Fool – I have no idea.

Fondly fuming over the oddly amusing, strangely seething with distressed good meaning.

So while strange seething of seeming distressed good meaning this fondly fuming fumbling fool does proffer a profit towards friendship true.

Still delightfully disturbed and perfectly perturbed this friendship true I offer you, with no feeling of ill or rue, though I’ll admit an adversarial amusement in diligently distressing in minor measures the thorough thinking and intellectual illumination you offer in return for this friendship true.

So fondling fuming and oh oddly amusing this strangely seething fumbling fool does offer a profit in form of friendship true that thankfully is through and through a simple thing to seemingly soothe the strangely seething intellectual you, this fumbling fool you call your friend would walk with you forever, hand in hand, but alas as always it’s an exasperating experience walking with that fondly fuming ever musing fool.

Perhaps if proffered once more we can start again with smiles and laughs lacking the lack luster feeling that fills the intellectual you while standing beside this fumbling fool, I’d apologize,  but this fumbling fool that is perfectly perturbed and annoyingly amused is all I know to be and all I’ve ever been but being this being is not in keeping with this proffered profitable friendship, so perhaps its time we walk another way, back to back and facing a way, walking apart and never together leaving this past behind.

No long fond, not really fuming, just here sadly seething at a foolish fumbling me that let the future fade before it even became the past. Lonely, alone, and ever the fool.

You walked away from me.

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Awkward and Odd – Lines

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

From time to time, I’ll cross a line.

I don’t mean to offend, the intent to harm isn’t mine.

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

I’ll talk out of turn, or say something forward. Still…

I don’t mean to offend, the thought to harm or alarm is not what’s on my mind.

It’s awkward and strange and an odd sort of place, that place behind my eyes.

I’ll step across that line, I’ll offend from time to time.

Without intent, I dare say that no harm was meant, no cause for alarm was offered though it was taken all the same.

I’m an odd sort of person, with an awkward frame of mind, I might step across the line, but I didn’t see it there, with my gaze up in the air.

Consider this an apology if you must, a way of saying sorry for a skewed perception of me, for I can’t say I consider myself mean.

As an awkward person with an odd frame of mind, I can’t be blamed for miscommunication, for lack of conversation that would otherwise show me, tell me when to draw back as I’m about to cross that line, your mind isn’t mine, how would I know to pull back when it was you who drew the line?

You who decided where to take offense and where to make a friend? With no intent to harm I offered my words freely, you took them as knives to wound you dearly and silenced the words completely.

Takes this as you will, but despite my crossing your line, for which I did apologize.

In ignoring me, you have crossed one of mine.

Account of the Kingdom of Gera: History and Current Day

Unlike the other tome titled “Tales from the Kingdom of Gera” this tome is simply titled “An Academic Account of the Kingdom of Gera: History and Current Day” and is in much better condition, though some pages have been removed, other pages glowing unable to be read, through censorship of some mage against the information contained or a mishap from the spells preserving the tome is unclear. The writing inside is quite neat, tidy even, and there are several illustrations in place, some having words below them that when said creates a minor image in scale that can be manipulated and observed in detail. Several battles, recreations from the founding of Gera, can be found this way, observed and recorded through the hard work of several diviners no doubt.

The kingdom of Gera itself is an ancient place, a place that contains more environments than a single plot of land should have really. The magic of the place is old, older than the elves that once lived there, and alive in a way that even humans and dwarves can’t discount it. The Kingdom itself, in many ways, predates most of the established countries on the continent, likely being at least as old as the Isles or the Dynasty Lunaris, though both of these two countries might feel this claim to be unfounded or up to debate.

The above text has several illustrations with dates predating the current accepted calendar by several hundred years, as well illustrations of both elves and the fey that offered comment on the history of the place as they remember it. The interviews and comments actually have the dialogue recorded but between accents and time sound is fuzzy and hard to understand, partially due to spell decay of some kind though one would have to know the kind of environment and the area in which the tome was kept to be sure.

Back before the kingdom was as it is, the land was a place of chaos, ruled by warring Lich Lords the general people had no real freedom, though the lich lords did their best to give a perception of such. The first king of the land, Alric the Young, was also Alric the Betrayer, called such by the Lich Lords who had trained the young man in magic and the arts he used to free the people. While he himself was only a kinder tyrant than the lich lords he destroyed his family has generally been overwhelmingly kind to their people, starting with his daughter Cassandra the Benevolent. While in this day and age many things are lost on to how they ruled, it was know that much of Gera was ruined at that time due to the spread of necromancy and other foul magics. During the first war, the war for freedom from the undead kings, the land itself bucked and changed, the myriad waves of magic used interacting violently with the lands own living, primal, magic.

