Here I will post several logs of my past. Each log may not follow on from each other and also they may not even be at the same era or country.

FLASHBACK LOG ONE - KNIGHTHOOD

"Sir! Sir Peterson!" The young man shouted across the busy streets, a horse and carriage trotted by on the slippery cobbles.

"Sir Peterson!" The voice cried again, through the array of voices streaming through the air.

"Yes young man, how may I help?" I finaly replied, with interest in my voice. The young man looked like a reporter, or journalist.

"Sir, I Hear news that your boarding the the first ship since you were knighted? Is this some time in the near future?" he asked curiously

"Please, call me Pete, I don't like that 'Sir' nonsense..." the conversation carried on.


My invention of the worlds first steam engine was now truly famous. I did appreciate meeting the King and being Knighted, although it wasn't my scene at all, it wasn't me one bit.

After sub-merging from the streets, I entered my home through the damp back ally. Water dripped down the side of the stained green walls. I opened up the door and sat in the dark small room. Various objects and ornatments filled the desks and shelfs.
"Ahh, back home. Well aleast for now" I muttered to myself striking up the open fire

I thought of how false I had become. No one in this world knows the real me, only the people whos blood doesn't flow through their body. Ask them. Many people have died at my blade, too many.

I started to slowly rest. Lulled by the whispering of the rain, I feel to sleep.

I'm not a man. I'm a Pirate.

(My Previous Pirate memorys will be posted soon! They may also link with a recent story...)

LOG TWO - PIRATE MEMORYS

"HEY, Peterson 'ya srubb. Git 'ere! Your needed on Deck, chop chop!" one of the crew growled at me, spitting down himself. God he is one ugly fellow, I can't believe I'm working here on this ship.

"Okay, steady on. I'm on me way" I shouted back, I threw down my mop and picked up my scimitar.

My Scimitar, my trusty sword. Handed down from generations, and now finally reaching me. I caressed the leather scabbard with my fingers, and looked at the writing on the side, which I have studied. This was the only item I loved and cared for.


As I climbed the stairs the ugly scum pushed me to the wall, I pressed against it and carried on through the door onto the main deck. "Fresh air!" I gasped as the cold wind breezed against my face, I had spent a lot of time cooped up down below the decks, I almost forgot what sunshine looked like.

The sails fluttered in the wind, we were reaching the port to dock. I hated the City, the Cities have give me nothing.

"Oi!" the booming voice shouted out "Petersod! 'ere now!"

It was Captain August Arvin

I sheepishly approached him. A lot was happening on deck, the crew were all whizzing around. Like they were helping the queen ant.

"Your Late" his breath smelt like death warmed up.
"Sorry Captain. It won't happen again!" I replied
"Woss' this you got 'ere?!" he shouted

He grabbed my Scimitar.
I need experience on board a ship, it’s what I live for.
But that was a bad idea.

"I think you'd better give that back" I said with a straight face.

"Muahaha! C'mon lads! The young man wants his precious!" he raised it to the air. Taunting me, he'd better not take this further.
"Please give me it back Arvin!" I cried "Its being past down for generation!"
"You’re not getting this back laddy! Hehehe, try get it!"
"Your gonna wish you hadn't done that" I said with a piercing look
"HAHAHAA!" he laughed out

*CRUNCH* I rammed my fist straight into his valuables. That put the smile off his face. I snatched my Scimitar from his hands and snapped the handle across his skull.

*SWWWINNGGG* I drew the sword from the scabbard and fought the onslaught of Pirate attacks. I thrust it under the rib cage of the first victim. "ARHHHGGG!!!" I forced it back out and into the throat of the foe behind me.

My body took over me and into frenzy. I went blank; all I could hear were the dieing screams as I slayed every man on deck.
After slicing off the leg of a nearby crew member, I jumped onto the banister of the deck and looked forward. We had just reached the port.

"Stop there, Petersod!!" August Arvin croaked out. Running towards me, he held his arm out hoping to grab hold of me.

I forced my weapon through the wind and crunched down onto flesh. Red and yellow liquid oozed out in spurts from his arm, I had chopped off his hand. "NOOO!! NOOO!!" he screamed out, saliva dripping from his face.

Land was near. After quickly viewing the mass of bodies aboard the blood stained deck, I dived off the ship onto the dry concrete. I could see Captain August Arvin running about screaming in agony, amongst his dead crew.

I put my blood coated scimitar into its scabbard and began to run. As I ran I looked at the name of the ship.

'The Valtriani' the letters read on the side.

"I best keep my distance from that ship" I thought to myself as I ran through the crowded streets and into the dark safely of the unknown.

