This is a work of fiction based on an online game I play called EVE. You can find out more about it by clicking on the banner to the right of this article.

Incident In Aunia

Captain Jay Harshaw is a tall man with a strange look and a somewhat addled mind, but one thing for sure, if you need something done, he could probably do it; if you could peak his interest, and that was harder than most would think. He stands 2.1 meters with wild hair in a race between silver and bald, and bald was winning. He has a habit of wearing his old Gallente Military fatigues, holdovers from the Caldari war. In fact, these fatigues are so out of style that they came back in style and are now tragically completely out of style again, not that he cares. But what most people notice first is the strange smirk that is constantly on his face, a smirk that says everything may not be functioning properly upstairs. At 64 years of age Captain HJ (HJ because when asked his name he always replied in military parlance, “HarshawJ, Captain of the good ship Arkenstone, Placcid Mining Corporation, payroll number triple zero two”) was still sharp in most matters, but one can never be certain when he will slip around the bend.

“Sir?...”

Ensign Benson nudged the Captain and the low sonic noises on the bridge ceased to the relief of the crew. HJ opened one eye and scanned the bridge lazily, his eye stopping on the all too anxious face of Carl Benson, Ensign.  “You’re mother mated with a Minmatar; what is so important that you had to disturb my cogitating?”

“We may have a problem Sir.”

“We may have a problem have we? And what exactly is the problem you think we may have Ensign, Benson?” Now he remembered why he hired the moonfaced boy standing next to him; Ensign, Benson; he was worth hours of fun at the dupes’ expense. He chuckled to himself which was of course interpreted by the crew as a sure sign the Captain may be off his medication again.

“Astrometrics reported a blip about 100 clicks out maybe an hour ago. It appeared, then disappeared about 5 seconds later. We didn’t pay it much attention, it could have been another miner passing by. But a couple of minutes ago astrometrics noted a warp signature starting in the same place but no blip. The logs show the ship an hour ago was a small ship, a frigate, maybe an Imicus class ship; they are often used by startup miners.”

“So where exactly is the problem? We get buzzed by other miners every day. They buzz us, they see the hulking HJS Arkenstone and the orbiting Hammerheads and get the picture; leave us alone. Unless you figure the blip an hour ago was not just another miner, is that it?” Of course that was it. HJ knew the signs of a cloaked ship when he heard them. And a ship that could warp out cloaked; he knew what that was all too well, covert ops.

“Sir, it could have been a Helios, a modified Imicus.”

“Is that a question or a statement Benson?”

The Ensign was sweating now; he had heard the rumors of other Ensigns that had not lived up to Capt. HJ’s expectation; rumors of frozen corpses being found amongst the minerals that the Arkenstone mined. In fact he never would have taken the position had the pay not been so monumental! Captain HJ was the only captain in the region that would take on a greenhorn and give him a full share and that was nothing to sneeze at considering the Arkenstone was noted to turn a billion ISK or more in two weeks. By his calculation the crew must all be very well off and he wanted in on that certainly.

Benson bit his lip, straightened his back and pronounced, “That’s a statement Sir!”

HJ looked him over and keyed the comm system on his panel. “Engineering, how many cans do we have out right now?” Lt. Commander Argyle snapped back, “We have eight out sir. Number nine is assembling now and will re-can number one in about a minute.”

“Are you loading the gifts in each can as per protocol Sean?” The sounds of a quick cargo inventory could be heard in the background, “Aye sir, eight cans out, eight toys out, one per can.”

The Captain flicked off the comm and slouched further into his seat. Ensign Benson was still standing there, looking as prim as could be. “Sir, any orders?”

“What would you have me do against a ghost ship that we could not identify and may be nothing at all?” HJ let out a sigh and then, “Resume your station at communications Ensign and open a channel to corporate. Get me the CEO; get me Colonel Tibbets.”

With a snappy “Yes Sir” ensign Benson returned to the comm, happy to have something to do. “Opening channel sir, it will be a minute or so…”

The atmosphere on the bridge got tense even though the captain seemed to be as casual (or distracted) as usual. He stood up, ran a hand through his hair which did not tame it a bit and said, “I bet you don’t even remember the Caldari war, do you Benson?” The crew on the bridge groaned. “Those were the days… the tactics were harsh, the tech was new and incredible and a man could be trusted to give everything for the Federation. Those were the days; it was even before clones.

