This does indeed prove beyond any reasonable doubt the true nature of our guest,” said the chief orator, who had been turning over and scrutinizing the signet ring. He laid it gently upon the small table before him and looked up, fingers crossed at his belt. “Have him brought hither to me.” Urathane immediately began to step backwards; but halted mid-stride, when he saw that the mass of people had begun to form a circle about him and Palisor. He had no other choice but to go forward. Peering quickly over the heads of those that encompassed him at all sides, he managed to catch a glimpse of the man who had appeared to share his sympathies, yet he could glean nothing from it; for the man’s face was become inscrutable and abstruse. The sea of people swarmed towards him, pushing him to the forefront of the room––and the robed man who stood in somber bearing behind the table. Then, as he had done to the others before him, Verath asked Urathane thus: “Wilt thou take an oath to forever conform thine mind and life to the well-being and furtherance of this assemblage, and wilt thou pledge thy forevermore loyalty unto the Lord Surentûr and the Unnamed?” “Nay,” said Urathane. “I will not.” For a small moment, Verath simply regarded him with a pensive and humorless expression. Then he said, “And are you sure of this?” “I am,” Urathane replied defiantly. “Naught will sway me in this matter.” “Then you must forgive us for the actions which we must take forthwith.” Swiveling about on his heel, the man pointed towards two acolytes who stood nearby. “Bind him unto this table.” The two acolytes drew their swords and advanced upon Urathane, eyes callous and hard. Without taking time to further contemplate the situation, Urathane leapt away and, snatching up the knife wherewith the chief orator had used to draw forth blood from the newly-initiated, turned to face the advancing men. In answer, they both raised their blades to block Urathane’s expected thrust. But Urathane did not thrust at them. Instead, he brought the full force of the knife down to bear upon the long rope which stretched lengthwise down the center of the room. Upon this was strung many candles that lighted the room. The line slashed in two, and the entire length came whipping down: ending with the crash of the candle-holders upon the stretch of rug which ran synchronously down the hall. For a moment, a diaphanous darkness settled over the room. Then, with a loud whoosh, the rug ignited in a flash of red flame. Urathane seized the opportunity granted to him by the chaos and ensuing panic, to reach within his cloak and draw forth his sword, Durendurl. The two acolytes who had been drawing near to him, rushed now upon him, to disarm him before he could wreak any further havoc. With one easy, underhanded blow, Urathane sent one sword flying, while using the short knife to pierce the shoulder of the arm holding the other blade. With a loud cry, the pierced man fell to his knees, hand clutching at his arm where the cloth was already darkening from the blood flowing forth. Urathane had seen more gravely wounded men cry far less. The acolyte whom he had disarmed, stumbled backwards as Urathane advanced upon him and then fled in the other direction. Some men had grabbed flasks of water and were now trying to engulf the fire with it. The water managed to dampen it somewhat, and they might have been able to utterly extinguish the flames if it had not been for the attempts of one man to dump the contents of his ale flagon upon the fire. With a loud roar, the conflagration leapt back up, completely eradicating any chance there had once been of quenching it. Urathane vaulted away on his heel just in time to see the man with whom he had been conversing with earlier, rush past him to the blanketed table and reach beneath it for something. Then, before he could see what was being drawn forth, he found his view obstructed by the chief orator. Snarling savagely, the man bounded towards him, sword drawn and raised high over his head. Urathane deftly blocked the blow, only to find that his assailant had deliberately allowed him to do so, while he brought about a hitherto concealed knife, which then he drove into the lower part of Urathane’s torso. Urathane gasped in surprise and with a small jerk, pulled the knife free. Yet he did not take fright at the small stream of blood that came flowing forth; for the blade that had pierced him was short in length and he knew that the wound was not mortal. Growling viciously, the man heedlessly brought his erstwhile blade down to bear on Urathane’s side. Recovering quickly, Urathane stepped backwards half a step, parried away the blow and then––when the man fell back from the force of Urathane’s lunge––hewed the man’s sword-hand from his arm with one clean stroke: cleaving flesh from flesh and bones from bones. With a piercing scream, the chief orator collapsed to the ground, crying out for aid as he did so. No respite was Urathane to get, for three young acolytes, having heard their master’s plea of help, swiftly took his place and set upon him without delay. Urathane had barely enough time to turn aside an oncoming blow before another was upon him. He fended it off, twisting and spinning out of the way of impending strokes while blocking those that he could not avert. Then, while he deflected a slice aimed at his shoulder, a scornful voice said from behind him, “Fool. So engaged is your mind in that which is before you, that you fail to behold that which is beyond you.” Urathane didn’t have time to accost the cognizant voice. Something hard slammed against the back of his skull and the whirlwind of shouts and cries surrounding him, faded away as a torrential darkness overtook him. He fell forever. TO BE CONTINUED

SERIALIZATION: Episode 1 of "The Doom of Innocence"