I looked at my shacking white fisted knuckles; blood was all over me.
What have I become?! I'm not a cold blooded murder! a tear tried to fall down my cheek Pete you Murderer!

LOG THREE - ALLIANCE

Chapter one - Leaving a friend

The cold air flowed through my short beard. Our small fishing boat was reaching England.

"Hey Pete, we've done well this season much better than the last." the pleasant voice said

I looked over my shoulder towards the First Mate Horris. He was older then I and I have enjoyed working with him for the past few years. He would make such a great Captain.

"Yes, it's a shame we're all leaving now. What are your plans when we reach the dock?� I asked
"I'm going to gather a crew together and finally build a ship of my own, and become the worlds greatest Captain! Captain Horris - Hehe, well...in my dreams anyway" he replied
"Great, I hope we meet up again someday. By then I should be able to work my way around an engine!"

The fishing ship docked at the port. The crew got off and started to drift their own ways, England was quite busy. Horris and I gathered to say our goodbyes.

"Pleasure working with you, I hope you finally make your dream and make your own ship the'Wild Wind' I shook his hand tightly
"On your travels if you meet someone helpful, I would be happy to have you and them working for me in the future"

Chapter two - The Exploration Begins

I travelled to the North, seeking my future destiny. I loved the countryside and woodlands; they seemed quite a contrast from the cities. Stopping off at a local tavern, I decided to get some well earned rest. During the night I heard the most peculiar sounds, like a huge dog or a foul beast. It didn't really disturb me, nothing did. Not after the things I have done.

I explored the small settlements, and entered various guilds and armour stores, gathering supplies - hunting seemed like a good plan. I craved carnage and bloodshed. Dust settled on the streets, and the surrounding trees relaxed as noon filled the skies.

I paced to the nearby woodland, far out from the settlements. Silence struck the air. The only noise was that of my own boots crunching on the soft soil and grassy surface. Darkness began to fall, lucky for me I could see in half-darkness, a gift from my upbringing.

*Crackkk* a twig broke behind me

I spun around; my sword was already in the defensive position. I peered through the darkness and noticed a figure deep within the trees. I began to slowly approach the shadow, it must have been following me for some time, and I could smell it.

"Who goes there?" pointing my sword in its direction, the shadow rustled through the trees. Then I heard stronger footsteps getting faster, the figure was moving through the trees quickly circling me, as if stalking it's prey. Then it divided from the trees and landed hard on the ground behind me.

I swung my sword round to attack the creature. I stopped. I stopped to find it wasn’t a creature, he was a young adult. He had a young fresh face and a flicker of courage in his eye. I withdrew my sword away from his neck, to find that he had a huge blunderbuss pointing at my face.

"Easy lad, I could have nearly taken your face off back then!" I said with a sigh of relieve.

"What brings you into the woods at this hour?" he spoke with a sturdy voice, when I heard it, it made me feel at ease.

"I was about to ask the same thing"

*Hooowwwlllllll* we both spun our heads to face the bellowing sound.

"Wha--" he put his hand over my mouth "Shhhh!" he exclaimed, pointing his barrel at the distant sound. Look!"
A large figure lurked through the shadows, it panted and growled like a dog. The trees looked as if they were holding their breath, arched upwards. For the first time in my life, I was almost scared, I had never felt fear before and I had a feeling that this was it.
The huge creature bulged from the trees, and exposed itself. I had never seen anything like it in me life, but the man next to me seems to have. He had his eyes focused on the creature, looking down the barrel of his gun. As the creature pounced forward he didn't flinch an inch.

It was a dog like fiend, with drool dripping down its thick hair, almost like it was ready to eat. The large beast was a myth across the land but known to some as a Werewolf.
A second passed. The giant wolf unsheathed its angry claw and pounding it down towards my helpless body. Like lighting it was over.

*BOOM*

The Werewolf went flying through the night air, and landed with a heavy crunch on the floor, it whimpered as the shot ripped through its fur and into its soft flesh. The beast made no sound, only the sound of falling leaves could be heard.

I was stunned. And impressed.

"Thanks" I gasped to the eyes of the young man

"The names Adrian Warner pleased to meet you" he shook my hand with a firm grip

"The names Peterson." still shaking his hand "Call me Pete. Thanks for saving my life Adrian!" I said with great gratitude.

With respect - nothing else was said. We walked off as companions. The werewolf twitched...

LOG FOUR – Does Magic Exist?

The wind swept through the calm trees, forcing bright beams of sunlight between the leaves. I stood still as a gentle silence filled the woodland. My brother was crouched; he looked up from my side.
“Brother, I see nothing. What must I do?” he said with an eagerness in his voice
“Be patient, remember what Falgo said?” I looked around at the thick trees and the leaves which covered the grassy floor. Stroking my beardless chin, I signalled with my hand to move forward and we slowly walked onwards.

