Book of Wishes and Luck (Full Version)

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Eukara Vox -> Book of Wishes and Luck (3/12/2010 16:41:29)

Piles were everywhere...

Piles on the floor, piles on the desk, piles on the bookcases and piles on the piles. Piles! Eukara Vox looked around and sighed. How did Master Archanias ever keep up with all this? Even as she questioned it, new stories flew in from the windows, appeared on the floor and swept in from the chimney.

"Argh, how is this possible?!" She waved her hand, mumbling, and everything halted. "I know I will pay for this eventually, since only this has stopped, not the influx of stories out there... but I need a break, by all that is holy!" She spoke to no one in general, but hearing her voice was comforting.

It had been some time since she heard a voice other than her own. Most days it didn't bother her, but there were times when she wished the stories came with narration. Resigned, she began to go through the stories, one by one, filing them by subject and then by world. About halfway through, she began to see a pick up in one particular theme.

It was a curious theme, one she assumed would be hard to write. But yet... here were poems and stories scattered among the influx of writings. She had always thought of wishes and luck as a silly thing. They had no substance and were inherently rocked by time and circumstance, yet no matter what world she had traveled to during her training, those two concepts were prevalent throughout.

"So, what is it about wishes and luck that mortal people of all worlds see? I think I need to research this more, for what I know and understand should make such things moot. The stack is building, so maybe, just maybe I will set a charm to receive those stories dealing with luck and wishes and have them sent straight to my personal study. On my breaks, I shall have to read these tales and poems. Maybe these authors have a thing or two to teach me."

Eukara Vox whispered her words of charm, the melody absorbing into the very stones that built the walls. Immediately, the flow of literature began anew, sending books, parchments, scrolls and all other forms of writing into stacks. One by one, those that dealt with luck and wishes were funneled into her study.

Satisfied, Eukara Vox continued to read and sort that which flew into her library. She glanced at the celestial clock, counting down until her first break. She desperately wanted to learn, for without learning, what was life?




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (3/13/2010 20:41:30)

The Luckiest Fighter
by Horusmaster9

He shuddered, clenching a bottle with such strength that it would have shattered if the air around him was not as cold as it was. Clothed with nothing but rags and an over-sized cloak, the man cursed under his breath. However, he had to continue. He had heard of fables about a sorcerer in a small hamlet near a river deep in the South, who would supposedly grant immortality to any good person who ventured that way, but he had long given up his reckless ambitions after beginning his journey. The man's seemingly endless trek had begun when he was but a young adult searching for adventure. In his prime, he could supposedly fell even a dreadful dragon with a single strike. He could intimidate thieves into returning stolen goods, and soon became a well-known hero. In his small band of champion cavaliers, wise warlocks and rugged rangers, he was the definite leader. His maneuvers on foot could confuse his allies. His spells were definitely more potent than the magicians' he traveled with. Even his aim with a bow was legendary. And yet, he took to the dagger.

However, he was far past his prime at this point, a mere shadow of his former self. His name had faded from the tales sung by the bards, and his party had disbanded after much infighting and jealousy. The man had grown old, and the wonderful woman he had once called his wife had disappeared from his life, now probably dead. Still, he did not want to stop. He reasoned that if an all-powerful sorcerer were able to grant immortality, then he would most certainly be able to give any other kind of gift, including the resurrection of his beloved one. This was what drove him on through the darkest, loneliest nights. He had hope.

At times, doubt would creep in at him, telling him that his mission was for naught. But still, he continued to trudge along, bearing only his clothes, a dagger and the now empty bottle that he had owned since the beginning of his journey. He crossed snow-packed mountains and traversed some of the world’s most dangerous forests, braving all dangers with a zealous fervor. And, yet, his faith in his task grew only dimmer at the dawn of each treacherous day.

He continued south to find the fabled town by the bridge. His bones grew weary, however, and he had to find a place to stay for the night if he did not desire to sleep in the snow. And so he headed east, and eventually found a small city to rest for the night. He went to the nearest pub, washing out and filling his bottle with as much as it could hold. The atmosphere around him was festive, but he was alone in his ragged attire and demeanor. It was no surprise, then, that he stood out amongst the rowdy customers. Still, no one bothered to do more than merely glance at him.

The hours flew by, leaving only the man and the bartender-a sleek, young fellow who knew all too well the effects of a drink-in the little building. Eventually, the bartender offered to let the man sleep in the pub, and, naturally, the old man accepted the generous offer. The bartender left to return to his family, entrusting the building to the old man. Now, he was alone once more.

As the man prepared his makeshift bed, a crude combination of chairs and lost cloaks, he wished that he could see his beloved wife again, though he knew that his wish would not be granted. He laid down, curling up in an attempt to get as much warmth as he could. At last, he closed his eyes, hoping for a more productive journey the next day.

Suddenly the windows shattered; the door was blown in; snow rushed into the place that was now lit by the moonlight. Immediately, the man awoke, gathering his clothing and clenching his weapons. He was not frightened. He had been ambushed several times before, and this would end in his victory once again.

“Hold your weapons.” The voice of an elderly woman rang in the man’s ears, causing him to drop his bottle and blade and use his hands to cover his ears.

“What form of foul creature are you: man, beast or neither?”

“You call man a foul creature?” she replied.

“I have fought and defeated dragons with hides as hard as steel. I have killed them. I have ended lives. Man is the foulest, the most vile of all monsters!”

“And yet you take the shelter of a man.”

“He is a good man. He is not born for taking lives. I can tell. But, you have not yet answered me.”

“Of what importance is that matter to you?” He looked up, seeing an old sage wrapped in robes of darkest black.

“You have destroyed the property of the fellow who let me stay. I cannot stand for that.” He picked up his dagger and charged. However, as he was running, a white cloud appeared in front of the sage. It slowly took form, and, eventually, the man could see what it was: an apparition of his wife. He slowed and halted, kneeling in front of her. He was almost at tears. “What form of trickery is this? She cannot truly be here. I refuse to believe this. You fiend! Slay me now, if you truly desire so!”

“Do not worry," the sage responded, “she is not gone. She resides in the place you desire so much to reach.”

“What? How is this possible?” The man looked at the sage in disbelief.

“You wished to see her again, if I am not mistaken.”

The traveler eyed the woman. “How did you know this?”

“A person who grants wishes must know everything,” the sage replied, matter-of-fact.

“But why did you choose me?” the man asked, dumbfounded. “Surely there are more honorable men worthy of your gifts.”

“It has been my duty to award those filled with hope and sincerity their one, true desire.” The sage opened her arms. “Luck comes to those who deserve it.”

“I do not deserve this.”

“Your love for her is sincere, that much I can tell. The man who was so hospitable toward you does not have any desire he dares to fight for. You, on the other hand, battle bravely against the greatest of beasts in pursuit your desire,” the sage explained. “You are more than deserving of this gift.”

He leapt to hug the sage, crying into the folds of her robes and thanking her all the while. In all the excitement, he let go of his bottle and blade, letting the fragile glass and brittle metal shatter on the wooden floor. And, in an instant, the pair disappeared. The pub was restored to its former appearance, and the shards of the man’s past life stood alone.

“This, my friend, has been a lucky night.”



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (3/15/2010 0:36:46)

A Mother's Wishes
by Fleur Du Mal

From windows high above
falls light, heaven-kissed.
It paints the floor in forlorn evening hue,
colours her regret, bares what is due.

Amber and red, akin to the past:
simple mistakes clothed as luck,
friends gathered around, curtsy and bow.
The sweetest summer evening, sealed with the Vow.

Pearl-grey horses, house big as a mansion,
quick servants, flowing money,
and a worshiping man; all praised her luck.
Yet every evening, she stared at the ceiling, utterly stuck.

She lied to make him happy,
like a good girl, did as others expected:
for to be a woman, one must have a child.
To what she wanted, she remained to be blind.

Summer planted the seed,
precious to some, to her a weed.
She smiled and smiled through the days
and spent the nights thinking of ways...

Guilt gnawed at her heart,
for she felt no gratitude.
She wished away this lethal luck,
away all that forced her to feel so stuck:

her worshiping husband, ever present,
her well-wishing friends who never listened.
Forever they blabbered of her good fortunes and blessed state,
outside she nodded, inside she screamed, wishing to refute her fate.

She played her womanly part,
gave birth in the dead of winter.
She thought she must be lucky for it was a he,
saw her husband proud as a father can be.

”Oh, how lucky you are, to have such a husband!”
”Oh, how lucky you are, to have such a son!”
like little cuckoos the friends went on and on,
until she blurted it out and got told it was wrong.

Scolded insides brewed in poisonous fume,
fantasies spawned, dark and reeking of hate:
she thought of showing the friends out the door,
of forcing her husband to sleep on the floor.

Weak to act, yet forever playing the role.
What does it do to you, to wish the worst for your own?
She stared at her perfect son in the night
and wished he was dead, out of her sight.

So much time, wasted on wishes,
tearing herself up, afraid of opinions.
She knew this wasn't her, she was long lost.
Her luck wasn't hers, and living it cost.

She wished her child a better mother.
She wished her husband a better wife.
She wished that with this life she could be done.
She wished for mercy and she got none.

Every day wasted, envied by others
and infused with hate of self,
she watched the years of her life into oblivion go,
until she was grey and weak: old enough to say, ”No.”

From windows high above
the light falls no more, heavens have floated away.
A lost life slithers and withers on the floor
and the only visitor is Death coming through her door.

And even He shakes His head by her dying bed,
”I grant no favours, you should've worked harder.
You have to fight for your future to bend.
But it's too late now, this is where it'll end.”



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (3/19/2010 21:10:50)

Wishes We Do Make
by dragonnightwolf

“When you wish upon a star, it makes no difference where you are.” Those were my last human thoughts before the changes which led me to a new world and new experiences took me to the Kingdom far below, holding all manner of creatures. The lovely unicorns and the happy-go-lucky elves filled caverns full of cheer and beauty. But I’m jumping ahead a little too far... I should tell a bit about myself before I get too carried away. My name is Sebastian Page and I was an eleven-year-old human boy. It was the typical kind of day, where chewing bubblegum, drinking some lemonade with little else to do was what usually went on in this old town of mine. On that day I received a letter. I hadn't expected my late cousin Erin Torenhoslen to leave me anything, but she did! She left me her lucky charm: a tiny, golden horseshoe. It was something she’d had for years. I got the letter and the charm in a black envelope. It said:

“Dear Sebastian,
I know that for years I have bullied you, but before this sickness kills me, I’d like it if you would take good care of this charm in my memory.