You know I used to be a frigate pilot? That is where I got most of my training in fact. I flew Atron Mk II’s, before they could fit micro warp drives on them. They were still fast though and they were ugly and I loved them. Ever notice that people love the ugly ships more? They do you know. I wonder why? Well anyways, you learned fast or you died. Heh, we wouldn’t even talk to new pilots until they had at least 5 sorties under their belt and even then there was no respect until they flown 10 and had 10 confirmed kills. After that life was better in the Militia, but it was still hard, always living on the edge. It was that edge that made life sharp and in focus, colors brighter, beer better. I hated the Caldari, but I loved them for giving me that lust for the edge in life. They were real sons of bi…”

“Sir, the Colonel.”

HJ pulled himself out of his revelries and turned to face the forward screen. “Fat Man, what is it you want?” came the crisp booming voice of Paul Tibbets from the screen.

“Little Boy, good to see you. I just wanted to let you know that we may have to play with our toys and all that. Is there any reason we shouldn’t?” Tibbets thought it over a second. “No, it has been a while since you played with them… six years?”

“No sir, seven years going on eight.”

“Really? Well it’s about time then. You know who it is?”

“Well, it’s not Serpentis, Blood Raiders, or Thukkars, they don’t operate this way from the signs I am seeing. Angel Cartel is a possibility, but I think we would have been hit by now. It’s probably a new group, well funded, and trying to be smart about grabbing ore. That’s what I am counting on.”

“Are we going to have problems with Concord, HJ?”

“Not in this system, were still in empire. Unless Concord has changed the rules we shouldn’t have a problem in any case.”

“Well stick to corporate protocol and I will back your play any way you do it. Tibbets out.”

“Captain, new warp trail reading, this one closer. No ship on scanner.” said Lt. Axelrod from the astrometrics station.

HJ sat down again showing no signs of nervousness even if every other member of the crew were now fidgeting and fussing in some manner. “Mr Axelrod, give me 15 degree scans along the system plane of the ecliptic. Look for fleets or gangs forming within about 4 AU. Mr. Haas, recall the drones and launch the Tech 2 drones, just in case. Engineering, Sean you listening? Warm up the invulnerability screens and the afterburners to be on the safe side. Goggles, leave the roids we’re mining targeted, relock the remaining targeting slots on our cans; we may have to pop them ourselves. And no matter what happens, don’t stop mining. Ensign, take us to yellow alert, silent siren.”

The ships’ interior was momentarily bathed in cruel yellow light as the crew went about their tasks preparing for hostiles. The roll call of stations could be heard over the comm as all hands took positions.

“Now where was I… oh yeah, frigates as dog fighters, that was surely seat of you pants flying; fast, gutsy, and more than a little insane. But I have to admit, when it comes down to a duel, a knife fight as it were, I will go against any other pilot out there in a frig before I use a bigger ship… after all why waste a big ship when the small ships are truly skill. You will know the better pilot after a frig fight, no doubt about it.

But that’s not where I earned my rank… no the militia had other ideas for me. It was the battle of Serpents Coil, in Vilinnon. Several of our battle cruisers had spotted and damaged the command ship but couldn’t finish the job. We were low on ships, but we knew that if we could just take out their commander the Caldari would do what they always did and that was turn and run. Three ships were asked to give the ultimate for the war, I was one of them. Two of our Thorax rammed the repper ships supporting the commander and I was to lance the command ship and finish her off. Only right, I was in an early version of the Ishkur. Needless to say our cruisers occupied the attention of the repper ships and that left the command ship open. I made my run. As I lanced that ship through the bridge it blew taking my ship with it of course. I fully expected my pod to eject into the middle of massive explosions and I was a goner. It was what I lived for, it was what I would die for, I was ready for it. But something happened and my pod blew right through the ship. It nearly killed me, but I had just enough cap to warp out and spend the next three months recovering at a station.

Little did I know that I had just paid the piper into a new fighter wing whose entry ticket was survival of a suicide run. High command moved me to the 108th Stealth Bomber Wing, the Fat Men.”

Benson interrupted, “Ah, I heard of them! They call them Fat Men because they fly Tristans. Right?”

“No that’s not it… we flew a prototype ship back then, what was to become the Nemesis. Common mistake but the name Fat Men came from the ordinance.”

“The ordinance? I don’t get i…”

Klaxons sounded and the bridge of the Arkenstone became awash in the blood red illumination as proximity alerts ripped across the control screens. Two Myrmidon battlecruisers warped in practically on top of them and the whining of being target locked rang from the tactical station.