The woodland filled my eyes with a wonderful display of colours, reds, and yellows, green and browns merged together as the leaves quietly eased off the tall trees.
My footsteps where silent amongst the ground but my brothers snapped twigs which broke the silence with a certain embarrassment. He was still learning so I ignored his mistakes until he adjusted his footing.
Approaching an opening, the sound of running water peacefully emerged as we passed an aged tree. I held my hand outwards and clenched into a fist, which indicated my brother to stop. We both spontaneously crouched and peered around the base of the tree.

Clutching the rough brown bark I whispered “She always rests near the lake,” I started
My brother then poked out his arm and extended his finger “Look!” he exclaimed as his eyes almost lit.

My gaze followed his finger and I noticed Shael tranquilly drinking from the lake. Her brown soft fur shined in the light, which reflected from the motionless water. The deer’s hooves lightly brushed the leafy surface as she perched her neck towards the still lake.

“Well spotted brother, your skills are getting much better” I said with encouragement
“When we’re older, we may be better then Master Falgo!” he replied.

“Is that so?” the booming voice erupted from behind us, we both spun around to find Falgo stood with a grin on his face. He stood tall, leaning against a tree, his muscles flexed whilst crossing arms.

“Falgo!” we both cried out in unison spinning around to his stare.

“I like the confidence of young kids,” the master huntsman rumbled “I have to admit, you two are my finest apprentices” he said smugly producing a pipe from his inner pocket, which brushed past his long grey beard
“Thanks Master Falgo,” I stiffly bowed, “We just came to see Shael by the lake before we set sail”

“I understand young Peterson” he briefly stopped and stuffed tobac into his lengthy pipe, he clicked his fingers and a small flicker of flame mysteriously glowed from his index finger. After lighting his pipe he wafted his hand, as if outing a struck match.
“I would like to show you both something,” he puffed on the pipe and through the hazy smoke he gave a pleased look, satisfied with the taste.

I looked at my brother and my eyes almost lit up

“You see Shael over there?” he said, pointing his pipe in her direction, she was now testing the lake with her hoof “Is it possible to take her life from this range, with a sword that is?” he raised an eyebrow in my direction
“Well…” I paused unsure of what to say
“I would say that is impossible!” my brother spat

He smiled and withdrew the most beautiful blade I had ever seen, it was a scimitar and had engraved letters down the side which glowed wildly.

Both of our eyes lit blue from the glowing blade. From an unknown reason I looked at it with respect, I felt like one had to be privileged to wield such a weapon. Usually I would ask to hold such a blade, but it never crossed my mind.

Master Falgo still puffed his pipe and with his free hand he raised the sword. He then hurled the blade through the air, it spun naturally at a shocking speed, and it sped through the open woodland towards Shael with a great swiftness, then the blade whooshed past my ear, disturbing the air waves with its circular spinning movement. I flinched as it passed but I looked up to find that Falgo had the sword sheathed and he still smoked the tabac in his long pipe.
“What?!” I gasped looking at him. His lips moved into a smile, the pipe lifted slightly.
I spun my head around and saw Shael. The deer lay peacefully on the floor in a small puddle of blood.
“In time, you can do anything,” he rumbled “Our kind may not be sorcerers, but that does not mean we cannot learn the art of magic.” He turned and started to walk away at a slow speed. A faint wind started to disturb the woods and Falgo’s grey beard wafted as a hint of darkness appeared in the skies.

My brother finally spoke “I suppose we better go back” he said anxiously. I looked at him, and then I briefly looked at the dead deer.
“Yes, let’s catch up to Uncle Falgo. Perhaps he will train us in the magical arts one day.” I said uncertain
“I hope he does Brother Peterson” he replied

In our youth and naivety we ran off towards our Uncle asking a million questions. I had a strange impulse to grow up and become just like Hunts Master Flago, I then noticed that his long grey beard was quite unusual for our kind.
I asked myself one question “Does magic exist? It certainly does.”

LOG FIVE – Exchanging Customs

The sun was setting. My brothers horse trotted slowly down the hard gravely path. The cold wind fluttered my long messy beard about as I jogged beside his horse. I walk everywhere for I am no rider.
“We should find shelter for the night” I said looking at the orange sunset down the long winding road with seemed to stretch out to the horizon. “The nearby trees will provide us cover”
“Your right Pete,” he said pointing to the nearby woodland, the breeze beating against his mature face.