URATHANE IVRONWINE made his way down the slight, rocky trail which wended ever westwards along the banks of the Dwarthéa, to the shores of the Great Sea just a little ways ahead. “Irolas! Irolas!” he called out, sharp blue eyes probing his surroundings with a keen regard. His excursion to the outside world was mainly due to a desire to speak with his only son. Time was run short for him, and he hoped to find a common mind upon whom he might unload the fusillade of troubling introspections which had been pressing upon his heart of late. Overhead, the sun shined dimly in the overhung clouds with a tint of paleness, yet still gave off enough light to make the sparkling waters of the river shimmer in a somewhat mellow brightness. Around Urathane, green bushes sprawled out of the fertile riverbank here and there, while the light of the sun filtered softly through the leaves of the ash trees which hovered over the waterside. In front of him, however, the river curled and twisted lazily in a small, descending slope, before coming after several more miles to the seaside, where the oceans ruled, and the crests of their waves pounded against the land in a heraldic fury. Urathane halted his promenade to gaze eastwards. Slowly, his eyes passed over the distant Pëlindori, to the valley below, to at last the great city of Elgarost, the capital city of Ared’dor. There, his eyes lingered, and he looked upon it fixedly. Even from over a league away, Urathane could see the uppermost spike of the high tower of Ephén-Laranal, wherein hung the bronzed bell which rang loudly for all to hear each time the third hour came to pass upon the city. For all sakes and appearances, his face bore no sign of the conflictions that warred within him. His heart was caught between two different sentiments: each contending upon the other, thus creating a fermenting unrest inside of him that was the permeating source for his overwrought state of mind: an unrest that pervaded most all of his thought and served to agitate his heart and soul greatly. But Urathane had not come to look upon the wonders of the world that existed outside his home. He had come to see if he might find his son, Irolas; for he wished to speak with him before he left for Elgarost to take over his new duty at the Ship-yards. At this, he turned away resolutely and continued his ambling trudge down the riverbank. “Irolas!” he called again. “I am here, my father,” said a voice suddenly out of nowhere. “I am if truth be told, quite near to you.” Starting, Urathane looked around to discern where the voice had come from. Just a little ways away to his right, he espied a large boulder which jutted out authoritatively from the sandy riverbank. Upon seeing it, his eyes lightened in realization, and he quickly crossed the distance between it and himself. On the other side of the boulder, he found Irolas standing stalwartly upon the rocky shore, hands clasped firmly behind his back, and eyes gazing out upon the calm sea which gleamed scintillatingly a little ways beyond them. His dark hair fell a little ways past his ears, and a thoughtful, wondering expression was upon his face. In looking upon him, Urathane’s heart filled with pride. Irolas was strong and fit; the vigor of his youth was evident about him. In Irolas was represented one of the last bits of dignity which he had once worn about himself before evil came upon him. Yet, in thinking of the pride which he felt for Irolas, the sadness felt in days long past returned to him. For a moment, his face grew grey almost and distant, as his mind reflected upon times past. Then, with a quiet sigh, he pushed aside the reminiscence, driving away those grief-haunted times to a much darker corner of his mind, where they would not give cause to haunt him. “Irolas, my son,” he said. “I wish to speak with you. The shadow which I believe has fallen across this land weighs now heavily upon my heart as well, and I would have someone in whom I could confide. I hope though that I am not intruding upon you or your thoughts in any ways which might give cause to irk you. If you wish it so, I shall spare you the fears and worries of an old man for another time.” He hesitated, not knowing whether to take his leave or to draw closer. “Your presence is not displeasing to me,” said Irolas. “Nor is it a hindrance or bother to me in the slightest. You are my father, and if I do not have the time to be a rock upon which you should lean in your most trying seasons, then I am no good of a son at all; you may speak whatever it is you would say if you wish so.” “I thank you for your comforting words, and I pray that you never think of me as troublesome,” said Urathane, relaxing and drawing nigh to the water’s edge. “Alas! All is heavy and dark now, and under some black shadow which I feel shall soon rear its ugly head and spew its poisonous breath upon us, if it has not yet already done so.” He paused, as if contemplating the words he was about to say; but then made up his mind and said, “Of the matters that have been pressing upon my mind of late, this is one: what think you of the Lord Surentûr? When you hear his name uttered or chance to espy his face, what feeling comes upon your heart? Is it hope or disquiet? Trust assured or distrust warranted? What think you of the hold which he has over the peoples of Ared’dor and their King?” “Why I feel nothing at all,” said Irolas assertively. “Indeed, there was once some hesitancy on my part in regards to him; however, my stance has changed, and I now believe him to be caring and full of wisdom: a leader who cares greatly for the better welfare of the people: one who consistently sets their interests above the concern of his own. There is a strange aura about him, an ambiance which fills my heart with a sense of peace and tranquility of heart. But wherein this matter lies your distress? No justification can I here perceive in regards to the dark portents which you have taken pains to evince.” For a moment, Urathane’s countenance fell; but he managed to hide this before Irolas caught sight of it and discerned it for what it was. Taking no notice of Irolas’s presumptions, he said with deliberate intent, “Then is your outlook upon him positive or negative, that being so? Do you believe that he does good for the people? That he is what they need?” “Yes, indeed,” said Irolas. “I am of the opinion that he is good for the people. Look around us! Are we not the most impregnable