Goggles looked up, “Both BC’s have locked on to us. We’re being scanned.”

“Stay calm people, remember where we are…”

“Communications open, they want to talk.”

“By all means Ensign Benson, we should talk, open the channel.”

The screen filled with the vision of a Caldari woman, about 2 meters tall, mocha skin, and the most ridiculous uniform you can ever imagine. She came off looking more like a stripper from a pleasure hub than a captain of a ship; certainly she did no work on her vessel. It was almost laughable. “I am Captain Vexia of the corporation Paradise Pirates. Surrender your cargo and we claim the cans in space as free property. And to let you leave in one piece you can deposit 100 million ISK to my account. Or you can die.”

“Captain, captain, right away with the threats and hostility? I’m sure you can be more civil than that? I am Captain Harshaw of the exhumer Arkenstone. To what to I owe the timely visit by you and your…” he looked down over the ships scanner, 9 ships in all had surrounded them, they were organized, “8 companions? Surely not our little mining operation?”

“That is precisely the reason and I have no use for pleasantries… you’re going to give use what I want or would you rather test weather your clone is up to date?”

“My my, we are to the point aren’t we… ok… tell you what, you can have the cans in space. I will withdraw my drones and we’ll be on our way.” HJ nodded to Haas to recall the drones. “As for the ransom… I am not going to pay it. You’re in empire space; you really want to tangle with Concord by firing on me?”

Vexia turned to talk to someone else on her bridge, HJ turned to Benson and had him mute the channel, “How many in their corporation?” Benson looked up, “according to their current charter, 9, this is the whole corporation!”

“Not for long. Unmute. Well Vexia… what’s it going to be?”

She turned back to the screen in anger, restrained herself, “Fine, but jettison everything in your cargo hold too.”

“You mean the ore in my hold? How much is there Mr. Argyle?” “7k plag” “You mean the 7k plag waiting for a can?”

“Yes and whatever is in those small secure containers too”

“There are only two of them, let us at least keep the toys…”

“No, turn them over or damned be Concord, I will vaporize you.”

“One moment…” Benson muted the channel again, “Sean, load it all up, empty the holds, get the screens up and start moving us away with all possible speed. All hands, get to the life pods, this may be a bit rough.” The sound of the Jettison Can being launched shook the ship.

Turning back to address the pirate, “It’s all yours Captain Vexia… you’ll get no problems from us. We’re moving out.”

Captain Vexia laughed. “You carebears are all too predictable… work, work, work and give it all up at the least sign of trouble. You make this job just too easy.”

“Well captain, sounds like we are done then. End transmission.” The last sounds over the channel were the laughs of the crews on the Paradise Pirates ships.

“Sean, we got to get 15km away before they open up one of those toys… move it move it move it. Mr. Axelrod… distance?

“We’re at 9 kilometers. 63 seconds to 15 click mark. Their Badgers are transferring the ore now. They have good ships, each is taking in a whole can or so. They must be rigged.”

“Where’s the Helios?”

“Dead Center, scanning. 12 clicks out.”

“Are they still tightly grouped?”

“All of them within about a 5 click radius. Sir, 15 kilometers out.”

Captain Harshaw let out a big sigh of relief. “Yes Ensign Benson, the ordinance. We were Fat Men, the 109th Stealth Bomber Wing were nicknamed ‘Little Boys’, terms whos origins are lost in antiquity. You see, today most Stealth Bombers are relegated to launching Cruise Missiles. Back in the Caldari War our stealth bombers delivered something with a bit more kick, real bombs. We could only carry three at a time, but we would approach cloaked, target and fly the bombs and get the hell out. Hit and run tactics. That’s why they took people who survived suicide runs, because every run in a Stealth Bomber was potentially a suicide run. But the bombs do a bit more damage than the missiles… what the nick names refer to are really big bombs… Like our toys.”

“Sir, 21 clicks out.”

“Benson, inner-ship… Attention, stand down from pods but be ready for shock waves.”

Goggles grabbed his console, “Number 5 was cracked, 7 seconds, 6, 5, 4…”

“Hold on Ensign, this is libel to throw you…”

“2”

“1”

The forward screen lit up, pure white as a massive explosion engulfed the Paradise Pirates. Every hauler was shredded, the Helios was shattered like so much straw in a tornado. The Myrmidons survived and the comm system blared to life, it was Vexia… “Harshaw…. What the hell have you …” but she never finished the sentence as the remaining bombs made quick work of everything within the 15 kilometer blast radius. There weren’t even asteroids to mine by the time the last bomb popped.