Your cousin,
Erin.”

It was odd to get something from her, but I supposed she really had at last feelings of sadness for picking on me all the time. That night, I heard all kinds of sounds from far off places in the countryside. While gazing at the stars, I wished that I could become one of them; a wolf, a bear, something that would make me different. I fell asleep around ten, and I dreamt of shooting stars. Swirling cosmic patterns of twinkling stars danced in my head.

The winds began to blow the next morning and everything around me started to tilt. Some kind of hole had opened beneath me. I fell through it, into a dark passageway covered with gleaming sparkles of blue and white and green. I landed on something soft and warm. I couldn’t tell where I was or how I had gotten here—wherever "here" was. Then a beaming arc of light shone on me and I suddenly started walking faster than I ever had before. After emerging from the darkness, I found myself staring at a wonder-filled world of grays, blues, purples, yellows and oranges. Then everything in front of my eyes swayed and I tipped forward and landed on grass as darkness overcame me.

I awoke some time later, feeling entirely odd. “Well, bless me barnacles!” an odd voice said to me from somewhere to my right. “If that don’t be the most pleasant sight my eyes ever did see. Stand up, and let’s get a good look at ya.”

I forced myself up into a sitting position and gazed over at a strange medium-sized creature that was no larger than a squirrel and was covered in the finest colored greens I ever saw, with a four-leaf clover on the hat to finish the appearance.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Name's McClergy, doncha know; pleased ta meet cha, that I am,” the little creature answered.

“What are you?”

“Ho, ho, ho, ho. So a bump on the ol' noggin eh? I’m a Leprechaun, lad. I’m as good luck as good luck can get. Come now, don’t dawdle, we got work to do.”

Perplexed, I followed McClergy as best as I could. He came to a stop by an underground stream filled with crystals and I gazed at them with wonder and surprise. A wolf stood nearby, staring at me. “So, strange four-legger, what brings you to these parts?” the wolf asked, gazing with intensity.

“Huh?” I looked around, wondering whom the wolf was talking to.

“Not too bright are you? I’m talking to you, of course.” The wolf’s fur was a deep, rich brown and his eyes were hazel-tinted gray.

I wasn’t able to figure out why he had called me a four-legger. I didn’t have four legs. But around that time I looked into a reflective pond in the subterranean passageway. I stared down with my own two eyes. But I wasn’t looking at my own body. I was staring at the pointy ears and round nose of a black-furred wolf. “Wow, my wish came true!”

The other wolf approached me and knocked me over onto my side with his head and stood with his lips curled back just inches above my neck.

“Hey, get off!” I grumbled at him. The wolf waited as I turned onto my back and then sat down on top my chest, staring into my face.

“The name’s Slurge, and you’d better explain yourself quickly if you don’t want me to consider turning you into a fur rug!” Slurge growled in my face again.

“I’m Sebastian, Sebastian Page, now get off me!” I forced a heavy breath through my lungs and gazed at the wolf with narrowed eyes.

“Well, Sebastian Page,” Slurge said with a slight sneer on his lips, “you should know that here, I am the ruler and the Alpha and I decide if you get to live or if you disappear.”

“Bless mah old mother’s magnolias, you get that furry keester off o' dat dere wolf, or I’ll turn you into a fly!” McClergy said with a wave of his hands.

Slurge grasped the leprechaun entirely in his mouth, chewed for a long time and then spit the creature out. When it came out it was no longer a leprechaun but a four-leaf clover.

“You monster!” I yelled, snarling.

“He’ll be fine; they become clovers for a while to protect themselves.” Slurge lowered his gaze back onto me. “You, however, need a formal change, Sebastian.” He smiled, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. He poked his nose on me; darkness overcame my senses. When I came to a little while later, I discovered I could not talk. Yet Slurge understood my confusion. “Calm down, Page,” the wolf stated, smiling happily. “You are merely being tested by me for fitting into the clan.”

“What have you done to me?” I asked, not able to speak or move at all.

“I’ve turned you into my personal neck scarf.” Slurge replied. “Keep my neck warm and eventually I’ll change you back; fail and I will turn you into a tail scarf. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happens to tail scarves around here, heh, ha, ha, ha, ha.”

So during the course of that day Slurge introduced his new scarf to most of the clan. There was blue-furred and agile “Chester.” And dark-green-eyed and brown-furred “A.J.” There were around six or so members that Slurge introduced me to, but used the title of scarf instead of my name.

McClergy caught up with the wolf sometime that night.

“All right, you big beastie bag o' bones, where did you hide that lovely lad of a wolf who came earlier this morn?”

“Why McClergy,” Slurge said, faking modest surprise. “I sent the young wolf on his way shortly after I released your nasty clover-flavored body.”

“And that’s the truth, is it?” the leprechaun asked, staring hard at Slurge. “I don’t remember you having no scarf this morn.”

“This?” Slurge pointed directly at me and smiled. “It was a friendship gift from Sebastian Page, wolf's honor.” He held up a paw and made a cross sign with it. He spoke mentally to me. “See? He’ll fall for this line, Page.” Sure enough, Slurge was right. The leprechaun had fallen for the ruse without fail.

“All right, Slurge, but I’ll be keepin’ an eye on ya.” After the leprechaun had left, Slurge calmly walked to the farthest end of the cavern.

I could see large cascading waterfalls and gently rolling streams. “I thought you might like a tour around the graveyard of tail scarves.” Slurge said with a sly smile. I could see ripped and tattered scarves strewn about.

“How many of them are—“ I couldn’t finish the thought.

Slurge’s smile grew and he replied. “How many are like you? There were only two creatures ever changed besides you. They are right over here.” Slurge pointed them out with his paw. The first was a faded green and star-covered scarf, small in size, and it had holes in it as if it had been chewed a lot. The second scarf was much longer and larger and had been left on the dirt-covered ground. Slurge picked up this scarf in his mouth.

“Uh, what are you doing?” I asked mentally while watching the floor's dirt starting to change to a darker color.

“This scarf needs something else... oh, and you get to watch the scarf sort of say goodbye.” Slurge's tone hinted of things yet to come.

Slurge stopped after a short walk, leveling his gaze on the scarf on the ground. “This won’t take long,” he commented, while lifting one of his hind legs up. I heard him chuckle, followed by the sound of water as if pouring from a spout. When the deed was done, Slurge stepped a hind paw on the scarf’s longest end and started sinking it into mud. This done, he buried practically the entire scarf save for one end that stuck out of the mud. Again, he chuckled and lowered himself into a sitting position over the scarf, thinking to me all the while. “Well, say goodbye to that scarf, 'cause we won’t ever be back here ever again, Page.” The wolf stood up and walked away from the scene as if it were no big deal at all.

“You see, Page...” Slurge said as he calmly walked along the dark, dank cavern floor. “Good luck comes to those who are patient enough to receive it.” I was about to argue this point, but then I remembered what the wolf had just done to that gray beaten-up long scarf. “Keeping quiet?” he asked with a tone of mock surprise.

“Slurge?” I asked.

“Yes, what is it?” he replied, gazing off and sitting down, now cleaning his tail in water.

“Did you ever have a wish?” I asked.

“Yes I did, but my wish never came true. I wished that just once I would have a younger brother all to myself.”

It was at this point that a loud rumbling occurred above us. “Slurge, Look out!” I cried out much too late, realizing the danger.

The ceiling came down on top of us. Slurge just barely managed to get out of the way of being crushed, but a sharp rock cut into him, leaving him bleeding from a wound in his side. He panted heavily and dropped weakly to the floor. “Sorry, Page,” he said, gasping in a deep, painful lungful of air. “Guess my luck's ran out.” His head started to drop and his eyes began to close.

“Slurge, no!”

The wolf let out a weak, desperate chuckle. “Sorry, Sebastian, this is where I say goodbye.” I was still around his neck and I felt sad.

“I wish Slurge could live. I wish his wish would come true.”

I watched as sparkling things appeared all around us. Energies poured through us and Slurge opened both eyes, his wound gone. I was still around his neck and he watched all the twinkling sparkles dancing around.

“Hey, Page, remember my wish?”

“Yeah, you wanted a brother.” I replied.

“Well, congratulations. From this day forward, Sebastian Page, you will be my wish come true,” Slurge said, with a smile on his face.

I blinked my eyes several times and wagged my tail, happy to be a wolf again.

It just goes to show that good luck does exist and wishes do come true. But remember the old saying: Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

“Anything your heart desires will come true.”



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (3/19/2010 21:25:52)

Be Careful What You Wish For
by Oddmanthefirst

The high breeze wisped across the playground; sand flickered with the wind across the serene sunset. There was no one left in the area, all had scattered back to their houses, anxiously waiting for supper. Only one boy remained in the sand. Light bounced off of his coarse black hair; he brushed a little strand from his eye and continued to play. In his hands he held a small toy truck, worn away by gradual use. The boy rolled his toy in circles, pretending it was a race between various imaginary cars. For the final lap, he pushed the truck as hard as he could. The toy flew through the park, passing every slide, ladder, and swing; it crossed the silent street and continued its journey into the dark passage between the apartments.

Sensing victory, a tiny grin creased the boy’s lips. He gingerly got up from the ground, brushing off the sand that clung to his denim overalls. He picked up the cap that lay beside him and stared at his name that was written onto it: Shane. Satisfied, Shane threw the hat onto his head and quickly ran to fetch his toy.

Shadows lingered on every object throughout the alleyway, from torn boxes to tipped-over trash cans. Shane surveyed the area, scrutinizing every little nook and cranny, searching for the lost truck. A low scuffling led his eyes astray from the task at hand. An outline of a man assembled into the distance. Hope flickered in Shane’s eyes as he quickly trotted toward the man.

“Excuse me, mister! Have you seen my toy truck?” Shane wailed as he broke into a sprint.

The figure did not respond. Instead, he stood as still as a statue, looking the other way. The man stood double the height of Shane; he wore a pure black tunic and a dark cowboy hat, which was tilted to cover his face. In a raspy voice, he asked, “Is this what you were looking for?” As the stranger spoke, he turned to reveal a bright red truck in his right hand, and a coin in his left.

“Whoa! Thanks, mister,” Shane shouted with glee. He smiled from ear to ear as he grasped his beloved eighteen-wheeler.