Trailing off to the grassy woods, the darkness started creep into the night’s sky. The dark green of the trees slithered above us as we entered the darkened forest.
“Reminds me of home,” I mentioned, trying to lighten the mood. My feet stepped on the soft ground, and my brother dismounted.
“There there,” he said patting the horse hard on the back. “It’s best to leave you here, and then we can go further into the woods.”
“It troubles me when you talk with animals; I wish you wouldn’t do it when I’m around.” I said with a smile and we walked further into the charmed forest, enchantment hung in the air.

A gentle breeze whispered through the interwoven braches and I almost started to admire the forest, it had an ageless beauty about it. Whispers of the faint wind started to sound like distant voices, which scampered through the trees.
We were being watched. Skin tightened on my neck and I got a feeling like eyes where laid upon us. I could always sense it; I never knew how, but I got a growing awareness that my back was exposed.
We both looked at each other, being trained for most of our childhood in the woods; we knew how to defend against attackers. I unsheathed my scimitar, the blade of honour. My brother notched an arrow against his shining Glass long bow. Both of weapons had been forged in the same way, having magical properties from our homeland.

A small clearing approached and we entered to see a grove of trees, slender and wand-like against a background of gnarled oaks. A silver shaft of moonlight bathed onto a fallen log. A slim man perched one leg onto the log looking at the majestic moon. He wore simple homespun garments and a dark green tunic. A quiver of goose feather arrows draped down his back, and he turned to face us.
“What brings you to our forest at this light?” he spoke softly, lifting his leg from the fallen log.
“I don’t think it’s within your interest,” I replied. In situations like this, it was standard that I did the talking.
“Oh, really?” his long nose pointed at me, he moved silently like a sneak

I heard movement in the undergrowth “How about your friends join us?” I said mockingly “It must be damp skulking around in those bushes.”
“Come out, its okay.” the sneak said, moving his hand towards the opening.

Two sheepish figures emerged from the greenery, looking slightly embarrassed by the occurrence.

“Now that we’re all here, let me speak” he started.
I could still hear branch against cloth in the darkness.
My brother shouted “What about the overweight man lurking behind that tree?” my brother was always a better spotter than I.

A large man built like an ox appeared, he wore the same green tunic as the rest of them. We stood unbothered by his presence and he joined the group. Now he, the sneak and two others stood around the fallen log. The sneak pointed his weasel-like face at us once more.

“Let me get to the point. You are obviously out numbered, and I want both of your purses and we will get going. No harm done, we’ve got a boar roasting on a spit and I want to be back before it gets burned” he sniffed sarcastically.

I laughed inside, a deep laugh. He obviously did not know who we were. An arrow launched from the shaft of my brothers bow and it hit one of the men in heart. He squirmed from the pain and collapsed to the floor, leaves glided around his body. The ox man looked shocked, but the weasel stayed calm.

“How about you give us your purses, a serving of boar and we’ll be on our merry way, eh?” I said scornfully, the sneak’s snout looked over towards the heavy man.
“How about,” he said “You fight Big Bradok here, no weapons. He who falls gets their offer?” his pointed face looked at me.

I sheathed my sword and nodded. Big Bradok scraped his foot like a bull and charged in rage at direction; I stood with my arms folded. As he stomped towards me, I cracked my knuckles and clicked my board neck. He hurled forward and I ducked crashing my own left fist into his belly. A whoosh of air exploded from his mouth. Stepping back, I thundered a right hook into his large jaw; he hit the ground face first.
The other man dressed in a green tunic dived through the air, jumping forward. I rose out a muscled arm grabbing his throat, then stopped to lash my right hand between his legs and lifted. With a grunt and heave, I hurled him ten feet through the air to land like a sack on the hard packed earth next to me.


Now just the weasel-like man stood. He waited and time passed, then he approached like a cat, hands behind his back.
“How about that roasted meat?” I asked without a smile. He seemed as if he would give up his pathetic fight, but I doubted it.
“Yes…” he said with a pause, then raised a small dagger and screamed “Now!”

I heard a footstep thud from behind, the sneak stabbed down but his dagger flew through the air as my brothers arrow soared like a storm, knocking it from his hand.
I spun around and Bradok the ox growled onwards. I sank my blade through the air in a glittering arc of white light. Blood erupted from the mans stout chest, the red liquid spurted from the large carved out wound. He screeched in pain and the blood oozed out until he smashed onto the ground heavily, then blood leaked out into a pool beneath is fallen body.
I stabbed my sword down into the other unconscious green clothed man. It added to the red river of blood, and finished my deed.

“Peterson, that’s enough!” my brother cried out. As I turned, the cat-like thief stood with his hands raised. His dagger now lost in the deep greenery.
“Peterson?” he shrieked “Your Peterson aren’t you…you must be the Legend, the Hero? No other man could take two of my men down, without breaking a sweat!”
My brother shook his head “I see your names spread fast brother,” he laughed “You always get the praise and recognition, you old sod.”
I looked at the weasel man and he continued to speak “What a shame,” he said with a deep look of sorrow, “Big Bradok there worshiped you ‘Pete this, Pete that’ he never stopped talking about you. It’s just shame he never met you…under the right circumstances.”