The Arkenstone shook and bucked as the shockwaves moved past it, and while it sustained a fair amount of damage, the structure remained intact. The emergency power and life support kicked in as the bridge crew recovered.

“Activate emergency pressure seals, launch all nanite reppers and internal repair systems. Open sickbay and get anyone who needs it attention. Ok boys, this ain’t over yet. Let’s prey for a Concord Captain with a level head.”

Axelrod chimed in, “Radar and Ladar are down, but I am getting strong Gravametric readings… yes incoming, looks like 4 battleships, 6 battlecruisers, and a mess of smaller ships. They’re all targeting! Damn, in our condition we’ll instapop!”

“Benson, open a channel now, fast.”

“Done, barely.”

“This is Colonel Jay Harshaw, Gallente Militia, retired. Hold you fire, HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

The stern face of a Concord Major appeared on screen. “What in the Blue Blazes of Balthazar’s Binary Nebulas happened here and why the hell shouldn’t I blow you to kingdom come for all the hell you’re going to cause me?”

“Because we didn’t do anything wrong! And to whom am I talking?” Captain Harshaw stood, crossed his arms and managed to look smug. That put the Concord Major off his game; he looked down at his overview.

“I’m Major Dalton, CC4457AKR8331. Let’s see, ambient radiation is 8.2, falling fast thankfully, two battle cruisers, 6 haulers and 5 frigate class ships all destroyed. I also see the wrecks of over 80 escape pods, all empty, all shattered. Incredible. And here you are alive. Care to explain this ‘natural disaster’? Because if it isn’t some freak natural disaster I would surely like to know how one exhumer can cause all this damage.”

“Not so natural Major…” and Captain HJ went on to tell the tale of the last 30 minutes.

By the time HJ finished talking, using his best fast talk and diplomacy, he had Major Dalton convinced that we had single handedly saved the whole system right under his nose. “So no Major, there were no smart bombs used, just good old fashioned bombs, perfectly legal. And in fact you can see by the logs we didn’t even pop them off, they stole them from us first. Check the agro. Then they must have mishandled the bombs and blew themselves up. It just goes to show you the intelligence of some of these pirates.”

“And you did nothing to help it along?”

“Would it matter if I had?”

Major Dalton having just about all he could take just shook his head. “OK, ok. Harshaw, you and your crew would do well to not hang around this system… find somewhere else to “mine”. I am going to call this one a wash. Now get going and don’t let me see you again.”

“Major, your wisdom is immense. You will not see us here again. Arkenstone out.”

Captain Harshaw settled again into the captain’s chair, getting as comfortable as possible. “Mr. Axelrod, take us home to Villore, we need more toys. And you Ensign Benson, don’t disturb my cogitating again.”

(I am currently taking education class at the local community college and one of the assignments was to manipulate an image and then write a story about it. The image is that of the instructor and he’s featured in the lower right of the attached image. Enjoy!)

The light was so bright that it woke me as it seeped through my eyelids. Just as the searing light dazzled me I felt the heavy shackles slam home, restraining my movement and preventing me from cover my dilating pupils adding frustration to the eye strain. Then almost as suddenly my legs were bound and straps seemingly with a life of their own floated across my chest, pinching off any possible movement I should effort.

“Let me up, let me outta here damnit. Where the hell am I?” My shouts echo in the small room I’m in. I know it is small, the echo is fast. It had to be a metal or concrete room too; the sound had that sharp return. “Come on, let be up.”

A soft groan to my left told me there was someone else in the room. I turned my head and there she was, just barely visible to my maladjusted eyes. Adorned in a rose pink flowing silk gown, she had golden blonde hair and slender long gams, the kind that could stop traffic or make a sot drop his drink. She stirred and sat up slowly, stretching, displaying her feminine beauty.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She looked at me with the face of a goddess smiled and said not a word.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

She smiled at me again and said in a dulcet voice, “I am Whitley Schreiber. Are you a smart human?” Slowly and before my eyes her features changed and were becoming those of a recluse writer. “Have you met my friends, Clatoo, Nictow, and Baradas? They’re hungry…”

I looked around. Left. Right. I realized that they must be above my head and I heard faint rustling from there. Looking up slowly a huge green forehead came into view. The smooth green skin was riddled with pulsating veins. Slowly I became aware of the alien hand, it was about to touch my head with it’s clawed finger tip. My heart was pounding; I knew they meant me harm. I squirmed against my bindings but it was no good, I could not lash out against the monstrosity as it approached my head. They were going to suck my brains out and I would be one of the zombie hoard left on earth, just another brainless hulk lumbering around searching for my own brains to suck on from some other unsuspecting victim.