“Before you leave, I have a question for you,” the man said. He lifted his hat to reveal his face. His complexion was grave, sunken in by life. He was deathly pale, in contrast to his black, beady eyes. His head was completely bald, and he continually flicked up and down the small coin he held. “Have you ever had a wish?”

“Well, sure I have had wishes, who hasn’t?” Shane replied, slightly sarcastically, as he spun one of the wheels back and forth.

“I mean a certain type of wish, a wish that you want over anything in the world.” The stranger slyly leaned against the black brick wall, waiting for a response.

“Wait… so you want me to wish for somethin’?” the boy questioned. He squinted at the man with his deep blue eyes, searching for any expression.

“Ask, and you shall receive,” the figure grinned.

“In that case, I wish I was rich!” Shane shouted with joy. “I want to move out of that crummy old apartment. I want to be just like all the other kids in my class- they all have their own houses with their own pool and everything.”

With that, the grave man flipped his coin high into the air. Before it landed, Shane caught the coin with both hands. When his hands opened, they revealed a small, silver object; however, it was not a coin that the boy was accustomed to. It was an amateur piece of metalwork: with a deathly skull placed on one side, and a smiling face on the other. Words of a different language engulfed its edges. The boy analyzed the coin for a few more moments, and then looked up.

“Hey, mister…”

But the man had already left with the shadows.


***

“You’re grounded, end of story.”

“But mommy, Jacob’s party is tomorrow. I just gotta go!” Shane shouted. The boy stared at his mother. She was a plain lady. She wore no make up, and her sleek blonde hair was hidden behind a hairnet made of black thread. An old apron, identified by a fishy aroma, hung over her neck while she wore her typical jeans and t-shirt underneath. Due to the chilly winter days, her thick cheeks were bright pink, in contrast to her pale skin.

“Ha!” she laughed. “You just don’t get it. How do you think I feel when I come home to find you missing?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he lay down on the couch. As he fumbled for the remote, he asked, “When is Daddy coming home, anyway?”

“Hey! What do you think you’re doin’, anyway? You’re grounded, remember,” the woman shrilled. “And as for your father, he should be gettin’ back any time now. Now, no more talking, go to your room. Next time, think a little more. OK?”

“OK,” Shane replied reluctantly. With that, he flung the remote back on the counter and continued to his room. He strolled through the apartment with ease, with the occasional gaze at the trashed parking lot from the side window. It's been two weeks now. Where are you, Daddy? Shane thought of his father, dressing in his navy blue attire. He imagined the sleek pilot hat resting on his head and the numerous pins on his chest. He saw his Dad’s goofy smile, telling him that it would be alright. He would say that they would pay off the debt soon and they would live in their old house again. I hope so.

Remembering the coin, Shane withdrew it from his pocket. He assumed the coin to the position in which he had caught it: the skull facing him. Seeing the strange words once again, he tried to articulate them: “Ma- Maeror Meror,” he stumbled. Unsettled, he tossed the coin onto his dresser and lay on his bed, waiting for the night’s delicate slumber.

***

Shane pried through his door to make a small opening, big enough to eavesdrop onto the conversation. Tears from his mother’s eyes made small puddles on the floor; the other man was trying to calm her. There was a brief intermission in which she asked, “So he is really dead?” Stricken, the man gravely nodded. The river flowed once again.

“Well, there is a bit of good news,” he said, reconciling her. “You and your son can be able to acquire a large sum of money, through my expertise-”

Shane entered the room, with the coin in his hand. His eyes were a deep red and liquid escaped his nose, falling to the floor. Sensing him, the lawyer turned to him. He pierced the boy with his eyes, the same black, beady eyes. A devilish smile was revealed from his pale lips.

“-it should be an open and shut case…”



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (3/19/2010 21:31:37)

What Do We Gain From Wishing?
By shreder110

There comes a time in every child’s life,
When somewhere in their innocent minds they
Make a wish. It may be silly or pointless--
Even illogical. But they don’t care.
They have some deep-set need for wishes.
Some inner desire which forces them
To hope, though those same hopes may be in vain.
True, sometimes Lady Luck doth favor them;
And in her fickleness grant them their wishes.
And they rejoice, those few whom she has blessed.
Yet for the vast majority of them
Their wishes go unanswered, but still they--
Are undeterred, and carry on as though
There is no doubt they will come true someday.

Yet as they grow, something in them doth change.
As they mature, for some unknown reason they--
Forget their wishes; childish hopes do cease.
As with this change, something of value is--
Taken away from them. For when we wish,
Although deep down inside we may admit
That our wishes will never come to be,
It matters not, for still we hope. And this,
Though it may seem a little thing, is not.
For when we hope it shows that we have not
Given up on Life and what it may bring.
We wish for better lives, and this same hope
Carries us through as we slowly onward trudge
Along the slow and arduous path of life.

The benefit of wishes may be likened to
Climbing a mountain, yet un-surmounted.
As we struggle to ascend we glance
From time to time at the summit, and this goal
Though we may not achieve it leads us on
So that even though we may not make it
To the summit, our efforts will pave
The way for those that follow after us.
That they might trace the footsteps of our wishes
And blaze new trails as yet unmarked by hopes.



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (3/27/2010 14:16:45)

The Night of the Fallen Star
By Torn

The black blankets of night were only broken by the sparkling stars as the inhabitants of a village known as Rekar climbed the tallest hill in the village. It was a special night for them, the Night of the Falling Stars.

On the top of the hill sat the village’s greatest heroes: the dragonlord Torn, and the necromancer Orvis. The two were the most unlikely friends. Torn was the son of the King Acorus, and was chosen by the dragons to be their champion. Orvis was an orphan who had taught himself the dark magic of necromancy to take care of those who bullied him. Orvis had tried to take over the village, but had been stopped by Torn. After his defeat, the necromancer viewed Torn as a rival and tried multiple times to defeat him. After a while, the two became friends--a formidable duo for all who tried to invade the village.

Torn stared up at the night sky, waiting for the first star to shoot across it like a speeding arrow. He wrapped his cloak closer around himself against the chill in the air and lifted a wineskin, taking a swig before offering it to Orvis. His friend eyed the wineskin, his red eyes the only light beside the stars. “That stuff kills you; you do know that, right?” he said with disgust. Torn snickered at Orvis’ reaction.

“Drinking the blood of mortals is just as bad, you know,” he joked. Orvis arched an eyebrow and took the wineskin. He took a sip before returning it. “When do you think the first Fallen Star will come?” Torn asked.

“You know that those are not actual stars, but space rocks that are getting ever closer to our planet before they crash into us and kill us all. And the shower should start in about… five minutes.” Torn opened his mouth, but closed it when Orvis withdrew a blood-red crystal. Torn nodded in understanding. The Blood Crystal that he himself had given to his friend was said to have strange powers. The two waited five minutes, and just as Orvis had predicted, the first Fallen Star shot across the night sky.

“Make a wish,” Torn said, closing his eyes. He bowed his head before stating his wish: the same he wished for every year, “I wish to learn the location of my sister, Elano.” He opened his eyes as a gust of wind blew past. As the wind passed, Torn thought he heard a voice, a voice giving him a command.

Close your eyes, chosen one. Torn took a sharp breath and looked at Orvis who had closed his eyes, wishing for another Blood Crystal. Close your eyes, chosen one, the voice said again. Torn was not sure what to do, but obeyed and closed his eyes. He felt his mind go blank, feeling himself being lifted off the ground. Torn opened his eyes and saw his body had not moved as it was still sitting on the hill. You only need your mind, chosen one. As the sensation of being carried increased, Torn found that he had arrived in a realm that was made of creamy white clouds. In front of Torn there was an old man. He was dressed in a blue robe with a red sash and sandals. He was hunched over a gnarled, wooden cane. His eyes lacked pupils and had a misty appeal to them: he was blind. "Welcome, chosen one," the old man greeted him.

Torn bowed in respect before speaking. “Why am I here, and who are you, elder?”

The old man stroked his silver beard and motioned for Torn to follow. "You are here, chosen one, because I have decided to grant your wish; for I am the God of Wishing, Naros," Naros said as they walked. Torn’s eyes widened in amazement.

“R-r-really? You will show me where Elano is?”

"Yes, I will, bu-" Before he could finish, Torn jumped up in excitement and did a dance. Naros cleared his throat to get Torn’s attention. "Yes, I will show you where your sister is, but there is a price."

“What is it? I’ll do anything!”

"You must kill Orvis."

Torn gasped and felt his heart rate spike. “No, I-I can’t do that. I cannot, I will not kill my best friend.”

"Even at the cost of your sister’s life? The one person that you have given up so much for to find? If you do not save her soon, she will perish. I will leave it to you to decide what you must do. If you do not kill Orvis within twenty-four hours, then I will not grant your wish and your sister will die." Naros lifted his cane and pushed Torn over the edge of the clouds. As he fell back to earth, Torn heard Naros’ voice one last time. I know you will make the right decision, chosen one.

Torn opened his eyes and saw he was back on the hill. He looked at Orvis and saw he had just finished his wish. Torn looked at his hip and saw that he had his sword with him. He looked at his friend. He wore nothing but his shredded black robes, and his scythe was nowhere to be seen. Torn looked down and sighed. Then he stood up, drawing his sword. Orvis looked at him in surprise.

“Forgive me, Orvis,” Torn said before lunging at the necromancer. His blade hit the wood of Orvis’ scythe, his red eyes glowing dangerously.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Orvis snarled.

Torn withdrew his sword and stepped back, and began to circle Orvis. Orvis snarled and eyed Torn as he moved. Torn lunged at Orvis, and as Orvis brought his scythe up to block the blow, he stepped to the side and swung at his exposed side. The necromancer screamed in pain as the cold, hard steel slash his side. He looked at the gash; it was gushing blood. Torn took a step back, his expression grim.

“You have really made me angry now, Torn,” Orvis hissed. He withdrew the Blood Crystal, and slammed it into the base of his scythe. As the energy from the crystal seeped into his body, he grew darker and darker until he had turned into a shadow elemental.

Torn closed his eyes and channeled the powers given to him by the dragons into his sword. With a roar, the necromancer lunged at him, the black scythe pulsing in anticipation of the blood about to be spilt. Torn attacked as well, his sword glowing as bright as the sun. The duo’s weapons met as they passed each other, ending up standing with their backs to each other. Torn heard Orvis moan in pain and collapse to the ground. He sighed and turned around to check his friend's neck for a pulse. He found none. He saw the wound in his friend's side, still seeping blood. He ripped a piece of his cloak off and bandaged all of his and Orvis’ wounds. A gust of wind blew by and carried a familiar voice.