realm in all of Pergelion?! And are we not the wealthiest? “Our cities are the most glorious there are to behold, and the soldiers within them are staunch. They defend our borders with a zealous aggressiveness that is held in so much esteem by the neighboring countries and realms, that none have dared to assail us for many long years; and all flock to our kingdom and cities so that they might trade and barter with us! To me, this seems an easy question to answer: I say yea! Surentûr has done much good for us with his wise counsel, and we thrive exceedingly because of it.” My greatest fears have been confirmed, thought Urathane to himself. Surentûr’s hold on the people is indeed very great, and now it is that I shall hereafter have to choose my words carefully in these matters when speaking to my son unless he should one day see Surentûr for the serpent that he truly is. Aloud though, he said, “In your words, you seem to forget that we are of Asgalarion and not of Ared’dor, although once we were one people, as you well know. Do you not bethink yourself of why we became two nations? The shadow was already creeping over Ared’dor ere Surentûr came; the soil was fertile: all he needed was to plant the seeds and let them fall to the right ears.” “So some would say; but history was changed, it is said, and elsewhere another story is told.” “And what is the story now?” “That we were the dross the needed skimming off: the chief tyrants. With our departure and the rending of the kingdom, Ared’dor was left in peace to grow to new heights hitherto unseen. And now the Lord Surentûr guides the ship through the murky waters which would despoil it.” “Your heritage you fail to remember, Irolas,” said Urathane, his trepidation growing with this unseen revelation. “And you have let your guard drop, allowing your mind to be deceived by falsities sent beleaguer and persuade our reasonings to another, unknown purpose which has not yet been revealed at this present time.” “That, my father, was the story told from our persuasion. Each person has their own story, which is right in their own eyes; we are not held exempt from this. Truth is what we make it to be.” “Nay, but you err in your assertions,” said Urathane. He looked askance upon Irolas and continued. “There is Wrong and Right: there is no in-between. Surentûr changes history to fit his own scheme, casting shadows over the Light and enlightening the deeds of the Dark. But they were never selfsame. Nay, but they are at great variance with the other. From whence have these pollutions come to enter your mind?” Irolas made no answer, regarding him with a perturbed expression. Urathane pressed onwards. “The houses of Ared’dor and Asgalarion have been separate and estranged from each other for over two generations. Though society as we know it, may become so enamored of Surentûr, that they would place their trust in one who would lead them blindfolded on the path ahead, you must hearken to my words! There is a great darkness in this world that seeks everywhere it might look to find those whom it would devour.” “Your words reek of treason, my father,” said Irolas. "Do not speak so loudly! It is decreed that none shall speak unfavorably in opposition to the royal house or those that serve within its courts; for that is considered blasphemous and of a treacherous nature against his Royal Majesty.” “If it is treason, then it is treason,” Urathane replied. “I serve not Darkness, but Light only. If our sovereigns and those who serve them are servants of the Dark, then I serve them not, nor abide by their law. The only allegiance that I may owe to Surentûr is through the fear and dread of dark torments, which he sets within our hearts. That is how he would control us.” “Us? What mean you by ‘us’? I do not give my allegiance to Lord Surentûr through such ways as those which you have spoken of. And what do you mean when you talk of ‘dark torments’? This is the first time I have heard of such acts, and I am out and about more in the world than you. Your utterances seem unfounded.” “No, you do not,” said Urathane. “That, I meant for myself and those of like mind. But though it indeed is true that you are out and about more than your father, I have other means of gaining access to disclosures. This is not something that is spoken of out loud; it is merely a rumor: something whispered of only by those subverters of the Steadfast: one which is made to spurn fear in the hearts of good men. However, do not let me misinform you! It is an actuality and was personally reported to me by those who have gone to great lengths in discovering the secret doings of our leaders.” “Whatever are you saying, my father?” said Irolas, a look of fear momentarily entering his eyes. “You do not mean to say that you are actually a leader of these fools who would try and depose of our hierarchy, do you?” “I am the son of Neldoreth,” said Urathane. “Even though I am removed from the House of Ared’dor, my seat still resides in the hearts and minds of its former people, and the Lords of Ared’dor are not so easily displaced. There are some who still hold themselves loyal unto my line, and I am bound in more ways than one to serve them as I still can.” “You would unseat a great lord who has done much for the benefit of Ared’dor without cause? That seems low for you, my father.” “Have you not been listening to my words? Do you not observe the minds of the people? Yes, they may be prosperous on their own accord, and yes, wealth may be abundant, but what of their hearts? I deem that you are right when you say that Surentûr speaks soothing words which comfort your heart and assuage your mind of all fears, but what is their effect on the people? Riots are more plentiful than ever before; weapons of war are increasing, and the people are become more restless and quicker to violence by the day: I say, is this truly good?” Irolas looked at him warily. “Why is it that you speak like this? Simply because the world outside may seem dark, this does not portend that all else is under shadow; can there not be some good left? I believe this to be so and in following this line