The clawed appendage touched my pate and I screamed…

“MERRRROW” hissed my cat Jake as I awoke suddenly and sat bolt upright in bed. Jake was sitting on my pillow now purring and licking his paw. He must have licked my head. Still, I was breathing hard and disoriented. My wife Wendy touched my arm and I jumped again. I felt my head; it was still in one piece.

“Honey, those old SF movies are giving you bad dreams. Turn off the TV and go back to sleep…”

I reached for the remote and as I did I could hear the British Announcer say “Reports are coming in from all over the Empire—from all over the world. The Government has not yet issued a statement, but there seems to be no question that there actually is a large, unidentified object circling the earth at incredible speed.” The start of The Day the Earth Stood Still was showing, continuing the SF marathon. I shut off the TV and flopped back onto bed, Jake scurried away.

As I looked at the dark ceiling above I had to wonder if when I awoke next it would be as a brain sucking zombie. I decided against it and rolled over, making the sure my blanket was all the way over my head.

While I was scanning the web I found a page in Wired Magazine that listed a bunch of “Very Short Stories”. Basically there are one line stories under about 10 words that tell a story. Ernest Hemingway wrote one (and here it is, complete), “For sale: baby shoes, never worn” and called it his best work. I like it ,so thought I would give it a try myself. Here are my top 10:

10: No more Captain Crunch, game over.

9: With the truth revealed, God started again.

8: Can’t drink, can’t smoke, can’t fuck; I must be cybernetic.

7: Osama’s a Jew? Reboot.

6: Not all French are rude; reality check.

5: Money is not everything. The universe ended.

4: She wasn’t a virgin, duh.

3: Out of donuts; anarchy ensued.

2: Open for business, closed to ethics.

And my number one Very Short Story:

Three, two, one … shit.

Got a one-liner? Leave it in comments.

And I am having trouble seeing,
In my mind and in my heart,
I cannot get a grip on the happenstance.
And the thunder rages all around me,

So many wants and desires,
I long for strength and clarity,
But like so many things,
They are thunder raging all around me.

Comfort in a daily life,
Knowing that there is format to the day,
I am a creature of patterns,
But the thunder rages all around me.

Though a new love is near me,
It does not stop the strikes of lightning,
Dazzling me and blinding,
Still the thunder rages around me.

Just some time is all I need,
To be with my daughter and delight,
But it is taken away and out of reach,
Damn the thunder raging around me.

So I walk the rain soaked path,
Toward the cloud-break just ahead,
Maybe there where the sun streams bright,
The thunder will stop raging around me.

Filtered light of orange and gold,

Evening takes the day.

On occasion, it is my honor to read someone’s work and be asked to edit it and make suggestions. This was the case with the following story. It is meant as a children tale, but there may be much more there than meets the eye. It is so good that I thought that I would share it with everyone, with her permission of course.

On a hill, in a meadow for sale, was an unusual pair of trees. One was an oak and the other was a pine tree. They grew up together and were the best of friends.

In the afternoon they soaked up the sunshine content without saying a word but in the cool evening breeze they liked to talk to each other. Best of all were the rainy and windy days where they had the chance to dance. It was fair to say they enjoyed each other’s company.

That summer a work crew came to clear the meadow and trim Oaks’ branches. “This is why I like pine trees best.” said one of the men. “They grow straight and tall, keep their color year round and you don’t have to rake any leaves in the fall. Now that’s a tree really worth its roots!” The other man agreed.

Pine Tree stood up straight and proud and rattled his needles in the twilight breeze. They did not say much that evening, Oak felt bad.

As the chill of autumn set in, Pine noticed some yellow and red among Oaks’ leaves. “Here we go again, wild colors and then dull, bare branches.” More time passed as Oak revealed its’ brilliant colors.