With a plain expression I asked “What’s your name?”
“Master Krudian, son of Captain Korg” he said with a slight bow.
“Strange name, never heard of it, nor your fathers.” I lied looked
around; it was beginning to cast even darker. It was time to make bed and sleep for the night.

“Where is your camp Krudian, with the roasting meat?”
“Not to far west from here, I’m sure the boar will be burnt by now.” He said humorously
“Yes it sure will,” I gave a brief smile and thrust my sword through his neck. He slumped to the ground and I wiped my sword on his falling body, staining his green tunic red.

My brother looked at me with great disgust on his face “Why do you always commit unnecessary deaths?! You reminded me of Uncle Falgo then, and look what happened to him you fool!” he shouted with anger.

I ignored his outbreak and started to walk westward, looking forward to a nicely cooked boar. Then my brother shouted for me to stop. I turned around he had an arrow notched and it sprang from his long bow through the dark sky.

A scream of pain cried into the night and a figure dressed in black fell from the tree near me.
“Shit! It’s a Black Hood, they’ve followed us here!” he looked in horror and I mirrored the terrible gaze back to him. The Black Hood groaned on the woodland floor…

(To Be Contiuned...)

LOG SIX – Soul’s of Evil

...Continued from Log Five - Exchanging Customs (ABOVE)

“Tell me, Black Hood, why are you following us?” I barked at the loosely clad assassin, my brother followed his gaze down my long scimitar, which dug into the victim’s chest. He looked at the hooded individual as no answer came. He lent down beside the motionless body, which he had previously took down by bow, and clutched the arrow that protruded from the shoulder. Ripping it straight from deep down in the flesh, the Black Hood groaned through gritted teeth.

Then all was quiet within the trees, and, through gaps in the leaves above, shafts of moonlight shone, columns of bright silver light illuminated the tranquil forest.

“Hmm, not even a squeal,” uttered my brother and replaced the arrow back into his quiver. Then just as silence was beginning to take over, the Black Hood spoke.

“My names not important, I am not here for you,” the voice was not what I was expecting, and it was more women like then a cold assassin, “I follow you to where you will travel.”

“You better start making sense!” my brother started, but was immediately silenced by my hand signal.

“Carry on,” I pressed my sword harder into the helpless person.

“We have a common enemy Outlander, and I see you’re attacking the heart and not the mind…”

“Oh,” I sighed, “Captain Korg?” It was a pointless question for I already knew the answer. We where indeed attacking the heart of Korg, his family, friends and loved ones. That was the only way to truly kill a man.

“The man you just eliminated was Korg’s son, as you know,” the assassin began, “I was sent to aid you, without your realisation. You’re not supposed to know that the Black Hoods are here, on Earth that is.”

“What?!” my brother exclaimed, “You were sent from the other side of the rift? How can that be?”

“I shall say no more.”

A cool breeze whistled through the leaves, I withdrew my sword from the Black Hood’s chest and held out a hand; the dark clothed individual took it and came to a stand. I looked at the hooded figure, it wasn’t well fed but I knew the slim body would be fast and agile, perfect for sneak or thief. There was something about this person that eased me.

“An enemy of Korg is an ally to us.” I said whilst looking westward, for that is where the camp will be. My brother nodded.

“You’re a brave man,” he said, “it’s good to see we have a common interest. The Black Hood burst out with a gentle laugh.

“You think I’m a man?” the figure said smiling underneath the dark hood, “Hah!”


The clouds grew darker and the wind stronger. The sight of a dimly lit camp came into view, the three of us approached in the Jaguar hunting formation. I was the Jaguar’s jaw in the centre; strongest and more powerful, and my brother and the Black Hood formed as the Claws; swift and accurate. This was a commonly used hunting technique that combined closer quarter combat with long range flanking procedures.

Before entering the clearing in the light, I signalled for us to regroup. The drawn-out clouds and wet foliage was perfect cover. Crouched by a broad oak we could hear occupants of the camp quietly talking and laughing. I peered around the thick tree trunk. They had a large camp fire which supported two stakes at either sides and a bar joined them both at the top. Mounted onto the top bar was a delicious smelling boar that was roasting nicely. The blazing flames crackled underneath and set an orange glow to the circle of rocks.