of thought, I also believe that Ared’dor is exemplified perhaps through this. Yet you speak as though Surentûr were unwholesome for the people. Has someone come and given you reason with his or her words to think so?” “I speak of what my own mind ponders,” Urathane responded sharply. “Though you may no longer be a child, that does not make you wise. I am still elder than you and shall always be; I merely give voice to such thought, because I have seen such things before. My years are weightier than yours, and I have more reason to be wary than you. I have known and felt how it is to be betrayed by those whom I once deemed good.” He paused and regarded Irolas with a knowing glance that yet held a measure of decidedness to it at the same time. “Tell me Irolas, when was the last time that the King of Ared’dor appeared before the people? His presence has not been felt or seen here for many long months, and during this time, these ‘royal decrees and proclamations’ have only served to increase, more so than has been the custom in times past. Bethink yourself of this also: every time he appeared before, unfailingly was it that Surentûr stood at his side: always whispering something in his ear, always giving him some ‘advice’ that we were unable to hear. I deem that I would be right in saying that Surentûr, not the King, rules Ared’dor.” “Whatever on earth are you suggesting?” said Irolas, almost denunciatingly. “Nothing, but that which I have observed with my own eyes: eyes which are more prone to search out, than to trust absolutely. If you did likewise, then you might understand me better, and it might be that we could agree on this matter.” “However that might be,” said Irolas, with a small hint of annoyance in his voice, “Surentûr does do good for the people whatever you may say. You may be wary because weapons are increasing, but the enemies around us are growing stronger with every passing day: why then should an escalation of weapons be deplorable?” “Have you not taken heed of the discontentment which lives and festers everywhere you look?” Irolas’s constant rebuttals were beginning to try Urathane's patience. “Always when you make an answer of me to defend Surentûr, you speak of that which grows on the outside, not of that which grows forth from within. This is precisely what I speak of; this is one of the reasons why I have been stirred to doubt and wariness. Looks can be deceiving. Just because all may look well and prosperous on the outside, it does not always indeed bode that all is at peace, I speak of what I see when I deem to look upon the true hearts of the people or listen to that which they utter with their mouths. As the old proverb relates: From the abundant fruit of the heart, the mouth doth speak. “Everywhere I look, I see discontent and restlessness. Ere Surentûr came, the people seemed at least somewhat content with what was allotted them in life; however, since the day he first arrived here, bringing prosperity and affluence, they now wish for more. Through this, they have become filled with a lust and greed for pleasures and worthless trinkets, making it so that they are no longer content with what they already have.” Irolas eyed him for a small while, and he seemed now to be almost leery of Urathane. “Why have you come to me with this, my father?” he asked. “I would not wish for a rift between us; cannot we lay aside this matter and speak of it no more? Solitude is more preferable to estrangement is it not?” Urathane sighed. “So it is, Irolas, so it is. However, one might wonder if compromise hinders more than abets here. Yet this is perhaps why I have come before you at this given hour, ere you leave for your new post. There, I wonder if you would be driven even more so away from me; for your betters would likely be most inappreciable of my sentiments and would wish for you to think as they do. However, if you wish it, then I shall lay aside this matter for the time being and not speak of it for an indefinite amount of time.” “I would wish that so,” said Irolas. “Very well.” The moment passed, and Urathane withdrew from Irolas’s side and returned within the house shortly thereafter. True to his word, he did not bring up the subject again, and Irolas conducted himself as if the conversation had never taken place. It was on the following morning that Irolas departed for Elgarost. The distance was not far; it was merely a few miles from his house which lay near to the sea, but Irolas would be taking up a permanent residence there hereafter. As he began to ride down the path that would take him to the city, Irolas turned back for a brief moment and said, “I hope O my father that you bear no ill will towards me or my judgement.” “I bear none, my son,” replied Urathane. “Palisor informed me that he would pass by here now and then to give you company, so that the days may not become wearisome to you.” “You may have no fear of that,” said Urathane. “Though my beard may hold some grey in it that ripens and grows out further with every passing spring, I am no dotard; however, I shall appreciate his company, should or when he deigns to give it.” Palisor was a good friend of Irolas, and on times when he was away, he often came by to converse with Urathane on various matters or subjects of interest to them both. Since the very first day when Urathane had moved his place of abode to the small settlement that existed below Elgarost, Palisor had dwelt there with his father, who was not long passed away. He always spoke to Urathane with great respect and likewise, treated him with much deference; for which Urathane was appreciative. He did mean it when he said he would welcome his company. Thus, Irolas departed, and for a little while, Urathane stood silently in the doorway, watching him proceed further and further down the road before he was lost from sight altogether. Then, with a quiet sigh, he closed the door and busied himself with a few menial tasks that kept him busy till the day was ended and night had drawn nigh. TO BE CONTINUED: SERIALIZATION: Episode 2 of "The Doom of Innocence"

SPECTACLE OR ATROCITY?: A Review of "The Hobbit trilogy" – PART 3