Soon after, a couple stopped by the meadow to take some pictures. “Oh how beautiful. This oak is so bright and colorful; much nicer than the boring green of the pine tree all year.” The man turned to the woman, “Don’t you love the smell of leaves in the fall?” She felt the same way he did.

Oak rustled its’ leaves, spread its’ graceful limbs and beamed. “Humpf’ said Pine.

The next month was rainy and windy, but the two did not dance. “Oh you are shedding your dirty leaves all over me!” opined Pine. “Well if your branches weren’t so heavy with ugly sharp needles they wouldn’t catch them!” snapped Oak. The winter was very cold and silent as the snow set in.
Springtime brought new leaves for Oak and new needles for Pine. With the new growth came some robins looking for a place to nest.

“Make your home with me,” said Oak. “I will give you fresh new leaves for your nest.”

“No I’m the better tree!” said Pine. “My straight sturdy branches are already full of good needles, easier to weave into a proper nest.”

“No I’m better, your needles are all sticky!” said Oak.

“No, choose me, Oaks’ leaves will dry faster and become brittle,” said Pine.

“Oh my feathers and beak!” said one of the robins. “I think we will go somewhere more friendly.” The silence of the winter carried on through spring.

Then one day a man and woman stopped by the meadow and took down the for sale sign. “This is where we should plant our garden dear,” said the woman. “All summer these trees will have a variety of greens and texture together. Then in the autumn, the bright red of the oak will blaze against the deep green of the pine. In the wintertime, the twisting bare branches of the oak will frame the its mate. No matter what time of year they will compliment each other, yet each by itself would not be as beautiful. The perfect pair to protect all the flowers we will grow.” The man nodded his head in agreement.

“Oh my,” rattled Pine.

“Dear me,” rustled Oak.

The next day the wind blew and rain began to fall from a warm summer storm. Shyly Oak asked. “Would you like to dance?”

“I would be honored...” said Pine.

A mate,
Not just one date,
One not able to hate,
Enter my new life not too late,
To sate.





For me
Also for thee,
Us two make us a we,
Happy as one, a family,
To be.





Homage,
Turn a last page,
Never sleeping with rage,
Our lasting love bought by no wage,
We age.

This morning leaning languidly in the corner broom
you are too smug

How can you waltz every night with the janitor
Flirt with the dust pan and then
closet yourself with the mop
as if you had found love everlasting?

Where is honor!  What of trust?

Your sophistication will not answer
Already you slide towards the floor waxer.

the land was devastated and the common folk were coward under the rule of the dreadful King Morpheus.

The skies under the rule of the King were ordered to remain gray and rainy, the sun never rose and the magnificence of sunsets not seen at all. The passing into day was just a gradual lightening of the gray clouds and then back to darkness the land would fall. Worse than that, the nights, were the realization of dreams. The dreams were an awful reflection of the dark days haunted by the creatures of nightmares and useless feeling.

King Morpheus reveled in the despair and loathing he created. He strolled the sullen streets, feasting on the misery, dining on the dread, consuming the contempt around him as if perusing brutal buffet. Those who did view his hideous countenance then knew the face of uselessness, for it was their Kings’.

From the village of Temperance the saddest maiden, Ionia, was plucked as an example to all of what the ideal citizen should be. She was crowned Queen of Tears, locked in Castle Phantasm, and brought out and displayed to anyone who would dare to have any hope at all, thus crushing their spirits and were sent back to live a life of useless feelings.

But one evening, after a particularly dreadful day where the rain would not stop, gray, because it was mixed with the soot of thousands of chimneys, Morpheus drank of the misery a little too deeply, becoming heady with the dire feeling. He sank into his throne of sac cloth, burnt bone and rotting cattle hides and let slip his hold on the land ever so slightly as his own tormented sleep washed over him. For just a moment the dark magic passed.

The night sky cleared above Castle Phantasm for a moment and the light of a clear star pierced the window of the tower where Iona slept. The crystal light illuminated her dreaming face and her nightmare of sorrow turned to a vision of hope. The vision changed from being chained and helpless to one of being a soaring dove escaping from the land of woe that bound her, searching for the savior that would come and break the hold of the evil Morpheus on the land. Shortly the clouds resumed their ever present curtain over the realm and the dream failed as the dove was shot down into a bog of tar.

But the dream was strong and echoed over the land looking for the one that would receive it and embrace it. The dream visited thousands of people as it rippled over the realm, none of whom would accept that there was any hope and all despaired as the bird was swallowed by the greedy ground. And still the vision spread.