Close your eyes, chosen one. Torn sheathed his sword and closed his eyes.

He saw a windowless stone cell. The cell was dark and smelled of mildew and dead, rotting things. He heard chains rattle as a young girl crawled on the pitiful straw mat she called a bed. She was dressed in filthy, patched rags. Her ankles and wrists were shackled to the chains.

But there was no denying who she was. She shared Torn’s heart-shaped face, his sky-blue eyes, and his bronze hair. She was Elano. Open your eyes, chosen one, Naros commanded. Torn opened his eyes and saw that he was back on the hill, no longer in the dark cell.

“H-how can this be? Why am I not with my sister?! I did as you said! I killed Orvis! Why am I not with her?!” Torn began to weep. A gust of wind blew and gave him his answer as the last shooting star of the night of the Falling Stars shot past.

You asked me to show you the location of your sister. You never asked me to take you to her. Torn hiccuped and continued to weep through the night.

“Why me? What have I done to deserve this?” he asked as the sun came up and brought with it the warmth of a new day.



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/7/2010 10:08:00)

Eukara Vox sits down, bewildered. The stories that have been coming in... they seem to ask more questions than provide answers. She shakes her head, frustrated. This was not what she had imagined.

As she sits back in her chair, she hears a light knock on the door. "Come in, please."

A slightly squawky voice, instantly recognizable, answers back:

"I beg your pardon, Mistress, but I thought I'd come to see--
What task you have been working on so very busily."

"Ahhh, Shreder! It's so lovely to see you!" She looks about herself, and for the first time sees the mess. Tea cups stacked everywhere... some atop books, others on papyrus or scroll stacks. "Oh... dear. I hadn't realized that I had allowed this newest project to consume so much of my time. It seems, my poetic Raven friend, that I am just as confused about this notion of wishes and luck now as I was when I began."

"Perhaps what is important is not what they really mean,
But rather what it is, in them, that each of us doth see?"

Eukara Vox considers this for a moment. "Hmmm, that is a good point, Shreder. I guess I hadn't approached it in that way. I just... I guess I got lost in the whole 'trying to figure things out' thought process. Sometimes I need to concentrate on enjoying things instead of trying to learn. It's just so darn hard, Shreder."

"The search for answers that we probably will never find
Doth oftentimes accompany the restless writer's mind.
And thou, my dearest Eukara, are a writer through and through
So it comes as no surprise to me; this is something you would do."

Laughing, she reaches for the book that each of the current stories would be placed. "I have been reading through them carefully, Shreder. And, well, in fairytales, wishes are wondrous things, luck is something that makes everything better. But reality seems to indicate quite the opposite. Take for example the author, Torn. His story seemingly goes along with that fairytale-type philosophy... but then the end hits you like a two-ton anvil."

The Raven preens its feathers.

"His story, though depressing, is in many ways, quite true.
Wishes and Luck are fickle things, and rarely bring what's due."

"Hmmm, so are they bad things in your mind?" Eukara Vox looks at her helper with a glint in her eye.

"I never said that, rather, I intended to convey
That Luck and Wishes are not something to rely on every day.
For though on rare occasions we may by them be blessed
To think this happens often will only lead to distress."

She nods slowly. "If anything, I am seeing this pattern. Some stories, like Horusmaster's, end with a tearful happiness, but then you have Fleur de Mal's poem that made me hate that mother with a passion. It seems that Wishes and Luck are fickle masters. So, yes, I agree, relying on them is a dangerous venture."

"Despite my doubt I must admit not much can compare to
The joy you feel when a wish you make actually comes true..."

"But then, that takes us right back to the beginning of this whole conversation!" She laughs out loud, the sound echoing through the library. "Well, I guess we can say that though, Wishes and Luck may not be substantial ways of dealing with things, they can be quite wonderful when positive."

"I would agree, having read all these stories through
That is the only conclusion we really can come to."

Standing and stretching, Eukara Vox looks around her small annex. "What a mess! I think I have work to do. Thanks for checking up on me, Shreder. It is well appreciated." The Raven flies over and alights on the window, turning to say:

"So long then, dearest Eukara, until we meet again--
I know it will be soon, I simply cannot say quite when."

Eukara Vox waves as Shreder takes off. She smiles and looks around. "Meh, maybe later. Right now, I could go for a cinnamon roll."



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/7/2010 10:19:20)

Under A Lucky Star?
by Alexmacf

I was born under a lucky star, or so they tell me. My apparent inability to have bad luck at anything—from poker to getting the tire swing at recess to getting exactly the kind of ice cream I want—is stuff for legends, they tell me. They always seem to be right, so I just ignore them. I wish they wouldn't keep talking to me, though. I think I do have rather bad luck with that. I'd also like to know what they're doing when they're not talking to me. There are long hours when I can't remember anything, except that they're not talking to me.

Today, they're acting stranger than normal. “Genie,” they say, even though they know my name is Josephine, “Genie, you're so lucky. I want to be lucky.” “Genie, you're so pretty. I wish I was lucky enough to be that pretty.” “Genie, I wish I was as lucky as you are!” They always talk about my luckiness, but they don't usually talk straight at me. Ursula says that she's just being extra-friendly today, but I don't believe her. She's usually the meanest voice.

Now I'm getting suspicious. I've barely been able to hear my teachers today at school, and my "lucky group" normally saves their blabbering for other times. They seem to like school almost as much as I do, after all. And what's more, the quietest voice, Claire, is talking non-stop. She doesn't usually do that, and when she does, my memory's gone for weeks, not hours.

The voices are keeping me up all night. “Genie's so lucky,” they say. “Genie, you're so lucky.” Claire asks over and over again if she can be as lucky as I am.

“Fine!” I snap at her, tired and frustrated and annoyed. “Just let me sleep!” Claire grins. She's scary when she grins; I really wish she wouldn't.

“Thank you,” she says, in the creepiest voice I've ever heard. I black out.

I wake up in a white room. After a black-out, I've usually woken up somewhere else, so at first I'm not concerned. I change my mind, though, when I hear the conversation in the next room. “Josie wouldn't do that!” Mom cries. The person in blue with her tries to comfort her, to say it wasn't her fault. Not sure of what to do, I get up and knock quietly on the door. They let me in. “Mom?” I ask. “What's going on?”

“You don't know what's going on?” the man—a police officer—asks. He sounds like he doesn't believe me. “What month is it?”

“I don't know, but I think it's February? It was February yesterday.”

“February was three months ago!” he exclaims. He takes out his radio. It looks like my little brother Jack's toy walkie-talkies. Jack is only four, still practically a baby. He's not even in kindergarten yet! “I need a psychologist for Josephine Black,” the police officer says into his radio. “Repeat, I need a psychologist for Josephine Black,” he says all this while pushing a little button. He doesn't say over and out like Jack and I do, though. I don't think he's watched enough TV. He turns to me and says, “You're just a little kid, so I don't want you talking until the psychologist and lawyer get here, okay?” I nod. “Ma'am,” he then says to Mom, “this is promising for your case.” Mom smiles at him, even though she's still crying. She says thank you.

When the officer leaves, Mom tells me what has happened. She says that whatever came over me, possessed me ("Claire?" I ask, but she doesn't know who I am talking about), and used me to commit three murders—my baby brother, Jack, and my two best friends, Lucy and Jackie. I don't know what's going to happen. I'm only eight years old! I'm really, really scared. Was I really born under a lucky star? If I was, I think it was a bad one.



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/7/2010 17:57:51)

Hope
by Reaper0001

"Sarah," Anna called, "time for bed."

The little girl laughed as she ran to her mother. Anna picked her up, smiling.

"But, mommy," Sarah protested, "today is when daddy comes back!"

She chuckled. "Daddy won't like it if you stay up late."

"Please, mommy?" the little girl pleaded.

"No, Sarah," her mother answered, though she too had been anticipating Daniel's return.

The little girl pouted as she was carried to her room. Anna laid her under the covers and tucked her in.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Do you think Daddy really is coming back this time?"

Anna hesitated. Daniel's tour in Afghanistan had been extended three times. She didn't know if he really was coming back. "We'll have to wait and see."

***

“Hey, Smith,” Daniel said, holding a M16 Assault Rifle in his hands. “You checked the field?”

Smith, a blond-haired man of Italian descent in his early twenties, nodded. “We’re all clear. Let’s move out.”

Daniel shouted an “All clear!” and the captain in charge of the company gave the order to advance. An abandoned Afghan town was ahead. They were to set up camp there for the night before continuing onwards.

They had an M1 Abrams on their side. The tank had composite armor and a gas turbine engine, along with a 105 mm gun. Even if there were any Taliban nearby, there was no way they were going to be able to beat that.

After half an hour of marching, they reached their destination. About one hundred Marines broke ranks to search the town. The other half set up a camp in the center of the small village. The soldiers sat and chatted casually, tired from marching so far. The Abrams stopped and idled near a short clay house. Daniel, however, kept his M16 ready. It was better to be on guard and not need to be than be off guard when attacked. He had seen many a good man taken down like that.

The sun sank towards the horizon as the hours passed. The scouts returned, all with nothing to report. When the last few soldiers arrived, the captain shouted an order to prepare for the night.

Daniel counted the heads that came back. Ninety-nine Marines. He remembered the one face that hadn‘t returned. A man, a curly-haired young man named Mark.

Suddenly, a grenade flew past his head. Daniel reacted immediately, diving away just as the small capsule exploded, sending shrapnel into the air. Two unlucky Marines weren’t as quick, and screamed right before the metal pierced their hearts.

The company hurriedly formed up as Taliban soldiers leapt from the buildings, guns and knives in hand. Many were on the rooftops, firing at the company’s flanks. The Abrams, powerful but slow, was their first target. One Taliban leapt from a rooftop, grenade in hand. He pulled the pin before shoving it into the 105 mm gun. The tank exploded in a fiery flare of shrapnel and fire, killing several Marines nearby.

Daniel fired his rifle at a Taliban shouting out in a harsh foreign tongue as he rushed towards him. The bullets silenced him, and he crumpled to the ground.

“Retreat!” the captain barked. “Cover the rear! Kee—”

His orders were cut short as a bullet ripped through his chest.

“Keep moving!“ Daniel shouted. “Get the ones on the rooftops!”

