DoctaPankake

The hills, the hills, Oh, how they'd sing! Of warriors long gone, Into battles lost and won, Through bitter cold and spring. And the muses, oh yes, How their songs would ring! Guiding lost souls, For whatever their goals, Through bitter cold and spring. The nobles passed by, Money and jewels they would bring! Greedy and bold, Wearing diamonds and gold, Through bitter cold and spring. There were lovers and killers, Mothers and millers, The thought of it gives one chills! Even the kings, With a thousand queens, Would travel the path on the hills. Though whoever they were, Bearing coal or silver, All of them would sing. I

Chapter II : New Life of a Coming Legend ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        Images of the Golden Bull raced through his head again that night. Tylan could see the horse-armored man and the young priest. A huge funeral was held, millions attended. The farm boy found it slightly familiar, though he could not completely recognize the event. A parade marched down a wide street, surrounding it were giant buildings. Pink petals seemed to float from the top of them, as though they came from the heavens. Soldiers guarded the coffin of the hero, all of them suited in white and gold. A man, robed with violet, crimson, and blue, stepped forth to a large pedesta

Chapter I : Home of the Harvest ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        Tylan rubbed the back of his head softly, wincing as his hand passed over the large mounds of sores that were spread across the back of his scalp. He groaned constantly, unable to see from the daze, and fell back on the stone path once more, accidentally letting his bumps slam into the paved roads. He bolted up again, letting out a large scream, and sending people out of their homes.        A youth of 18, Tylan's appearance showed it well. He had short, blonde ragged hair that seemed to be a light brown because of the dirt and mud mixed in from all of his actions across the day. His

Charging to Death : Prologue ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        Blood dripped from his lip.        The knight smiled, releaving a chuckle from his satisfied grin. "Weak. Just like us 'scum', right?" He spoke in a pant, his usually deep, intimidating voice now altered by fatigue. His whole body ached, though he began to stand up once again, grasping the claymore ever more tightly. The sword's weight preventing him from lifting it.        "Insolent species, never learning to succumb to their predecessors." The dark figure spoke from within the sanctity of his shadows, gutteral wisps accompanied by hissing merged into his words. He wiped the blood f