At the edge of the land, beyond the borders of the realm of King Morpheus, in the dead wastes where no one ever passed beyond, the remains of the loyal knights scratched out a living in a land of natural despair, only mildly affected by the spell of King Morpheus. Their lives we difficult and austere, but here they waited for news of the passing of the King or for an opportune time to return and reclaim the land for the people, but none dared to enter the land while the spell of despair was still upon it lest they fall prey to that very spell.

In the dead of night, one of these knights had a vision, a vision of a soaring white swan breaking free of the shackles of the evil king. He awoke in a startled relief, relief because the long wait was not over and he could take action. This was the sign he was waiting for, the sign that there was some hope somewhere in the land and if there was a single ray of hope, there was a chance to free the land to the people once more.

The knight, Sir Galahad, told the vision to his brothers but they all laughed and scorned him for his bravado. After all, would not all of them have had the same vision if it were a true ray of hope? None of the others could recall any dream from the night before, and all agreed that is a vision of hope would be remembered.

But Galahad knew that the vision was true and would not be dissuaded, so he packed up his armor, arms, paraphernalia, and journal and headed out in search of the swan that would be the salvation of the land and its people.

The dead wastes were slow in passing, treacherous and arduous. Many times did Galahad have to pull himself out of a bog. But all this did not dishearten him, for he was hanging onto the vision of the swan of his dreams. And though he had not met this swan, he knew as sure as he had a soul, that she was the key to his happiness and the salvation of the land.

As Galahad crested the edge of the wastes, finally entering the cursed land, he was spied by an unkindness of ravens who stormed into the dark sky and circled him. They circled him as if to draw some attention to him, to mark his spot. But after a few hours they abandoned their game and went to rest on the withered trees of the dark forest. But still the obsidian eyes of the ravens watched Galahad as he strove forward.

In the far-flung village of Draub, Galahad found his first night of relative comfort since starting his journey. He told the villagers of the vision he’d had and the folk were heartened knowing that one of the Knights of Old was once again acting on their behalf. Understanding the Knights’ quest they put him in the best room they had, that of the Mayor himself and fed him a feast of one whole chicken and some herbed potatoes. Galahad accepted these tokens of kindness with all the humility he could muster, for though it was the best they could offer it was meager in the extreme.

While Galahad was dreaming again of the Swan, the window to his bedchamber shattered and in flew three of the ravens that were watching earlier that day. Galahad, awake, unsheathed his sword and confronted the fowl birds.

One by one the ravens turned into caricatures of three wizards. The first one had arms like a tree, the next was clanky like some smithy had used scrap metal to make it, and the third was but a wisp in the shape of a man.

The wizards decreed that on the behest of the King, that Sir Galahad was to turn back and leave all hope behind of ever reclaiming the land. They explained that the swan of his dreams was in fact a fallen dove and now nothing more than a squab for his Majesty’s’ dinner plate and that has been the fate of the fallen ray of hope. Indeed, the King of Woe has consumed the hope that Galahad was searching for and thus he should turn back now or face the full might of the Ruler of Ruin.

Heartened, Galahad roared with laughter, for if this were the case, why would the Despot of Dispair even bother to challenge him, why not just let him run his futile course and thus crush his hope completely. This was a new ray of hope and Galahad waved his sword and banished the wizards from his sight, uplifted that the Majesty of Malady was concerning himself with one lone knight.

The day dawned brighter than usual over the little town of Draub. Galahad was treated to a meal of bland corn cakes and goats milk and the villagers all wished him the best of luck on his mission. This village now had a reason to hope, despite the wishes of King Morpheus.

Once again the ravens swarmed in the skies as Galahad made his way to the heart of the kingdom, and once again after a few hours the unkindness took to the trees to witness his progress.

As Galahad reached the center of a thick, unnamed woods, the trees began to bustle and move in odd ways. The very shrubs scurried from sight and all the fauna of the forest was moving in a swirl of action. On the road before Galahad was the Wizard of Wood.

The Wizard bid that Galahad turn back now or face the might of a twisted land. And with that shambling masses of foliage moved in around Galahad in the shapes of the most hideous of creatures. Galahad refused and unfettered his sword, preparing to face these monstrosities of nature.