Korg’s son, Krudian was right after all, I thought; there was a tasty boar roasting and waiting for us. Yet if we took his word we would have been ambushed, killed by his men and probably eaten along with the pig. Korg’s reign of terror had to stop, and the only way was to take his life. But it wasn’t that simple, metaphorically, Korg was like an unstoppable bull: To take him down we would have to aim straight for the heart, taking his loved ones, then as the bull finally falls we would take his head, ending his life.

“This is it,” I announced to my brother and the Black Hood, “we start by taking this camp and working our way up and along the lines,” I said within the silences of the bushes. “Stick to the Jaguar formation, I shall approach head on and slay any in my path, you two will spread to either side and flank from the rear. This will stop anyone trying to attack me from behind and also allows us to stop those fleeing.”

I paused and then continued, “None shall live, any survivors will alert others of our presence, and that will make us out numbered. This night is perfect for a rapid elimination, so let us use that to our advantage.” I slid up the oak and walked evenly towards the fire of the camp. My brother scurried away and arched off to the left; the Black Hood did the same and, like a ghost, headed right.


Strolling into the opening, I smoothly withdrew my sword and stalked the first victim, who sat drinking his canteen of whisky. He fell off the stone as my blade struck, his drink fell loudly to the floor and a man tending to the fire spun to face me.

He snatched his sword from the scabbard and snarled, “Wha’chu after?” he said it with a certain smugness that forced a smile onto my bearded lips.

“I’m here to send your souls screaming into darkness.” I countered with a hint of brutality. He leapt into the fray and his iron sword flashed at my chest, stepping into the charge I parried the lunge, and sent his blade scything up and across. I attacked with lighting speed and the man didn’t realise he got hit. The slice struck him and he stumbled back a few paces, blood bubbling from his severed jugular and drenching his shirt. Then he pitched forward to the grass, his body twitching. Looking across, another victim drew his weapon.

Whilst I was duelling with an axe wielding opponent, my brother and the assassin had made their way around each side and had a perfect vantage point. The Black Hood watched me block a huge swipe from the axe and then spotted an enemy emerge from the shadows behind me…

The stocky man swung his axe once more, dodging the attack, my blade licked out, slashing open his shoulder. He cried out and dropped the hatchet. I raised my scimitar for the finishing blow and suddenly I heard a battle cry erupt from behind. I spun on my heel to meet the attacker, his long sword came crashing down towards my open body, in that instant I knew it was not the end.

A gigantic crunch exploded from the male’s skull as six inches of an iron throwing knife buried into his eye socket. The Black Hood kept distance and drew another throwing weapon. I spun back around to the bulky axe man whose hand clutched a gaping wound in his shoulder. I hammered a right foot into the belly, hurling him from his feet. In the darkness my brother notched an arrow back and the shaft whistled through the air and into the fat mans heart, he coughed blood from the mouth and he made an unpleasant gargling sound as he choked to death.

Then I heard my brother dive through the trees, his footsteps running at great speed. There was one victim left who was desperately fleeing towards his pony, my brother was fast and gave chase leaping onto the runaway’s back bearing him down to the ground. He grabbed his hair, hauling back the head and the distant dancing flames of the camp glowed onto the man’s terrified face
“The world is rid of another Evil,” he hissed, slicing a dagger across his exposed throat. A rattling breath came from the mouth as another soul of evil passed into suffering.


Silence crept back into the forest as the Jaguar moved through the lines of the enemy. The Black Hood continued to exceed in the art of throwing knives and the Jaguar became a whole. Six more camps were taken that night and the next morning the bull’s heart was struck…

LOG SEVEN – AGE

A quick note: Each log may not follow on from each other and also they may not even be at the same era or country. This goes for most of my logs, unless I specfically say at the beginning! Enjoy!


“Lives will be lost,” the war leader said, “Many men will die in this great war,” an anxious look emerged onto the barbarians face.

“Can’t we turn the tides of the war, Commander?” a younger warrior suggested.

“What is this you speak of?” asked the shaggy haired war leader across the table of armoured men.

The younger fighter dazed down at the battle plans muttering “The Legend…”

The higher ranked soldier turned his head “Peterson?” he squawked, and then his expression changed “Ha! Everyone knows of Peterson’s death! Even if he lives, he’d be too old to even lift his sword!” the barbarian spat.

“Sorry General,” the young sandy haired man apologised, “Even if Peterson was just on the battlefield, it would raise the hope of many men.”

The tall war veteran thought for a moment, the room drifted into silence.
“Aye it would. Yes, it certainly would…” his sentence faded.

The silence was about to take over the council table until an aged voice spoke. All of the younger council members darted their hopeful, hungry eyes to the end of the table. The sun shone in from behind him, darkening his features and the soft light from the huge glass window at his rear illuminated his white hair.
“You are all wrong.” He said simply, and when he spoke his voice carried an air of presence and wisdom.
The council turned heads and looked upon their rarely spoken elder.