The Marines complied, redirecting fire at the rooftop gunners. Daniel kept the Taliban on the ground at bay, emptying his magazine as they advanced.

“Cover me while I reload!” he shouted.

“We’re being flanked!” Smith yelled back. The Marines tightened formation as more Taliban appeared from behind them. They were being surrounded. Daniel threw the M16 aside and pulled a Desert Eagle from its holster. It held eight bullets per round. And he wouldn’t have time to reload.

Make each shot count, he told himself.

He pulled the trigger in the direction of another assailant. The bullet embedded itself in the man’s chest, and he fell to the dirt. Blood blossomed from beneath his clothes.

He counted each bullet he fired. Two more Taliban came into view.

Two, three, Daniel counted as he fired twice more. He dove into an alley as four more hostiles rounded a corner. He aimed and fired four more times.

Four, five six, seven.

Suddenly, he was brought to the ground as a Taliban soldier leapt from the rooftops and landed on top of him. A surging wave of agony struck the Marine as a cold steel blade was driven into his chest. Daniel dropped the pistol.

The world began to dim, the gunfire and shouting becoming subtler and quieter. Everything became a blur, and every sound melded together. His life flashed before his eyes. Memories of his family were the ones he picked out. For a split second, the image of his wife appeared in his mind.

Anna.

Another image replaced it. His daughter’s face.

Sarah.

The world went black.

***

Anna sobbed. Tears streamed down her face, spilling out of the palms of her hands. She couldn't believe what the letter had said. Its many pieces lay on the table and floor around her. She had torn the paper to pieces in her anguish.

Daniel was dead. Her husband was dead. He had been killed in a Taliban ambush several months ago. The body hadn’t even been recovered.

"Mommy?"

Anna looked up to see Sarah standing at the doorway.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" the little girl asked.

Her mother wiped her tears from her face. "Nothing honey." She glanced at the clock. 8:00. "Come on, it's bedtime."

Anna received the usual groan and protest. She responded with the usual grin, though a sad one. Picking her daughter up, she carried her to bed. She fought with herself, trying to decide if Sarah should know what happened.

She needs to know, one half of her said.

She’s too young, the other half argued.

As she laid Sarah under the covers, Anna heard her daughter's voice again.

"Mommy?" the little girl said inquisitively.

"Yes, honey?"

"Why hasn't daddy come home yet?"

Anna forced her tears back. She couldn't bear to tell Sarah the truth. "We won't see daddy for a while," she answered.

"I wish daddy could come home soon."

Anna turned away to hide the tears that fell from her face. She almost broke down and sobbed, lying to such a sweet, innocent child.

"I do, too," she managed to get out as she hurried out of the room.

***

"Sarah," a voice said, calling the child from her sleep. "It's me."

Sarah sat up, rubbing her eyes. It was still dark outside the window, but the lamp had been turned on.

"Mommy?"

"No honey, it's me."

She looked to the speaker. A man, with cropped copper hair and dressed in the uniform of the U.S. Marines, knelt by her bedside. His broad smile and the familiar twinkle in his eye sparked recognition instantly.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, leaping from the covers and embracing her father.

Daniel laughed, holding his daughter for the first time in years.

"I knew you'd be back. I knew it. My wish came true."

"Mine did too.” He stopped hugging her, and faced his daughter. “I finally get to see you...” his smile disappeared “...one last time."

Sarah stopped smiling and looked at her father, her happiness replaced by puzzlement. "Daddy, you aren't staying?"

Her father gave her a melancholy smile. He pulled back his uniform, showing a deep wound over his heart.

"No!" Sarah cried, burying her face in his uniform. "You can't be dead! You promised you'd come back. You promised!"

"I have come back," Daniel said soothingly. "I can't stay. I wish I could with all my heart, but I have to go."

Sarah sobbed, still begging her father to stay.

"Sarah, please don't cry," he asked her, lifting her onto the bed. "I have to go. God says I have to leave."

"You don't have to listen to God," she suggested hopefully.

Daniel chuckled. His daughter had always been the problem solver. Always trying to fix things. She got that from her mother's side.

"Sarah, I have to listen to God. I can't stay. I'm sorry. But always remember, I'll always be with you. Even if you can't see me, I'll always be watching."

He kissed his daughter on the cheek before getting to his feet. He turned and began to leave. Sarah leaped off the bed and ran after him.

"Daddy! Come back!"

He turned and went into the hall. His daughter hurried out the door. But as she came out of the room, she saw nothing. Just the dark, empty corridor.

***

"Sarah," a voice said. "Sarah, wake up."

"Daddy?" she asked, still half asleep.

"No honey, it's me."

Sarah sat upright, rubbing her eyes. She looked to her mother, who looked back with tears in her eyes. Anna composed herself, trying to gather the strength to tell her daughter the truth.

"Sarah, listen. Daddy won't be coming home. He's with God now, looking down at us from heaven."

To her surprise, the little girl only looked at her sadly, though she seemed to know what had been told to her. Sarah gazed out the window. Sunlight streamed into the room. But the light bent and twisted, vaguely resembling a figure. A man. And he was smiling.

"Mommy, daddy is with us right now. He'll always be with us."

Anna couldn't help but to grin. Her daughter was always so hopeful, so optimistic. Always looking to the brighter side of things. She got that from her father.



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/8/2010 9:18:53)

The Motivation in My Life
by Imperial

The motivation in my life
Pumps every day, and every night --
Wishing to see you.

I go crazy,
Whenever I lay
My eyes upon you.

With you,
I wish to run
far, far away --
To look into your
Eyes, and whisper
The three words.

If I succeed,
I want to move to
step two…

Where our hearts
Can be as one --
Till death do us part.

I want to feel those lips,
Most importantly, your love
For me.

If ever, I wish
to proceed onwards
to the next step.

I want something valuable --
Something to cherish.

I want that something to be sweet…

To be something that I can
Adapt; accept, and to recall.

I wish for you and this something.

I wish to see it, feel it,
And touch it. I wish,
To approach it;
Let it be convenient.

I want to see a sign,
something azure
in the eyes -- for you and I.

Let it be soft,
and warm.
Let it cry,
and grieve
on my shoulder.

I wish for this,
I wish for this something,
I really wish…



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/8/2010 9:40:36)

Luck of the Draw:
~By: Feoras ToxArch

"What?!? Is that all you’re going to say, General Daesaer? Sir… there’s a Sneevilchaun on the loose!” The man laden with black and gold armor nearly tipped over in surprise.

“But, Commander Gandian… what’s the worst it could possibly do?” his superior returned, aimlessly playing with the rim of his purple top hat.

“…Sir, it’s Good Luck Day; the one time out of the year where those nasty little critters pop up out of nowhere,” Gandian replied, resting both of his armored hands upon his leader’s desk. “We can’t just sit around, drink tea, and let that thing run amok. We have to make a decision now and stick with it or the consequences could be severe.”

“Pshaw. If the little goblin is after boxes, I say let him have them.” Daesaer smirked and pushed his chair back, laying his feet across Gandian’s gauntlets. “The last shipment of supplies from No’Bell arrived just a few days ago, so what’s the harm if the litter critter takes a couple of empty boxes? The pieces of rubbish are destined for the garbage-pile, regardless.”

“Sir… you’re missing… my point,” the Commander mumbled while struggling to get his hands free from underneath the General’s emblazoned boots. “If we were dealing with an ordinary Sneevil, Sir, then I would have no qualms with your decision. But this is a Sneevilchaun and…Ah!”

Finally slipping his hands free, Gandian was about to continue until the blank expression he saw made him bite his tongue.

“General Daesaer, I know you’re not asleep.”

“Of course I am. My eyes are shut, aren’t they?”

“But how would you be able to converse with me in your sleep, Sir?”

“I’m a sleep-talker, but it’s medically classified as sleep-talkea in case you want to look it up.”

Cursing silently to himself, Commander Gandian tried to switch his means of approaching this conversation. General Daesaer had been known for antics like this well before he assumed the head position of Cysero’s Defenders. Having known him for years, though, Gandian knew that even one such as Daesaer could be serious when he needed to be. But after assuming the title only just recently, their new leader seemed even goofier than ever… if that was humanly possible.

“General… what is the one thing that Sneevils desire above all else?” he asked after breaking both the silence and Daesaer’s unconvincing attempts at fake snoring.

“That would be an empty, flimsy, piece of rubbish box, my good Gandy.”

“And what do Sneevils do if you deny them their precious boxes, Sir?” Commander Gandian inquired.

“Anything and everything beyond the humane wartime limits set by the Third Grenwog Convention, my silly Gandy.”

“Okay, so you’re following me so far…" Commander Gandian sighed. "Now, what is the one thing that Sneevilchauns desire above all else?”

“That would be gold, my dear Gandy.” Daesaer replied, his sleeping facade looking slightly bored.

“And what material is our new headquarters made entirely out of, General?” the commander asked while taking his gauntlet and rattling it against the golden-laced interior of the room.

After a slight pause, General Daesaer opened his eyes lazily and sighed. “Fine, fine; pick a few Defenders at random and hop to it. Chop chop.” He clapped twice, hoping to see his Commander scurry off.

“I can’t, Sir. You gave everyone Good Luck Day off, remember?” Gandian smirked slightly.

“Fine, grab a couple of Captains and see to it. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“What part of ‘you gave everyone the day off’ don’t you understand, Sir?” He sighed, watching the expression on Daesaer’s face change to that of worry.

“What about the Majors then?” the General added with a stifling bit of apprehension. “Surely some of them stuck around, no?”

“No.” Gandian pulled a small scroll from his belt and handed it to his leader, who scanned over it furiously. “They are away on orders or have taken time off. Here, check it yourself.”

“What about Mistress Vox? She’s not on the list,” he said after a brief pause.

“You know as well as I that she is occupied with the Library, and is unavailable for the moment.”

“It can be anyone, it does not matter,” he replied with eyes glued to the paper. “What about Feoras? His name isn’t on the list either.”

“Stop looking for inane excuses!” Gandian snapped, slamming gauntlet-sized imprints into the expensive-looking desk, and staring Daesaer down with a look which easily raised the room’s temperature by a few degrees. “It’s just you and me here. All the Defenders under your control are out for the day. The Sapphire has more important business than to waste its time capturing a single Sneevilchaun. Vox has her duties to her late master and Feoras is still MIA. Now stop complaining and come with me so we can find this Sneevilchaun.”