I think the real problem with The Hobbit movies stems (yet again) from the decision to expand two three-hour films into three, three-hour films. While the creative team says this was their choice, there is much evidence to the contrary––evidence that they were, in fact, forced to expand by studio execs. From what I have been able to tell, this "expansion" consisted of 1) the addition of the love-triangle (Tauriel was in the original script), 2) much of Legolas's story arc (again, originally a cameo, like it should have been), 3) Thorin's confrontation with Azog in the forest (which just so happens to be one of my favorite scenes in the entire trilogy), 4) the majority of the framework (pretty sure Frodo wasn't in the original script), and 5) the addition of Azog's son, Bolg, among other things. The Negative Elements Once again, the move from two to three films introduced a boatload of elements that some would undoubtedly consider “unnecessary.” Below, I list what I believe were the most unnecessary of these. 1) FRODO: I would brand this inclusion as “fan service,” or “homage,” or whatever you want to call it…the point is, it was unwarranted and didn’t do anything at all to further or deepen the plot. It might have worked and been appreciated more had the first film been a bit shorter, but let’s face it: Middle-earth flicks ain’t never short. 2) LEGOLAS??: I think many would concur that to preserve continuity between both trilogies (not to mention aligning itself with the novels), it only makes sense to include Legolas. However, this happens to be a case where I hold creative differences in regards to the filmmakers. Legolas should have been present, but he shouldn’t have been a key player in the story main. At the very most, he should have been a cameo. The decision to include his character to the extent that it was, only served to detract from the story of Bilbo and the Dwarves. In all likelihood, that was very likely the role he was originally intended to have before the expansion. That “expansion” ended up serving us the love triangle (no thanks), father-son conflict (could’ve worked if more effort had been put into it), and all that ‘Legolas-ness’ we were served up. Instead, the focus should have been on the Dwarves, not Legolas doing, well, whatever he was doing. I’m not referring to that at all. Nope. 3) THE SCENE WITH THE STONE-GIANTS (and yes, that was in the book) could've maybe used some trimming, or at least could've been tied into the story better. It made for a mostly gratuitous action scene––though props to it for contributing something meaningful to the plot. 4) THE LOVE TRIANGLE: Personally, I didn't hate it as so many people seemed to. (Don’t @ me.) However...it didn't really serve the plot and ended up being yet another added element that detracted from the primary character arcs. The story could have been better served by cutting Legolas out and focusing instead on Kíli and Tauriel's relationship (which, by the way, happened to be a positive element––we'll get to that in a minute). The Positive Elements 1) GOLD ISN'T THE GOAL: The inclusion from Sauron actually helped the story and tied it into its predecessor better than anything else could have. While the theatrical version merely hinted at the "masterplan," to take the Lonely Mountain, the extended editions fleshed this out to a much greater degree, and this reveal served to enhance the story for the better. I am, of course, referring to the disclosure that Smaug, following Sauron's orders, ravaged and took Erebor for his own. Sauron then planned on seizing it once he had regained his full strength and using its strategic position to attack Rivendell, the Shire, and many of the free lands to the west of Middle-earth. With this reveal, all of a sudden, the stakes have been raised. The object of the quest, and the Mountain becomes of greater interest to the story as a whole. Smaug's motives suddenly have a different meaning. The quest becomes much more vital. Also, this plot point better ties it in with Rings and makes the story seem "necessary." 2) BARD IS A PERSON: Much-needed character development was added to Bard's character, without changing the spirit of the book-version. This turned out to be a definite highlight of the trilogy. 3) KÍLI & TAURIEL: You may hate me for saying this, but I would argue the addition of Tauriel and her relationship with Kíli was one of the more positive adds to the trilogy. For one, it added some real, much-needed emotional depth to the story that was otherwise lacking, and two, it served to accentuate and pronounce the conflict between the Elves and Dwarves to a better degree. The "Feast of Starlight" scene was also beautifully-scripted and showed deeper insight into the Elves' culture. Sadly, her relationship with Kíli wasn't helped by the later decision to include the dreaded love triangle. Take it from a verified Tolkien nut. I stake my claim. What It Really Comes Down To We can discuss many different aspects of this all we want, but at the end of the day, what this comes down is one's personal preference. I could easily argue that those who love Rings and then get mad about Tauriel or Azog's inclusion have no ground upon which to stand because Rings is guilty of doing the same. And as for those, however, who didn't like Rings...well, it's just natural to accept that they aren't going to love The Hobbit movies either. And there is nothing wrong with that. Rings was exemplary in that it managed to preserve much of Tolkien's original intent––however, that doesn't mean everyone has to like it. There are DC fans who despise good Marvel movies and Marvel fans who loathe good DC movies. People are different, and no one person is the same. Again, it all comes down to personal opinion. The reason why I enjoy watching them so much, despite the aforementioned flaws, is because of 1) the acting, 2) the marvelous & visually-arresting set pieces, 3) the director's approach to shooting scenes, and 4) the (of course) legendary score by Howard Shore. For myself, those things make them perfectly enjoyable to watch. However, that's just myself.