The shrub-beasts moved in and whipped Galahad with their vine tendrils, slashing at the exposed skin they could reach. They tried to tangle him but Galahad was to fast and proficient with his sword to be caught but such devices. As he slashed his way through the multitude of animated bushes, great, ancient oak trees moved in and took great swipes at him with mammoth oaken arms, knocking Galahad around as if he were but a toy. The Wizard of Wood laughed now seeing the trees were having their way with the battered knight.

But Galahad was cleaver and knew he loved the land. Knowing that his sword was now useless against these trees, and would become dull is he kept hacking at them, he took a different tactic. He got up on one knee and took his sword and plowed and circular furrow around him. A circle, and ancient symbol of protection, and in this case a furrow showing he wanted to tend the land. The trees would not cross the circle drawn with the love of the land that Galahad possessed.

Seeing this, the hostile trees began to pelt Galahad with many acorns, whipped from long arms, and moving at the speed of bullets. One such acorn struck Galahad square in the forehead and bloodied him badly. The crimson stained seed fell to his feet, and he fell on top of it.

Again, the wizard rejoiced in the fall of the knight, for even his ancient magic could not protect him completely. It would not be long before a speeding acorn found a truly tender spot and did the failing knight in. But he could not see everything that Galahad was doing.

Galahad, on the ground grasped the damaging acorn and worked his fingers into the ground, digging a small hole. He popped the seed into the hole and with a silent prayer covered it up again. He reached around and freed his water skin, watering the newly planted acorn, again with a reverent prayer for the love of the land. The magic would not take. He needed to give something back to the land and so poured the last of his wine on the little mound.

With a ripple of the deep and ancient magic, the acorn sprung to life and the ground calmed. The forest was lightened and the embattle oaks were stilled in place in the glade of the battle. Sunlight pierced the veil of misery and wholesome magic infused the area around Galahad for many miles. The Wizard of Wood was thus defeated and since he was within the wholesome magic, was transformed into a weeping willow tree, dark, but inviting to travelers who may one day pass this way.

Galahad took rest in the hopeful glade as sparrows and all manner of small woodland creatures looked on. This forest would now have some hope as well in its’ heart.

A town called Furnace was next in the path of Galahad. This was a province known far and wide for its excellent steel, and indeed even the buildings were constructed of the solid material. For all of its’ austerity, it had once been a gleaming city, but now it was tarnished and rusted reflecting the apathy of the citizenry.

Galahad had a bad feeling about the town, but could not avoid it, for to do so would mean he would have to navigate many days around the strip mines that encompassed the town for miles on end. Beside, he was too tired from the last encounter, and if he could find people to help him on his quest as the fair folk of Draub had, he would at least be better off tomorrow.

Galahad approached the gates and the guards noting his gleaming and enameled armor opened the portal for him so they could see the beautiful craftsmanship. It did not take long before the whole town was gathered around to see the beautiful armor and reminiscing of the days of old when they had indeed work such magic of metal.

From deep in the crowd and old man approached. He inspected the armor of the knight and claimed that he had been the one to manufacture it. To prove it he pointed out his stamp and the assembled were duly impressed, for they thought for years that the old man was just a crank, but now that had changed and he was treated with renewed honor. The old man invited Galahad to stay with him for a night so they may talk and repair the dents in the armor that the evil forest had inflicted. Galahad was thankful for the skillful service and accepted the offer.

As they talked the old man recognized the mark of the Wizard of Metal and grew concerned. Banging out one particularly nasty dent he explained to Galahad that the Wizard of Metal was not just a worker of metals in his magic, but indeed a skilled master of war and that his craft was put to use in furtherance of the art of war. Great battle devices were said to be instantly conjured by the wizard and even the swords of the fallen could be made to come to life at his behest. Against this, if indeed this were a preview of what awaited Galahad, he did not know where to start or even how to approach such long odds. The old man had to agree.

As Galahad rested for the night the old man had an idea, if he were to help the knight, he would have to give him something to defeat metal, and took to his shelf of ancient tombs. He knew that heat was metals immediate enemy if it could be conjured in sufficient quantities and decided to make a sacrifice on the knights behalf.

From deep within a chest he pulled out two stones that were the secrets to his craft. One was a Fire Opal and the other an Aquamarine. Both stones were enchanted to produce there representations effects, fire and ice. To Galahads’ armor the old man affixed the Aquamarine and preformed a rite to infuse the properties to the armor. He then did likewise to the sword of Galahad, embedding the Fire Opal. Now Galahad possessed the essence of what had created his superb armor, and there was no other armor or sword like it in the land.