“And just what proof do you have,” the Commander said, and in a mocking manner as he added, “old man.”

The white haired elder rose, and as he did, at that moment he seemed to own the whole room. The younger officer shrunk back into his seat, but the higher ranked barbarian tried to sit at ease.

The plain dressed elder spoke again, “You consider yourself a leader, yes Commander?”

The barbarian briefly looked around the table at the armoured men: His men. “Yes…I do.”

“Then why you speak with fear?” the elder stabbed, “You fear an ‘old man’”

The shaggy haired general sweated under his shining armour. On every single council meeting the elder had never spoken, he merely watched within his shaded seat. No one had dared question him and over time it became normal not to address the last remaining elder.
“Well…I…” he started
The simple man smiled to himself and gently sat into his seat. He let the uncomfortable silence fill the room and then eventually spoke.

“I,” he said, “have the answers.” He paused.
The Commander dare not look into his eyes.
“Peterson is well known across these lands. Our enemy knows of the ‘legend’, and so do we. I firmly don’t believe in the ‘legend’. Peterson is nothing more then a mere man made of flesh and bone. He is not dead.” He lent in closer, “but others do believe in the legend. Others believe the tales of how he saved whoever and how he stopped whatever. This is what brings me to a different conclusion.” He pointed to the sandy haired younger solider. The Commander brought his eyes from the table and stared at the lesser ranked man.

The elder continued, “Your plan was to bring him onto our own side thus striking fear into our enemy?” He lent his head slightly sideways in consideration, “But we all know that Peterson would never join us. What if we prove his death true and carry his corpse onto the battle field?”

The council were taken back by what this old man was saying. The younger man gasped.

“Imagine the sight of the enemy as they look towards our army and we hold the corpse of ‘Pirate’ Peterson!” his eyes glared with passion, “The attackers would flee because they are fools that believe in the legend! They would immediately fear us.” He struck his gaze to the Commander, “And fear can a long long way.” His smile to barbarian carried an undercurrent of malevolent intentions.

The Commander seemed a lot smaller then the old man as he attacked him with words. He now understood what the man was saying. This fear would win them the battle, change the tides of war. Just like this old man struck fear into himself, the General.

“Thank you for your wisdom,” he managed to say in a weak voice, “We shall do as you say Elder. But this may mean striking Peterson where it hurts the most.”

The white haired man laughed out, finally seeming to respect the Commander, “the heart?” he asked.

“The heart”

“I see you have learned well barbarian. Now go be Commander for your men.”


***


Up high through the mist of the mountains, the white virgin snow covered the ground.
Peterson’s heavy boot crunched down, disturbing the untouched snow. A pleasant snow flake drifted down his weathered face. It was not his age that depressed Pete, no, he enjoyed the wisdom of his later years but now he knew the sinister hand of death crept up his back.

It was thirteen years since he had narrowly escaped death. The events on the ‘Wild Wind’ nearly took his life. But it was not this that worried Peterson; it was what happened before the Wild Wind set sail.
He felt the dieing need of his brother as he pitched his mind back to what happened…

The sweat smell of Annette’s body drew him closer. He brought the covers around them both and snuggled in the warmth of her close body. France was the place of love. He swept his finger across her back and studied the tattoo there. It was of a rose and heart, it was one of a kind. Her soft breath moved her body back and forth. He watched peacefully at her beauty.

Lighting filled the un-curtained window and flashed onto the bed. Then a roll of thunder crackled in the darkened skies. He looked at Annette and noticed she stirred slightly, but still unawake from the thunder storm outside. He could bask in her splendour all night. She was perfect. The longing and aching of love was finally gone. Annette Toulous was the one of Peterson’s heart. He curled back up into the sheets and felt the heat from her pleasant skin.

Then it happened.

He heard a voice from outside. His heart skipped a beat as he recognised that it was his brother’s. Pete quietly leapt from the warm bed and towards the window.

Another flash of lighting shot into the room and dazzled Peterson. He opened the balcony door and stood outside, closing it behind him. A thunderous cloud called out in the distance. Slumping arms onto the balcony railing, he looked out to the city and realised that he had imagined his brother’s voice. Considering this he had not seen him in a while, he had been too busy plotting his trip on the ‘Wild Wind’ and spending time with Annette. For a moment he longed to see him again, he realised that he was forgetting about that one only person he did care for, his own brother.

A stab of fierce pain jolted into his side. He came to one knee and clutched a hand onto the railing. It came again, this time with severe intensity but as it struck he felt like this pain did not belong to him. Another shook up his spine and forced him to stand, a small gasp of pain escaped his lips. His eyes squeezed shut and that was when he heard the message.