Scheduled: Updates All Around

The word count for the second draft of Swords Unhallowed currently sits at 69,619K. My hope is to have this draft finished sometime around the end of October (here's hopin'). While I'm still plugging away at it, I thought I'd drop by and give a general overview of what my plans are going forward––for those who are interested in that sort of thing, of course. Swords Unhallowed: This second is one of five planned drafts. The first was really only me throwing everything that I had against a wall and seeing what stuck. The second is replacing what didn't stick, rearranging, adding, and deleting scenes to help the story flow better. In the third, I'll iron everything out, expand upon sections that I might have 'under-described,' and make the characters' words/actions more consistent. Once I get to the fourth, I can begin making things look polished and up to my standards. I'll take a lot of time in this one, studiously going over every chapter, every scene, every paragraph, every sentence, every word to make things up to par. Around this time, I'll begin sending it out so that I can get feedback and suggestions on what to change and what to keep. After that, I'll take which changes that I deem necessary, implement them into the manuscript and then give it one final polish. Release date: The plan is to self-publish this; however, at the same time, I plan on beginning the process of sending it out to various agents and editors. Regardless of how self-publishing fares, my plan is still to become traditionally-published. That much is certain. Currently, the finish date is set for Spring 2019. Now, I don't know if that is truly feasible; everything depends on how 'fresh' I feel coming off the Fallen Son draft. But for now, that's the date till it's not. Fallen Son: On to my planned science fiction novel, Fallen Son. As of now, the official manuscript stands somewhere around 7,000-10,000 words, while the outline is about three-fourths of the way nailed down. My tentative plan is to finish the outline soon, and commence with a draft starting in December––only after the second draft for Swords is finished. For those interested in or intrigued by the particulars and intricacies of ‘book writing,’ this is for you: I plan to post each chapter as I write them on my blog, regardless of the state it is in. This way, you can see both the rough drafts and all my various plot-notes scribbled in between the story main. You will be granted an exclusive, over-the-shoulder look at how a story is written and developed. Additionally, I also plan to post videos on my YouTube channel as I write the chapters. These videos, in essence, will be high-speed, screen-recordings made as I forge my way through Fallen Son. Enough said. Release Date: Something tells me that if I'm unable to finish Swords by its intended release date, then Fallen Son might get jumpstarted sooner than expected. Additionally, I've found that I'm able to write and polish everything non-fantasy much quicker than the former, which makes the chances of this happening much more likely. However, if this ends up not being the case, then (assuming that the initial drafting goes well) you can probably expect this in either the Fall or Winter of 2020. The Mighty Shall Rise: Part 2: I shall likely commence the drafting for Part 2 after Swords Unhallowed and Fallen Son are completed. When exactly, I can't say. I haven't yet gotten this far as an author, so who's to say how I'll feel? Either 1) I'll be exhausted after the completion of Swords and not touch it for a year, or 2) for some reason, I won't be able to stay away from it and get it done in record time. The Sequel to TMSR: Yes, despite what I've said about a standalone story, The Mighty Shall Rise SHALL have a sequel. In fact, it will have FOUR sequels. Titles have already been chosen for all four, and the basic story premises are set in stone. I'm working on a story treatment for the first sequel in my off time, and I'm pleased to admit that work is going well. I've always felt that once I can get TMSR out of the way, then the others shall come much more quickly. I still believe that, so much so that there is a very small––but possible--chance that I finish a draft for the Sequel before TMSR is even finished. In story, anything is possible. Mortal & The Timekeeper: As I stated in the description for Mortal in Other Projects, I would expect this sooner rather than later. The main difference between this and The Timekeeper is that, while I've cooked up a few interesting angles to time travel for the latter, I already have a definitive (not to mention intriguing) premise all mapped out for Mortal. I would like to quickly note that due to several similarities that have arisen between the two, I have considered merging either the stories themselves or just the worlds. I have been tempted to brainstorm work on the plots for both lately, so there's a chance I will be able to get some preliminary work done on both sometime soon. This Is Love: Don't ask, because I don't know. Vision & Word: Currently waiting for an opportune moment. However, once ground gets broken, work on the plot and story will probably pick up real quick. Tempered by Truth & Hullo Logic: Right now, any work in these areas will be primarily focused on publishing articles on The Reb. So don't expect anything on this end anytime soon.

Draft #1: Finished!