This bit shows several views of the land, seen through scrying the past, most of which is bloody or blackened. Several of the more consistently available rivers, like Silver’s Run and Magi’s Font are seen clogged with dams consisting of broken bodies and skeletons, the living and the dead piled high upon each other as the undead kings fought for total control of the land and it’s magic. Other things detail the harsh backlashes the primal magic of Gera inflicted upon the people and it’s foul rulers.

Now while there are still old growths of forest to be found in places like Irist’s Stand, called such for Alric’s right hand, Irist, a priest of Magic itself that stabilized the place and raised the land to fight for them and their cause, and the Blood Crags of the southern waste, other places don’t have weather so much as they have changes in environment, during the colder months towns might be found on mountains that hadn’t been there the last year, or in valleys filled with deep snow drifts. Summer might find one having a shore to a ocean that doesn’t exist, or hadn’t the week before. Each year brings new changes and hardships to the people, which might be why there is such acceptance amongst the common folk, it doesn’t matter who you are or what you worship, Gera is a harsh land with a hard people, however friendly, and despite their hardships, or because of them, they’ll welcome a friendly face and a helping hand.

This part reads more like a pamphlet for reasons to immigrate than anything else, showing pictures of current Gerians bringing in the harvest, or helping another family affected by a surge, people of all races and creed helping on another. Several interviews with deacons among the Church of Gods and The Fallen can be found here, as well those more known people amongst the University within the capital, as well as a note that anyone with the capability for magic or the desire to learn can come and do so without worry of any charges for the learning, which is offered by the kingdom for free to any citizen that wishes the knowledge.

While the forests of Irist stand tall in the north, and change rarely, the Eternal Fields where the capital city of Sanctum is found is the most unchanging place within Gera. However the method to which they made this place so stable is a secret from most, if not all, of the Gerian people. The last great working of necromancy, held in place by the dying wishes of a thousand good Gerian folk during the last days of the war. This stabilization would later prove to be the foundation of the greatest city of magic in the known world, and the greatest working ever to be seen on the continent of Elegris.

With the plains and farmlands found in the middle of the country one can go north and find the Irist Forest, with the small village of Irist’s Stand found within. One must be careful to follow the path, as while the forest doesn’t change drastically, the forest is much larger than what it appears to be when one goes off the past. The last scholar to attempt to map the forest was found years later, in the company of the fey who had saved the poor soul and attempted to do their best to restore him to health. Thankfully for him the dryads of the forest are a friendly sort, now there are new paths that can be found to the Scholar’s Grove, which has turned into a sort of outreach to the fey populace of the forest.

Here they show the dryads, and some of both the Seelie and Unseelie court conversing with those people that wish to talk to them. Somehow the author got an interview from several of both the court and the visitors at the time.

One of the largest reasons that Gera remains so peaceful and well adjusted to their chaotic land is due to the Royal Messengers and the Traveler’s Guild, while one operates under strict supervision of King and Country to protect and stabilize, the other is the adventuring sort within Gera. Both do a great deal to stabilize certain areas, and clean out nests of unsavory things that find their way to Gera due to the changes. Making use of the Traveler’s Waystation, a series of connected portals that connect to the Waystation Hub in the capital which is in reality an extra dimensional space, constantly maintained and monitored by both the Royal Messengers and the Traveler’s Guild. Passage for the common folk can be purchased at small sums of a few silver, however this small fee makes it more readily available and enables trading across the entire kingdom at a rather rapid pace, which generates more than enough funds to pay for the upkeep of the Waystation network itself.

This bit continues on, showing several towns with Waystations and the central hub itself, along with a map of its many rooms and places in such a way to be a working model of the building itself at the time this tome was printed. Other such images were likely here at some point but seem to have been removed, leaving only mundane illustrations, though they lack labels and dates on these pages. The tome continues in this vein, talking on other parts of Gera such as tourist attractions and the royal family, but in nowhere near the detail the above parts mentioned.