“Pete…” his brother said weakly, “I’m in trouble, deep trouble. Men came to our house looking for you. They bound my hands and tortured me. Don’t come back to England…it’s for your own good. You must sail on the Wild Wind and not come to my aid; they will not find you out at sea.”

Peterson took a harsh breath inwards, his eyes still tightly closed, and the pain still running up his back and the thunder storm raging. “Brother! I must help you because you’re the only one left of us!” He struggled, “I love you brother…More then anything in the world, or in any world.”

“Pete, nooo! Listen to what I say for once!”

“I can’t!”

His brother sounded like he was on the breach of tears, “They are waking me…Remember what I’ve said – Stay away!”

Thunder exploded in the sky and his brother cried with pain.

“Brother!!” Pete roared with distressful rage. The storm in the background faded into a silence and the suns early rays cast onto the balcony. Tears streamed down Peterson’s face. He had neglected his brother all this time, and whilst he found love with Annette, his brother was being brutally tortured on his behalf. He slammed a powerful fist and smashed the wooden railing of the balcony. Splinters of wood stuck into his white knuckles. He had to save his brother no matter who said. Nothing living could stop him. Not even Annette Toulous.
He stormed inside, snatched a pack of items, took one last final took at her marvellous sleeping body and then left for England.


***


He came to call that day the ‘Day of the Storm’.

Peterson still trudged on through the snow of the mountains, and a tear nearly crept up as he thought back on the events that happened on the after that day.
He had travelled to England and found nothing. His brother was nowhere. Lost. The scariest part was that Pete had no idea who took him. The only thing he could do was heed his advice - Run from everything and set sail on the Wild Wind. Peterson knew that no one would dare sail in the un-chartered waters and had this in mind to tell his old friends Captain Horris and First Mate Adrian Warner, who would be sailing with him on the journey.

A shiver lurked up his back, not because it was cold in the snow, but because of the very idea of ever sailing in un-chartered waters again. He had been lucky and so had Adrian Warner. After the unfortunate events of the Wild Wind, Peterson decided to retreat to the mountains and make home there, living in peace and breathing in gods air. The previous events had sapped life from his soul. He felt that the plaque of age was constantly dragging him down, until he could no longer remember what it was like to feel powerful. He had to see his brother. His brain told him that he would grow old and never see his brother again. But his heart told different.

It was thirteen years since the Wild Wind. His physique had changed over the last year. His muscles looked stretched and wiry, creased lines followed his skin. He realised that his black beard streaked with grey had become a grey beard streaked with black.

Approaching his logged wood cabin he thought of all the Legends told everywhere, his battles would be told in stories and songs to many generations of children. He was a Legend, to many, each era needed a hero.

He cursed the joints that creaked as he bent to light the fire. “The sun’s setting,” he spoke, addressing his sword which hung upright on the mantle. Pete reflected on past memories. His heart beat deep within his chest. It constantly told him that it was not to late to find his lost brother, if he still lived. Or was it time to end it all and finally give in to death?

Suddenly he stormed out of the hut, sucking in the chilled breeze, as if tasting life for the last time. At the edge of a mountainous cliff he stopped. The whistling crisp breeze ruffled his jacket and tired beard.

Pete stood staring down at the lengthy drop, the mist filled air prevented him from seeing the bottom, but he knew very well it would give him death.
He shouted “Where are you Brother!?” the words bounced around the opening, echoing through the white valley.

“Who are you death!?” he bellowed to the orange sky.

A falling shadow covered Pete’s eyes, the sun died, the mountains and mist faded.

Something grabbed his heart, pushing through his chest, holding him in the air.

“Indeed You Are A Brave Mortal,” the voice boomed, “You Have Searched Me For Many Lonely Years”

Pete in pain looked defeated.

“Yet You Give Up On Top Of This Mountain? You Give Up Because Age Takes Away Your Life?” the ethereal voice echoed, forcing him to listen

“A Hero Deserves One Last Chance…” A lighting blue hand forced from his soul, the pain lifted from his heart and he staggered from the drop.
No clouds covered the sun and the mountains stood tall and proud, as they once were. And whatever it was had disappeared.

Racing his way back to the log cabin, Pete opened the oak door and placed his worn eye patch on, he shoved a creased leather hat onto his head. Then he looked at his precious blade. Muscles tensed on his arms, veins budged on his neck and shoulders, he could feel the Strength and Willpower returning.

Then he reached for the sword which seemed to jump to his waiting hand

“One last time,” he told it, “as the sun sets. The dawn of a new day shall commence…”

The shining blade reflected back a young Hero with a bright black beard.

“…And thus brings a beginning of a new ‘Day of the Storm’”