It is finished. The first draft of Swords Unhallowed is finished, coming in at 90,003 words and 354 MS pages. At long last. I spent some time Thursday reworking the story due to several plot lines unexpectedly spiraling out of control, cut one character, and combined several others for the sake of more linear storytelling. In all, I really only cut 3,000 words, which may not seem like much; however, at the same time, I essentially “rebooted” the story––therefore cutting much more than would at first seem obvious. For those who aren’t aware, I’m not exactly a fan of huge, giant stories with a bazillion plot threads––unless it serves a purpose. I tend to be someone who likes his stories tight, rigorous, and well-thought-out. For me, every character must serve some purpose within the story (and no, not to simply set up an introduction in a plausible fourteenth sequel). Every line of dialogue must be considered; every storyline must contribute something meaningful to the story, and every secret revealed must be done with tact (which happens to be why I’m such a big fan of the Jason Bourne movies, and Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes). I’m somewhat obsessed if you haven’t noticed. As I have stated before, I will be taking an immediate break from Swords. I need some time to distance myself from the characters/story/world so that I can return later with a fresh perspective and renewed drive. After several months, I shall return with a full head of steam to write a second draft.

SPECTACLE OR ATROCITY?: A Review of "The Hobbit trilogy" – PART 2

It is well known that The Hobbit was written long before its renowned sequel was ever conceived. However, there are also many things that people are not aware of. One of these was that Tolkien was reportedly “dissatisfied” with the finished product (a sentiment expressed during and after the publication of the sequel). In fact, he revised it several times, going so far as to completely rewrite the celebrated “Riddles in the Dark” scene. In the original, there was nothing ominous or dangerous about the Ring at all. Gollum was a friendly, happy-go-lucky character who helped Bilbo find his way out of the tunnel after the lovable Hobbit won their riddle-game. This was, of course, entirely and shall I say, drastically overhauled in the 2nd edition (the one we all know and love today). His displeasure with it was so great that he even went so far as to commence on a rewrite that would retell it in the tone and style of The Lord of the Rings (which was something the filmmakers attempted to emulate with varying degrees of success). Fortunately or unfortunately, that revision only proceeded past several chapters before it was abandoned. But Jackson and his team of Tolkien scholars were, without a doubt, utterly aware of this, as is seen in the two most prominent criticisms aimed at the films. 1) being the decision to expand the source material into a trilogy, and 2) deviating from the book's playful feel to the far-reaching, more action-oriented style of the Rings trilogy. How Expanding Two Films into Three Undermines the Structure At its inception, the original plan was to release two separate installments, titled An Unexpected Journey and There and Back Again, respectively. The first movie would have covered not only the troll-scene, Rivendell, the Misty Mountains, and the famous Riddle-scene, but also Beorn, the journey through Mirkwood, and the Dwarves' capture and escape from the Wood-Elves. This original "first movie" was set to end right after the "Barrels Out of Bond" scene––just before the Dwarves enter Lake-town. However, the decision was made to expand two films into three just six months before the premiere of Journey. Only naturally, this resulted in a rearranging of the film's structures––and one could make a very good case that this is precisely why the reception to Hobbit was so polarizing. For one, the structure just feels...off. Something is missing. These "missing" elements can, to a point, be shrugged off because so much else is well done. But it's still annoying. I think anybody would agree that pacing was a major issue, specifically in regards to An Unexpected Journey. The deliberate, plodding pace of the film irked a good portion of its audience, save for those who find every moment spent in Middle-earth, a glorious and sublime spectacle. However, whatever problems people may have had in regards to Journey's pacing, these were quickly and shall I say, pointedly, resolved in the first few minutes of Smaug. Aside from a brief prologue that provides some hitherto unperceived depth and gravitas to the quest, the story starts off with a bang. While An Unexpected Journey may have stumbled overall, The Desolation of Smaug was a grand, fun, and purposeful––yet at the same time somber––romp through Middle-earth, featuring a little bit of everything: action, mystery, romance, humor, and suspense, which are, for the most part, doled out masterfully. It is, without a doubt, the best entry of the trilogy. As with Gollum, the scene featuring Smaug conversing with Bilbo was widely-praised as a glorious spectacle on all fronts and deservedly so. The climax that followed between the Dwarves and Smaug received a much more polarized reception, and although it ended on a cliffhanger, many concluded that it was overall, a step back up to the high bar raised by the Rings trilogy. With high expectations flying high once again, the next and final installment, The Battle for Five Armies, was released the following year. The story picks up right where the last ended: an account of Smaug's devastation of Lake-town and his subsequent death at the hands of Bard the Bowman. This pivotal scene is generally regarded as the film's best––thanks to Smaug, yet again––but the prominently featured battle is nearly as spectacular. Yet it is here, where the move from two films to three rears its big, ugly head. As was stated earlier on, Smaug's death was originally supposed to serve as the lynchpin of the second act of the second movie––not the introduction to the third. This ended up making his death feel anti-climactic. When you set up and build a villain for so long, only to kill him off at the beginning of the next episode, you create problems. Now, this can be done right. Just look at the person of Thanos in Avengers: Endgame. The reason why he was able to be killed off so early on worked because he had already won. Thanos did what he set out to do and as a result, he had reached the end of his journey/character arc––and thus could be killed off, without any major ramifications to the structure or story. Smaug, on the other hand, hadn't done so, and as a direct result, the feeling of "payoff" that is so often needed in similar cases, fell flat. Once again, this could have worked much better if it had served as the launching pad into the third act of the second film. By then, the audience would already be neck-deep into the story, and with a swifter time slot in play, it would have felt much more natural. While easily being one of the trilogy's––no series'––more entertaining, brisker, and darkest installment, the script could certainly have been better written, and several unnecessary elements that were first introduced in Smaug, should have been excised. In this case, the extended edition is actually a much more developed and efficient film than the one we received in the theatrical release, and it likely would have been received better had many of its cut scenes been kept intact. This meditation on "necessary scenes" is an entire digression all unto itself, and therefore, let's move on. TO BE CONTINUED