Without even flinching, Daesaer sighed at his desk. “You know that is going to come out of your paycheck, right, Commander?”

“Fine, be that way.” The Commander sneered, whirling around and went for the one door that led out of the Head’s chamber. But as his hand grasped the handle, he halted and cocked his head back slightly. “If you won’t act, then I’ll just go ask Anoril downstairs to he-”

“Well, it’s like you said Commander... We haven’t a moment to waste.” General Daesaer’s tone flipped from serious to playful within a heartbeat. Almost jumping from his chair, he nearly leapt over to the door and opened it himself. “You start with this floor while I get ready. Chop chop, Gandian, we must find this intruder post haste.” Shoving him through the doorway, Daesaer quickly shut the door to his office.

Waiting until he heard the echo of Gandian’s suit trounce away, Daesaer began to prepare his things. “The luck of the draw, huh? Just as Anoril trusted me with taking his place, what happens? The entire world begins to fall in on itself.” He said to himself while glancing up at a map of Lore pinned to the wall. “First Drakath and his Lords of Chaos, now the Wolves and Vampires are at war with each other, and with each passing day, more and more threats to peace and stability present themselves. It looks like Cysero isn’t the only one that needs to be defended anymore… and who am I to take someone like Anoril’s place at the very heart of our defense?” Reaching for his cane while straightening his hat in the mirror, General Daesaer looked himself over long and hard. ”As leader, I must be a symbol of confidence, just like Anoril was to his generation. A rock, or unbreakable pillar to those beneath me… and as that rock, I must bear the weight of responsibility solely upon my shoulders.”

Tugging on his suit to straighten it out and fixing his tie, General Daesaer finished his mental check-list and headed for the door. ”Heh, they say it’s lonely at the top, and I’m starting to see why. I’d better not screw this up too badly. How would Anoril be able to validate his trust in me if I can’t even catch a little gold-obsessed goblin? You have no room for error, Daesaer… it’s time to be serious for once.” He sighed, closing the door behind him.

~***~

The two searched from head to toe throughout Cysero’s Golden Statue, quite literally. After exploring nearly every nook and cranny their new base had to offer, only one area remained.

“But Sir, we’re not going to go into the woman’s lavatory, are we?” Gandian aired his concerns with a tone of dismay.

“I don’t see why we can't. After all, we are the only ones here, correct?” Daesaer replied while prodding the doorway with the end of his cane.

“Yes… but still.”

“Then it is settled,” the General said with slight apprehension. “Commander Gandian, I order you to take the head and advance forward into the lands which no man should tread.”

“Fine, fine… let’s just get this over with.” Gandian sighed while pushing the door away and taking a few hesitant steps inside. Keeping it propped with his cane, Daesaer waited in silence. “I don’t see anything, Sir. Seems like this sneevilchaun gave us the slip.”

“Geeze, you aren’t looking hard enough. Did you check all of the stalls?” Daesaer groaned in displeasure while walking inside.

“Yeah, but why are there so many in here?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.” Daesaer sighed while helping his subordinate check each stall. “Women… require unique needs.”

“Aye, quite the keen observation that be, laddies.” A voice interrupted behind them. Spinning around, a sneevilchaun had his rump planted within one of the many sinks lining the opposite wall, grinning intently at the both of them. ”Together, I’d give a reckon to say ye both share a single noggin.”

“…You didn’t check the sinks?”

“I did, Sir, don’t you think I would’ve noticed something sitting in a sink?”

”Aye, now I see why my presence was requested here.” The sneevilchaun folded its arms and shrugged in disapproval. ”Looks like I’ll have my work cut out for me this time.”

“Sneevilchauns are known to be capable of teleportation whenever they contact any source of pure gold, Sir. That’s probably why he’s been able to dodge us this entire time.”

”Looks like there be hope for ye two yet.” The sneevilchaun laughed, which the acoustics of the bathroom distorted quite horrendously. ”But the other lad with that silly hat seems to be a work of his own.”

With a flick of his wrist, a fireball streaked out of the tip of Daesaer’s cane and smashed the sink into countless white plaster pebbles on the floor. “Don’t play games with us, and more importantly never diss the hat Sneevilchaun. What are you doing here?”

”Not what, but why General Daesaer.” The sneevilchaun chortled again, clearly amused. Being forced to turn around again, the two saw the persistent creature grin from atop its perch on one of the stall dividers.

“…why?” The General repeated without a hint of repent for what he just did. “How would I know such a thing? Explain yourself.”

“Haha! All in due time my boy.” The small goblin-like creature smirked in delight. “But let me start our tale by saying that Luck has played no part in any of this or what’s to come.”

“Luck? By what are you implying, sneevilchaun?” Daesaer questioned immediately, having little clue what the little green creature meant.

”Leaders are not decided by the Luck of the Draw, at least not in your case. Find me again, laddie, and I’ll be happy to tell you why I am here.” That said, the sneevilchaun touched some of the gold embedded into the ceiling and vanished before they knew it.

“Sir, what was that about?” Gandian spoke after sometime, just as confused.

“I don’t know but I intend to find out.” Daesaer shrugged while heading for the exit. “Oh, and take note that we have to replace that sink before the others come back.” He continued as both men slowly walked out of the bathroom to find its next hiding place.

~***~

All throughout the day, the sounds of the chase rocked the Defenders' new base. Amid the occasional echo of an explosion and the shockwaves that rattled all of the tables in the dining hall, three ranking Defenders tried to sit down to enjoy a fresh pot of tea despite the ruckus.

“So, Little Goblin?” The first man spoke up with a thick Elvish accent, noting the chaos above with a slight chuckle. “It seems like you have outdone yourself yet again.”

“Personally, Glass,” the small goblin who sat on a few books to sit eye level with the other two said, “I’m not one for playing these types of mind games. I see little need for having two Defenders blow up half of our base to get a point across, Anoril.”

“So what then?” the Elf interjected before Anoril could reply. “Is our OH so tiny friend here doubting Anoril’s methods of leadership?”

“Subtlety is not my forte, Dagger-Ears,” the goblin shot back, annoyed for being called short when all goblins are small in stature. “I just don’t see why I have to call on a favor from my cousin in order to say something which I could’ve told Daesaer in a second. It’s not that hard if he would just stop worrying and think clearly for a second.”

“But do you honestly expect him to be thinking clearly when given that amount of responsibility, Little Goblin?” Anoril quietly piped in while setting down his cup on the table.

“Well, you didn’t seem to have a problem like this when I handed over the Clan to you,” the goblin muttered, gulping down his cup in a single swig while pouring another.

“That was because we knew what we were up against,” Anoril replied calmly. “With the Rebellion nothing more than a distant memory, we now face new threats that none of us here could have ever predicted. With Drakath, the Chaos Lords, Gravelyn, and Torvald taking up his late master’s ‘hobby’, these are dark and uncertain times indeed.”

“And when different times require different measures, we must be willing to adapt if we are to survive in a changing world,” Glass added, taking a sip from his cup.

“I’m not blind, I see the problems we are up against.” Little Goblin grunted. “But why do we have to go through all this trouble just to tell him something this simple.”

“Because, for the new generation of Defenders, Luck is something they believe they have going for them. We never had it, which means they can’t rely on it either.” Anoril smirked while glancing outside through one of the translucent windows. “While abstract concepts like Luck and Wishes can be helpful in certain amounts, we have to keep them realistic about their job. We’re not destined to win every battle, there’s no promise that all of your friends will leave the battlefield. If they worry too much about trivialities that they have no control over, then they’ll never be able to function at their peak capacity.”

Before either could respond, another explosion from above drove Anoril’s message home. “This is their time, not ours anymore. We have to let them figure things like this out for themselves rather than force it down their throats. It’s their time to make a decision, and all we can do is hope they make the right one.”



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/8/2010 9:45:44)

"Wishing Well"
by The Extinguisher

sign above the well reads:
'ten cents a wish'
'a dime for all
your hopes and dreams'

lines form from
town to town
people waiting
for their chance
for happiness
and fulfillment
in their
gray
dull
boring
little lives

'ten cents a wish'
they say
'a dime for all
your hopes and dreams'

skeptics
line up
for their chance
to be the first
to call it false
to criticize
all of those
who do believe
and they wait
with dimes in hands
as they try
to understand
and they wish
they understood

cast a coin
into the ground
into the lonely,
little well
(atop a hill
in grassy lakes
in a quiet,
little town)
with a dusty
little sign
that reads:

'ten cents for a wish'



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/8/2010 9:48:59)