Tales From Gera – Lore Building

The book before you is a fine thing, bound in supple black leather with a simple gold lettering on the front. The pages aren’t paper, but fine vellum, the ink faded and light but still clearly legible. The first page seems to be a forward of sort, having no name of the author but containing a simple message, scrawled in an imperfect script.

Perhaps I should call this the ramblings of an old man? Or maybe not, I’ve not written something I’ve assumed would be read you see. Most of what I write will never, should never, see the light of day.

But this will, for whatever reason. Perhaps, hopefully, in sharing this you’ll find some amusement, something to be distracting ye from yer troubles. Either way, I suppose it’s a fitting memoir, the stories of others from a man never known by the world, whose own story should never be told.

C.

There are several pages missing from the book, but a bit of the tome still remains, the fine pages preserved somehow from the ravages of time and civilization, the first story, a collection of events and personal knowledge, is simply titled “On the Matter of Slavers” and refers to a country that borders the kingdom of Gera, that kingdom of wild and unstable magic.

Really, when one thinks of slavers one inevitably thinks of the Pits, and who or what they are, but well, while the tools that feel they run things can be described I hesitate to say such a strong word as describe can be applied to that which they serve, and don’t seem to realize they serve at all. You see it started quite some time ago, when Arthur and Roland weren’t yet even born, that was, around, nearly six hundred years or so again from this day and age. Gera wasn’t yet truly unstable, there had been no need for a Sanctum yet and the country that would be known as The Slave Pits to all but those that live there hadn’t even been formed.

You see that area had always been a bit dark, a bit wrong, those wastes. Even the magic that caused Gera to bloom left that place untouched, barren and scarred. Suppose that shoulda been a sign, but nay, we didn’t take it. Those that were there, meself included, or a me I can barely recall, we were bandits, just rogues looking for a place the Guard couldn’t, wouldn’t get to us. The land was hard though, and the only way to get things to grow was with sweat and blood, and yet more blood.

The writing in the following bits grows a bit sloppy, as if written by a shaky hand, the diction of the words changes as well, more anger showing in the harsh lines of ink set down by the quill, the splatters of ink across the faded vellum. Its obvious that, whoever the author is, this part is close to home, and closer to the soul. Merely writing this bit was hard, thinking about it, remembering it, must have been a thousand times so.

Ye see, in Ulsir, the name the Slaver’s have for their own kingdom, the land isn’t fertile unless you feed it. That’s what we did then, all those years ago, we fed it, and then we were fed. We thought we’d find a new calling ye see, that perhaps with this we could be farmers, away from Gera and magic and just have a simpler life. Should have known it wouldn’t be that simple, it could never be that simple.

The brambles grew in a week, the forests coming in quicker. A haze, the blood mist, rolled in with it all and then, well, then the thoughts started. The idea of having others work it for us, having others do our toil.

Having more to feed that hungry land.

The writing, already scrunches together here, pulled tight on itself, as if the author was fighting against the next lines, forcing them to be small, to go unnoticed.

It gets in yer ‘ead ye see, draws ye in pulls on ye and ye hear it, hear it, and it echoes, and repeats nigh constant it is.

Blood for the land, souls for the dark.

Blood for the land, souls for the dark.

Blood for the land, souls for the dark.

The lines Blood for the land, souls for the dark continue for two pages after this, a large portion of pages have been torn from the binding before and after this bit before the next bit of legible writing can be found, continuing the story being told.

Every day that repeats, and every day we listened, and things just…got bad and even here, talking as I am, ye can feel the pull of that can’t ye? The corruption of it all. It turned a bunch of bad men worse, and they’re all still there. All of us that’d gone and been making that place into a power, we’re all still around ye know. Sem of us, well, some of us learned, some of us went to feed the land, unable to take the voice of it all. Idiots don’t realize we can’t stay dead, we don’t go that privilege. As long as that land is fed, we’ll be here, it’s gift to us for waking it.

Let that be a lesson to ye, ye find something left alone by near everything else? Leave it the hell alone. Else ye might just find out why it’s left alone…and that reason?

That reason might just be hell. Still don’t be knowing what be claiming me, don’t be knowing what caused the change, or near anything else, but that’s one thing I learned fer sure. Ye find something like that, something wrong, something, a bit off? Ye can be sure there is a thrice be damned reason for it. I can put a name to it, tell ye what it is, but describe? Give a reason to it? Ye might as well ask why we exist at all to ask such a question.