The Power of "One Word"

There was once a ragtag troop of frogs who were traveling together through the untamed wild, when two of them suddenly stumbled and fell deep within the confines of a gaping pit. Now, these two frogs immediately began attempting with all that was within them to leap their way free. Unfortunately, they were greatly discouraged by their fellow companions above, who rained down the inevitability of their doom. “Give up!” they said. “It’s not worth all the pain and suffering! Give up! You’re as good as dead!” At last, one of the trapped frogs listened to their words and, taking them for truth, gave up and died on the spot. However, the other frog continued in his valiant attempts to free himself, until lo and behold! This lone, determined frog took one mighty leap, and to the utter surprise and astonishment of all, scaled the pit and escaped his doom. Awed by his incredible feat, the naysayers asked him if their words and proclamations had truly meant nothing to him; and if so, what had spurred him on to persist in his struggle? The frog, shaking his head clean of sludge, explained that mud had been stuck in his ears, making him unable to hear and had believed that they’d been encouraging him the entire time. THE POWER OF OUR WORDS This story is of course, an allegory of the supreme power language has to change lives. Through our words, we can be vehicles for change in a disillusioned world. With mere words––discouraging or encouraging––we can massively change and influence the lives of those around us in ways that we cannot even begin to understand. Much like the scenario of the frogs demonstrated, one word of encouragement can give another the strength needed to overcome his/her affliction, while a demoralizing word can quickly crush the hope of that same person in the twinkling of an eye. The frog that gave up and died, gave in to the discouraging words his companions spoke. But the frog that prevailed, was spurred on and motivated by what he thought were his companions cheering him on. Pythagorus, a famous Greek philosopher is supposed to have said, “A wound from a friend is worse than a wound from the sword; for while the latter affects the body, the former affects the spirit.” In the same way, a disheartening word from a fellow peer, friend, or companion, can destroy many years’ worth of compliments and at the same time, sap the spirit of all buoyancy and vitality. Our words have immense power and they can greatly affect those around you––for better or for worse. THE RESPONSIBILITY OF OUR WORDS As that oft-quoted saying relates, “With great power, comes great responsibility,” and therefore, we must take thought and give careful consideration to every word we choose to utter in every interaction of our everyday life. The power words convey should quickly put into close perspective the little things in life: such as how we react to those around us, and what things we impress upon the minds of our fellow peers and those who admire and respect us––the things we say and do every single day. Ephesians 4:29 reads, “Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only a word as is good for edification of the moment, so that it will give grace to those who hear” And this is what we so must consider: to encourage or to discourage. To build up or to tear down. To heal or to destroy. It’s said, “Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out.” With the knowledge of the power words convey, do we carelessly cast them out as one makes a hasty or errant decision? Or do we send them forth from ourselves as an expert angler casts his line? Through our words, we affect those around us; and those whom we affect can in turn, radically affect the lives of other individuals. What great havoc one word can wreak in this crazy world of ours! “Death and life are in the power of the tongue,” says Proverbs 18:21, and it is emphatically irrefutable that the two greatest forces that have assisted in the shaping of the world are those of life and death. Therefore, with life and death in our grasp, we can instantly be assured of the propensity each and every person inherently carries to change the world. With one considerate word, you could give someone hope. Or with one careless word, you could destroy hope. Are we selfless then? Or are we selfish? Do we deny self for the sake of others? Or do we set aside others for the sake of self? The way by which we affect those around us––with words or actions––is the change that changes the world; and this is the irrefutable proof then, that with one word, even a normal “somebody” can change the world. To truly “make a difference,” as so many say they aspire to do; to seed real and lasting change in this bleak, despairing world of ours, one can only truly begin to do so by taking that first step forward and letting your speech be seasoned with grace, “as though seasoned with salt.” For, as Pastor John MacArthur rightly affirms, “… salt not only flavors, but prevents corruption… [and so your] speech should act not only as a blessing to others, but as a purifying influence within the decaying society of the world.” In this world of darkness, we should be salt and light: worthy models of what is right, who go out of our way to set an example to all we encounter in this life. So be that change. Be the change that illuminates the lives of others. Be the change that causes others to follow behind you in your footsteps. Be the “somebody” that starts. One person stepping forward to do what is right, because it is right, can change the world. For if nobody starts, who then can follow? [the above was taken from Matthew's post on therebelution.com]