To Court a Princess

......Once upon a time, there was a beautiful countryside full of life and wonder. Fields of tall grasses waved lazily in the wind where birds sang their lovely songs and butterflies fluttered about. Inconspicuous snakes patrolled the borders, protecting those within.
......Beneath a grassy hill lay a large pond. Papyrus grew on the field side and frogs nestled there during the day. Various creatures flitted about, though all gave way to the dragonflies. Their favorite perching spot was on the reedy shores that bordered the forest.
......Tall oaks towered gently to the sky near the shore. But the heart of the forest was a shadowy place, full of strange noises. Dark forms moved constantly there, and among those shadowy things were spiders—eight-legged creatures that could see death without flinching. No one strayed into the forest... And nothing came out.
......Above the pond on the hill was the home of the Butterfly Queen. Here she ran the fields, ordering the shrews to do this, or the snakes to do that. Even the birds bowed to her word. Her daughter, Princess Serapina, was an elegant, yet strong young butterfly. Her golden wings were iridescent as if reflecting the sun itself.
......Many admired her; not for her beauty, but because she worked herself ragged for them. She was old enough to marry, but showed no interest. She was too busy, the elder butterflies believed.
......Most of the male butterflies found her intimidating, but not Dalthion. His bold, blue wings fluttered when he thought of her. He'd tried several times to talk to her, but failed. Each night, he looked at the stars and wished that he would be good enough for her.
......One night, a dragonfly was roaming near the bush. Her crystal clear wings sparkled in the moonlight. Above the whir of her wings, she heard Dalthion's wish.
......"I just wish I wasn't me. She stands so wonderful, beautiful, confident, strong... And... I'm nothing, not worthy of consideration." He sighed heavily and lowered his head, falling into a sad sleep.
......Now, it goes to say that wishes are just that... Wishes—hopes and dreams, nothing more. Except when Moravion, the Dragonfly Queen, listens. She looked up at the moon, nodded, and her wings shimmered three times. She thought long and hard how to resolve this young butterfly's wishes.
......One day, Dalthion returned from a hard delivery pick-up from the northern ridge. He stumbled exhaustedly with his friend into the bush, only to see Serapina nearby. He froze as still as a statue, despite the need to deliver the package. The friend ran up and pushed him towards her. Fatigued, he tumbled forward and the entire bush stopped their work to see him crash into Serapina.
......Upset, Dalthion ran from the scene, crying apologies. In his embarrassment, he flew until he could fly no more. He eventually fluttered to the ground, nearly crashing into the pond. He sat on the shore and sobbed as his teardrops made tiny ripples in the water.
......A timid little minnow saw Dalthion and felt bad for him. He swam up to the shore and spoke. "Why do you cry, blue wings?"
......Dalthion sniffled. "I cry because I'm no one special, and I've made a fool of myself in front of the one girl I love."
......"But surely, since you love her, she wouldn't care?" the little minnow asked.
......"She's a princess and I'm a lowly carrier. Why would she care?" Dalthion wiped his face and looked at the minnow.
......The little minnow sighed, "It shouldn't matter what you are, but who you are."
......"You don't understand. She couldn't possibly see worth in me." Dalthion turned his face away.
......The minnow groaned. "If you truly think that, you need to see Moravion."
......"Moravion!" Dalthion cried. "The Dragonfly Queen? And what, have her magic muddle my brain so that I can't flee when she eats me?"
......"If you can't bring yourself to seek her out, then you can just kiss this princess goodbye and another will marry her." The minnow turned around and swam away. "She lives in the reeds."
......Dalthion stood and paced upon the shore. To willingly approach the very creature that all butterflies fear more than birds... That was pure insanity. In the end, though, he flew cautiously to the Dragonfly Queen's home.
......He landed without noise on the portico of Moravion's home. He stood there, shaking, until he heard a soft voice from within. "What brings a butterfly to my home?"
......Visions of dragonflies devouring butterflies bubbled up in his mind. He remembered the minnow's words. "Queen Moravion, I was told to come here to ask for your help."
......The Dragonfly Queen emerged from the shadows, her voice almost purring. "Help... From me? A butterfly seeks my help?"
......She smiled as Dalthion nodded, recognizing him and looking at him appraisingly. Odd how you are very much the bug you wish you were."Fine, young man, I've three tasks for you. The first, you must collect glow from the wisest glow-worm. Second, go into the forest to find Judgment and collect his web. Lastly, you must best me in a challenge."
......Dalthion's dark body paled and his knees knocked. How was he supposed to complete such quests? The Dragonfly Queen disappeared before he could ask, leaving him alone. Reluctantly, Dalthion left and settled in the grass near the pond to sleep.
......He slept long and awoke with the sun directly overhead. The butterfly tempted fate and took a drink from the pond's edge, keeping his eye out for dragonflies. Thirst quenched, he left for the far fields of the Fireflies. He fretted, for he had no idea how to find the glow-worm known as Wise One.
......Dalthion was still absorbed with his thoughts when he ran smack into a bumble bee, sending out a cloud of pollen everywhere. The bumble bee glared at the butterfly while trying to recapture the pollen. "Why are you flying around all willy-nilly?"
......"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," Dalthion babbled. "I'm rather nervous. I've to do these three quests for Moravion and I've no idea how to do them."
......"For Moravion, huh? I don't want to know how dinner became the diner's quest-boy." The bumble bee chuckled. "What quest did she send you on?"
......Dalthion stated his quest, to which the bumble bee widened his eyes. "Oh, now that's something. You won't get far without a gift, though."
......"I don't have anything to give the Wise One... What will I do?" Dalthion's wings drooped.
......The bumble bee looked at him in pity. "Here, take some of this. Glow-worms absolutely adore it." He handed Dalthion a nice ball of pollen. "Now, glow-worms are night creatures, so you won't find the Wise One until the sun sets. Be careful, little one."
......The blue butterfly took a short nap and woke up just as the sun set. He flew low, searching for the right glow-worm. On and on he flew, and just as he was about to give up, he saw what could only be the Wise One.
......He landed and bowed, addressing the Wise One politely, but she didn't respond. Instead, she stared at him with large black eyes. Uneasy, Dalthion edged closer, depositing his offering at her feet. He felt as if she was looking though him and he shivered. Finally, she reached down and picked up the pollen. Licking her lips, she bit and chewed methodically, still watching him.
......Finally, she leaned forward and blinked. "Go back to Moravion, child, and think upon this word: ‘Just’."
......Dalthion was flabbergasted. After all that, he was simply given a word? "Just" could mean all kinds of things. Was he to think about what a "just" person was? Was he to understand that he is "just" a lowly butterfly? Dalthion flew on disappointed.
......He slept on a tree branch that night, his mind spinning from the evening excursion. As the sun rose the shaded darkness all around him exploded with noise, jolting him out of the tree. He tumbled a few feet before his wings righted him. He was facing into the dark forest. It was now or never.
......As he flitted through the trees, something snapped nearby. Below sat a chameleon, whose tongue was headed towards him. It wrapped around Dalthion’s body and pulled him towards its mouth.
......"No... I've come too far!" Dalthion yelled, struggling. "You can't eat me... I'm not here to be eaten! Let me go and I'll let you live!"
......Dalthion's resolve was stronger than the chameleon's tongue. He let go of Dalthion and chuckled. "You intrigue me, so I'll let you go. Now tell me what a field butterfly is doing in the dark forest?"
......"I'm trying to complete quests that Moravion gave me." Dalthion sat and looked up at the chameleon.
......"Oooh, that's even more intriguing. Moravion doesn't deign to help just anyone. You," he swiveled an eye on Dalthion, "have caught her majesty's attention. Why has she sent you here?"
......Dalthion paced. "She wants me to enter this shadowy realm and seek out judgment..."
......The chameleon turned his great head towards the darker part of the forest. "Judgment... That's a nasty person. Judgment is a spider who has lived long and partaken of just about every living creature." He lowered his head. "You would be a mere snack for him."
......Dalthion straightened his back. "Snack or not, I'll face Judgment and come out victorious."
......The chameleon smiled. "You have a fire about you, that you do. I've a feeling you'll see this through. And if you do, you'll be the first."
......Dalthion nodded and flew away, dodging other creatures trying to eat him and finally making it to the heart of the forest. In an old, dark rotting tree, he saw the open maw of a dreary darkness that could only be Judgment's seat.
......Senses on the alert, Dalthion approached. He perched on the outside bark and looked inside. The smell was a mix of musty mildew and the leftovers of animals half-devoured.
......Watching where he stepped, Dalthion entered the darkness, searching for Judgment. A very quiet rustling was heard above, forcing him to freeze. A snicker, then a purr, wafted down through the darkness.
......"My, my, what do we have here? Blue wings, fragile... Do I have a visitor from the grasslands?" Dalthion looked up and shuddered. Above him was the largest, hairiest, spider he had ever seen. Each of his eight eyes reflected the bits of light peeking through the forest canopy. Everything about him made Dalthion fearful.
......"What brings you to my seat, small one?" Judgment eyed Dalthion hungrily.
......"Moravion sent me to stand before you, Judgment, and return to her with my reward." Dalthion watched every movement, noticing all he could about this enormous spider.
......"Oh ho, Moravion sent you! So very nice of her, sending me something to snack on. Perhaps she found you lacking in size..." Judgment smiled wickedly. "But me... Well, I'll eat anything. All things must past by me at some time or another. Might as well devour it all."
......Dalthion stood up straight and tall. "Perhaps that is so, and perhaps not. All I know is that I must bring back to her your web."
......Judgment laughed. "Just bring back my web?" He swung to his web and stepped across it swiftly. "I'd rather like to see you try. I don't let people go."
......"I'm sure that's the usual case." Dalthion stepped towards the web, "But I'm not the usual passerby."
......Judgment suddently leapt, dropping down to Dalthion. Dalthion beat his wings and pushed backwards. The spider landed with a thud, missing him by inches. Taking advantage of the situation, Dalthion shot up to the top of the web and narrowed his eyes, staring at each strand attached to the tree.
......Deftly, he plucked one strand, pulling it from the tree. Judgment looked up as Dalthion plucked a second, third, and then a fourth. Growling, he scurried up the walls, chasing the butterfly, who let go of the wall and allowed himself to free fall to the bottom of the web, where he began to pull each anchoring strand from the sides and bottom.
......A breeze fluttered the torn threads, creating a wave of fine fibers taunting Judgment. He roared, dropping down on Dalthion's fleeting figure. One small claw clipped his wing and Dalthion cried out in pain, his blue scales drifting to the ground like snow. His eyes flashed toward Judgment.
......"That's as close as you'll come to keeping me in your lair." With a thrust of his wings, Dalthion flew from Judgment and aimed for the remaining parts of the web attached to the tree. He dodged each jump Judgment attempted, using him once to sever a couple of strands out of his reach.
......Judgment soon clung to the side of his hollow, watching Dalthion fly out with his web. The butterfly turned just outside the hole and looked in. "Tell me, Judgment, how does it feel to have someone take something from you?"
......Judgment scuttled out of the hollow with a smirk and shook a leg at Dalthion. "Come back a second time, blue boy, and you'll not make it out of here alive. But for now, I'll have to give you a parting gift. Take that web back to Moravion and take this for yourself. 'Be.'" Dalthion held the web carefully, not touching the sticky parts as he flew off. The chameleon winked as Dalthion passed by.
......’Be’? What's that supposed to mean? Does he want me to think about what I want to be? Or perhaps I'm to evaluate what I am now? To be brave, strong, and daring? To be tenderhearted and timid? Be... Pah, what on earth are these creatures doing for me?... Dalthion flew back to Moravion's home, ready for the third quest she promised would be revealed once he visited the Wise One and Judgment.
......Dalthion landed on the steps to Moravion's home. He draped the web across one corner of the entrance and called out. His voice was met with silence. A rush of wind blasted him from behind and he whirled around, only to come face to face with Moravion.
......"I see, my cherub, that you've returned. I'm quite pleased, as I feared that you'd give up." Moravion paced around Dalthion slowly. "So, are you ready to face me?"
......"I've no other reason for being here, Dragonfly Queen." Dalthion leveled his gaze with Moravion's. "What are you going to add to my list of quests?"
......Moravion smirked and turned towards the water. "Catch me if you can..." She launched off her steps and hovered over the water, whirring her wings. A sparkling dust seemed to drop from her, covering the pond's surface. Ripples spread from under her, rapidly running to the very edges. "You think you know my pond... I know it better. And now, I've arranged for you to not know it at all."
......Moravion zipped away before Dalthion could speak. Gathering himself, he took off after her and watched as the pond slowly changed before his eyes. Everything he had remembered seeing was gone. He looked up, panicked, trying to listen. But all he could hear was an eruption of noise, so very unfamiliar to his ears.
......Everything was louder, accompanied with an even darker cloud spreading over everything. Shadows lurched, noises moved, everything was disorienting. He felt turned around, upside down. Suddenly, Moravion zipped into his view. Determined to ignore the changes, Dalthion set his sight on the Dragonfly Queen.
......It was hard... Dragonflies are so fast; she appeared then disappeared. But Dalthion kept going. He nearly screamed when a fish jumped out of the water, snapping at him. In no time, he soon found himself weaving through attacking fish and frog tongues seeking to wrap themselves around his fragile body. He pumped his wings harder, determined to catch the Queen.
......They zipped through the air, the butterfly gaining on the dragonfly. He rounded another and another fish. Moravion's home loomed ahead and Dalthion pushed himself harder than he had ever before.
......As he watched her pull forward, everything suddenly began to waver. The darkness flickered, the creatures disappeared, the water calmed, and Moravion... disappeared too. He pulled up, hovering above the water as the sun beat down on his now familiar surroundings again. Confused, he started flying towards the Dragonfly Queen's home. It was as before, silent and empty when he arrived.
......"Such determination... I can't imagine why you wish to be anyone but yourself. That's my gift to you: 'yourself'." Moravion calmly emerged from a back room. "Take those gifts from each of your quests and what do you have?"
......"The words... Just ... Be ... Yourself..." Dalthion looked at her with disbelief as Moravion smiled.
......"You've always been worthy, Dalthion. You just needed to see that being you is the best you can be for that princess of yours." Moravion’s eyes sparkled.
......"But..." Dalthion began to protest.
......Moravion waved a foreleg. "No, I'm afraid I’m hungry now. Transforming the pond with magic was a bit hard on me and I need to hunt. Can't be outdone by a butterfly, you know." She winked and took off, the stirred air forcing Dalthion to the ground.
......If what the Dragonfly Queen said was true, then why was he such a nobody back at the bush? He flew to his room in reflection and quietly readied for whatever work was assigned to him that he missed the last two days. A knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts.
......There stood the friend who had started it all with a push. Sighing, he went with him. As they landed on the work floor, Dalthion looked up and saw Serapina standing there, her wings glowing, and he forgot where he was. His friend pushed him towards her, intent on him tripping again.
......Dalthion felt his stomach quiver and just as he was about to run, he heard Moravion's voice. Just be yourself. The blue butterfly stood tall, smiled at Serapina, then bowed low before her. "My princess, how has your day gone thus far?"
......Serapina smiled back. "My day has been busy and I seem to be in need of a break. Would you be willing to escort me to the break room?"
......Looking up, Dalthion caught her smile. "Why of course, Princess Serapina." He held out his arm to her.
......She looped her arm in his and nodded. "So, tell me Dalthion, how has your day gone?"
......Dalthion looked at her in surprise. She knew his name! "Well, believe it or not, the last two days have been quite an adventure."
......As they began to walk, Serapina sighed. "I'm in the mood for a good adventure. Please, tell me what has happened to you.
......"Well, it all started with a wish..."



Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of Wishes and Luck (4/8/2010 10:01:03)

A Time Traveling Miracle
by green_girl02

Dear Eukara Vox,

Here is another document I'm sure you would love to take a look at. The document came to me under unusual circumstances this time around. Trust me; even you probably wouldn't believe me because of the absurdity of the whole affair. See, most humans don't think fairies are real. Surprisingly, this story has two sides to it. I won't tell you much as that would ruin the story that is told within the document, but I will explain the second side as soon as you finish reading. I do hope you enjoy!

Time-Traveling Miracle


June 6, 2070

Dear Diary,

I know my story sounds impossible. I've been told it's impossible for humans to travel through time and space, but I have. I don't know how and I don't know how I ended up back home safely, but I did. I am now sixty years old, but this story happened to me as a young lad at the tender age of ten. I know my days are coming to an end, and so I wish this story to be told. You see, the world no longer believes in fairy tales and that is what caused the beginning of my adventures.

See, I did not believe in fairies. To me, it was a childish thing. No child that wishes to be considered mature and grown up believes in fairy tales. Fairies belong in fairy tales and as result, they do not exist. That was my mentality until one fateful afternoon.

It was peaceful, that afternoon. The sun shone brightly, the sky was blue, and the birds chirped merrily. I was running ahead of my mother, who was yelling at me to slow down. We were going to the park and I wanted to see my friends, so I pretended I didn’t hear her and continued to run. Finally, I reached the park. My inquisitive eyes flew over the scenery, desperately searching for my friends. Instead, I saw a small, pale pink, shimmering light in the middle of a small stand of trees on a little hill nearby. I glanced behind me at my mother, who was quickly catching up. I knew she would never allow me to go up the hill to see what this object was.

Darting up the hill, I swiftly slid into the shadows. I distantly heard my mother calling my name, growing more frantic and more distant by the moment as I pushed deeper and deeper into the now large forest. It occurred to me that such a small stand of trees shouldn't be this big, but quickly that thought was banished as the pink light grew brighter, signifying that I was getting closer. I suddenly came upon a small glen, which was lit up with the mysterious pink light, within the woods. In the middle of the light, I could barely make out the form of a small, human-shaped creature with wings. The creature was just small enough that she could curl up in the palm of my hand if I picked her up. I crept closer, amazed at this small figure. It was a fairy! What else could it be! If fairies existed, what else existed? Magic? Wizards? Pegasi? The possibilities were endless. Beneath my wondering gaze, the young fairy began shifting until she was sitting up, stretching with a yawn. She suddenly jumped up into the air and began fluttering up and away to a safe distance from me. She waved her arms in the air, forming intricate signs, all in a split second. Time began to react weird around her and she started to disappear.

I lurched forward at the last second and touched the fairy. Instantly, we were standing on top of one of the great pyramids of Egypt. I looked around in wonder and disbelief. I had always loved reading about different parts of the world, but never thought I would get to see them. What I then noticed was that the pyramids were not in ruins. They all looked new, as if they were just made. A matter of fact, if I squinted into the light, I could make out thousands of figures pulling large bricks toward a half-finished pyramid. I hurriedly turned toward the pink fairy and asked her what was going on. She sighed and told me bits and pieces about fairies and their magical powers. It turned out that fairies could travel through time and space. They can also manipulate time, but that takes practice. I also learned she was a young fairy named Astible. She then explained that we were currently watching the pyramids being built. She then asked me my name and explained that fairies like her liked to record history and as of now, I was an unusual part of history because I was the first human to travel through time and space from New York, New York on June 6, 2010 AD to Giza, Egypt on June 6, 2600 BC. I was shocked to figure out that I was watching Khufu's great pyramid being built. I asked her to show me more of what her job included. She gravely nodded with a sad look on her face. Suddenly, the air began shimmering around me as Astible sat on my shoulder and began to transport us both.

We next arrived in the middle of a giant battle. I looked on in horror as men massacred one another. Grenades were being thrown all around us. All I could hear was machine gun fire, explosions, rockets flying, and men screaming in pain. I saw blood everywhere. Tears began rolling down my cheeks as Astible explained not all her jobs where pleasant. She explained that it was now June 6, 1944 and that we were in the middle of the allied invasion of Normandy that was codenamed "Operation Neptune/Overlord". Suddenly, everything froze and became eerily silent as all but Astible and I were rendered immobile and unconscious. She bade me to look around so that I would never forget the horrors of war. I looked and promptly vomited. I asked her, tears streaming down my cheeks, why I had to see this scene. She nodded silently and agreed to answer. Time started again as the shimmer surrounded Astible and me.

When the pink dust drifted away into invisible fragments, I looked around and saw another battle, but this time we were standing up on a high tower up above the fight. In front of me stood this older man who was relaying instructions to men on the ground though an intricate computer and microphone system that didn't make much sense to me because it looked so foreign. What wasn't foreign to me though were the sounds of explosions, screams of men in pain, gunfire and gasping of men dying. I was still crying as I turned to Astible angrily, asking why I had to see yet another battle. She answered that this one was more important to me personally and informed me that it was June 6, 2070. At the sound of my voice, the man turned around with a start, looking at me. I realized he looked extremely familiar and then realized that this man was me. This man, who was causing all this pain and suffering, was me. At that moment, I wished with all my heart to go home. I told her I wanted to go home. I would keep this from happening. I dreamed I could keep peace. I knew I could. And above all, I wished to go home. Astible nodded a small and happy smile and shimmered us away. I could only hope that my next destination was home.

I have never forgotten, nor ever will forget, what happened next. I looked around, amazed that I was back among the trees of the park in New York. I could even hear my mother calling my name frantically. I suddenly remembered Astible and turned to thank her for granting my wish, but she was already shimmering out. Her words were left as echoes in my mind, but they were unforgettable. "No, it is you that has granted my wish and dream. I hate wars. If showing you a horrible war that you know of and showing that there would be a World War III if you continued on your path, you yourself have prevented it. For that, I am grateful. See, each time and space fairy likes to record history but each fairy has a different main job. Mine is to prevent wars. That is my wish and my dream. When I can get you to join me in my wish and my dream, the world will always be a better place."

~Henry Alfred Giagiano III

As you can see, Ms. Vox, a very unusual account of the first journey a human from Earth that has traveled with a time and space fairy. The most unusual part of this story is that Astible is my sister, a princess in her own right. She is known for being a pacifist, so her actions in this story are completely out of her character. Not only is she a pacifist, but she is also a fairy. Fairies usually do not affect how time will flow. No one does that, yet Astible did. She broke the laws to keep her wishes and dreams for the world alive. The powers threatened to take away her magic as penalty, but when the powers looked at what her dreams did for the world, she was forgiven. To me, these two stories put side by side show what wishes and dreams are all about. I do hope you have enjoyed this and that it will help you in your search for meaning.

Always yours,
Gianna Glow

P.S. I will be stopping by your Library soon. I have yet to see how you have redecorated the place since your master's will controlled the decorations. I'm excited to see you!



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