What is it? That’s simple, it’s Evil, what else could it be? Don’t be going thinking we were misguided men mind you, weren’t no good then, ain’t no good now. If there is one thing a bad man can be claiming well..

I know Evil when I see it, and that? That’s about as evil as it gets. If you value yer sanity, and yer morals, I’d say leave well enough alone and let em sort themselves out. I’m sure they’ll be dead or monsters, jes give it a few more centuries.

While there are yet many more pages that aren’t torn the writings on later pages seems to move and change, blurring or simply forming the lines Blood for the land, souls for the dark, visible on each page before you blink and the writing clears for a time. Whatever it was the author talked on, one notices it once they read of it, once they view it clearly. The issue stands however that when one does notice something so vile, so foul as the corruption of that place…it notices you in turn.

Writing My Soul

I have a strangeness in my hands, a tingling in the soul

My muse is calling, my muse is carving

Worlds and words only she does know

Not quite the tool, not quite the art

Something in between

This place in which I reside, thoughts in front words behind

With pen in hand and paper near, thoughts of my muse I hold so dear

I am the writer, not quite a tool, not quite the art

The soul of language flowing forth like ink I impart

This task I have, this place of mine

It’s what my muse made of me, not something I desired but something I did find

My ink my blood, my words my pain, the bits of brightness shine

I share my life, I share my soul, I bare it all and the scars do show

But this is my place, this is my part

This painful digging at scars is all part of writing, language’s art.

Jumble in My Head/Mess Inside My Brain

Running forward looking back the path remains the same

The track though changes all the time the curves straighten into circular lines

It makes no sense it’s a jumble in my head, topsy-turvy inside out

It’s a mess inside my brain

I run the track and I walk back looking forward along the path

The path that never remains the same on the singular consistent track

It makes no sense this jumble in my head things don’t remain from one moment to the next

This topsy-turvy, inside out, this upside-down circle, this route that can’t get straightened out

It’s a jumble inside my head it’s a mess inside my brain I can’t get a handle I can’t stay sane

I wish I knew the rules, I wish knew the game but it never remains the same

This topsy-turvy inside out jumble inside my head, this mess inside my brain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~P.S.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can also this on my deviant art, along with a lot of older poems and stories. I’m going to be trying to keep the two in sync as I post for now one (as I should have been doing from the start really)

http://zip0186.deviantart.com/art/Jumble-in-My-Head-Mess-Inside-My-brain-669632864

 

 

 

Remember, you’re not alone.

While I don’t talk about it much, and I tend to not share personal thoughts, I can say that I have my some issues to deal with up inside my skull. I don’t like voicing them outside of poems, not in such a public forum I suppose, it strikes me as complaining and the voice in the back of my head tends to rail at about how little I have to complain about.

I’ll be honest, if my head wasn’t on a bit wrong I wouldn’t have much to talk about, but then my muse wouldn’t be much of a muse then either I think. Which might be something to look into at another time. However, while that’s all well and good, I wanted to talk about that little voice that, to some extent I feel everyone has, self doubt I suppose? Louder for some than others but it’s there, and some have it worse with the level of, cruelty exhibited, but to some extent everyone gets jabbed by something like it I feel. If I’m wrong feel free to correct me here, but others deal with it more regularly than some, and for others it’s always there. I know that’s to a large extent true for me.

Now this isn’t so much about complaining, or saying I have it bad, I deal with the cards I got, I can’t change the hand I’m dealt so I might as well make it work. Granted I’m in a bit of a zen mood at the moment, the fact it won’t last is a forgone conclusion, but all of this has something I’m leading up to.

Just remember, you’re not alone in this, if you’re ever having issues, any issues, talk to someone, write it out, do something, even if its going for a walk to somewhere away from people to just scream out the frustration of it all, do something. It helps me at least, to find a way to get it all out.

I just wanted to say that, and to share a bit of a gem I found that I really like and is fitting for this subject anyway. It’s a song by a YouTuber that goes by Chris Ray Gun the song being “Reality Calls” and well, listen to it, it’s pretty fitting all around for the experiences I’ve gone through with my problems anyway. I don’t know if that’s true for your experiences, but I hope, whatever problems you’re going through, big or small, they all get sorted out. (Linked video below)

Reality Calls by Chris Ray Gun