Latus' Creative Writing

[Latus]

I have put a lot of time into writing both related and not related to characters I have here on the site. I'll throw it up for you all to peruse.

Enjoy.

[Latus]

((This was really an attempt to flood my writing with detail. I like how it turned out but the armor description seems a bit wordy to me.))

The sun shone high in the eastern sky as the morning faded into afternoon. The sky was cloudless and the warming rays bathed the expansive forest in pleasant hues of green. The mountains stood tall on the Northern horizon; shadowless, jagged, and snow capped. They were the Twin Mountains, formed nearly identical, side-by-side with a single cleft separating them. If one were to follow the cleft, up the narrow valley they would come to the Twinlands, a barren rocky shield against invaders. At the base of the valley, nestled neatly in the foothills sat the Royal City, the largest northern settlement of men and the capital of Boletaria. The sprawl extended several miles across and sat comfortably within three massive walls, each forty feet high. At the center was the royal castle made of massive gray stones. Its central tower, visible for leagues outside of the walls, lit a fire at night expediting travelers along their journey. Commonly, the chimney smoke could be seen just after the tower, accenting the mountains and staining them a beautiful blue. Stretching away from the city, plunging into the sea of trees like a single tendril to the outside was the Greenroad, the thoroughfare named for its firm soil and grass covering. Today, however, the shadowed and a dark haze hung over the city, pillars of gray smoke snaking their way into the Twinlands.

A single figure sat on the road, seated against his horse and shaded by a great oak. Even in the shadows sun peaked through here and there, glinting on the skin of metal the man wore. A myriad of things were scattered about him, some fastened to the horse others strewn across the road but his helmet lay beside him, visor ajar and decorated in silver filigree. His feet were clad in leather boots, the tops covered by a long strip of metal that wrapped around his shins. A smaller curved plate covered his knees. The upper legs were encased in interlocking plates connected together by chain links sewed onto cured leather. Around his waist was wrapped a girdle of shaped plates that could shift while walking to ease movements and hanging from it was a mace with a long shaft and a head of black steel covered in lethally sharp spikes. All across the steel surface and up the shaft runes were etched, symbols of a long forgotten language. Encasing his torso were layers of leather-backed metal splints situated around a central breastplate emblazoned with a finely crafted crest; a tower wrapped in silver fire. The spaulders wrapped each shoulder making them appear bulky, extending down the arms and over the wrists, a layer of hide and metal. Etched into the largest plate on each shoulder was a shield wrapped in an intricate knotted pattern. Finally, two large gauntlets covered each hand, dextrous enough to hold a weapon and sturdy enough to take each blow. However for all his armor, he was still just a man.

He was sobbing deeply into his hands as tears ran tracks down the glinting metal.

[Latus]

((This was something my muse hit me with after a long drive from home to school. It introduces two new characters to Axle's universe and describes them slightly. Overall it was a fun write.))

It was a dream. Had to be. A house this big and grand would have left no doubt but the mind did not care. At the forefront there was only a feeling of enjoyment. Limbs were comfortably warm, all six of them as three loud echoes came from the massive front door, hand withdrawing. A click of the lock and the door was flung open, echoes of welcome ringing. There was a greeter at the door who gave a friendly welcome, pressed tux, shiny shoes, a big smile. The entryway was well furnished, large mirrors on either side with ancient looking tables on which ancient looking lamps stood, illuminating the way foreword. The entrance opened into a stunning hallway, walls patterned with green and white and green repeating, the floor a diamond pattern of cream and blue. Exquisite wooden stairway on the right walking up into an impenetrable haze. Down the left side of the stairs, past matching mahogany doors and coat rack a third door, slightly ajar. Inside, a kitchen was set a long table thirty seats long, platters of the best looking food, never seen. The walls, floor, ceiling, chairs, food glowed golden, in fact everything seemed to have an odd glow to it. Even the people, one for every seat at the table.

Please, sit. Eat.

A bell rang. His thoughts became lucid as he obeyed the command, bright eyed helpers pulling out and pushing the chair in. Eyes fell on him, all thirty sets. He took up a fork, a knife, tore into the plate of food. As if they were waiting, every other began to do the same. The room was soon filled with the sound of cutlery on china, wine glasses raised and clinked together, polite conversation; the room was soon filled with noise. The food? Phenomenal. Seasoned, tender, sweet, sour, juicy, spicy, bitter, all at once. His senses were filled full, pleasure and warmth settled into his stomach and he set down his utensils. He was suddenly aware of something else, something more. His eyes wandered. The other people still spoke but he couldn't understand. Their faces were nondescript, genderless, and hazy. His eyes drifted to the other end of the table and he froze solid, eyes locked to the other's. Fear crept into his heart as the face he saw became clearer and clearer. There was no recognition but for some reason the eyes, the chin, the ears, all made him uneasy. The other was smiling; cruel, kind, menacing and soft. This person reached out to him, standing to do so. As he stared, the table compacted, diners vanished along with the dinner. Closer. Closer. His eyes closed in fear, the visage etched in his mind.

“Axle... Axle! Wake up, you gotta come see this.”

He awoke with a shock, sitting straight and looking around in wide-eyed terror. However, the young man saw no one, the light too little in the confined space to make out but one bald-headed shape curled up beside him. The slumbering form of a child with no hair; unsettling in such cold weather. Stretching as best he could he rubbed his eyes against the blur of sleepiness and wrapped his arms around himself to stave off the shivers. On his back, two long thin strips let in the frigid air despite the coverings of multiple thin layers of too large lab coats. His head shot left then right but he saw nothing in the shadows of the parched drainage pipe, the left end blocked off by a failure of the roof and the right opening out into an half-finished sewer junction. As he saw no one else about him Axle's thoughts turned from shock and terror to something more appropriate; annoyance. He had said, specifically, not to be roused until dawn broke or the Whiters were breaking down their door. The scientists and their minions; Whiters, that was his word for them. Oh, and there was no door. On top of everything the third member of their group was nowhere to be seen. Normally this could be bad but the voice from the shadows meant he really had nothing to worry about.

“This better be important. I was dreaming of someplace warm, with lots of food.”

His voice echoed down the chilled concrete, reaching his ears a handful of times before ebbing away into nothingness. A moment later he heard the scuffle of soft soled shoes on concrete but still saw nothing. Sobriety struck him the instant a young voice came from the open air not two feet from him. That he couldn't see Ameleo meant something could still be wrong.

“I don't care. Please Axle, I've never seen anything like this before. Hurry!”

“Hmph. Fine!”

Grunting and shivering, Axle pushed himself to his feet and followed the sounds of footsteps on concrete as he and the disembodied voice retreated back down the tunnel. Pausing to gather up what he could, he wrapped the many layers of thin cloth tighter around his lanky frame, fighting valiantly against the cold. There were few things he missed from that damned lab, one was the warmth. The weather had turned colder a few days past and none of them even thought to steal warmer garments from the worker's quarters on their way out. Thoughts of escape had been too prominent to look for a heavy jacket or extra pair of socks. Then there were the strips of fabric that had to be removed on his back; cold was nothing to the concept of being unable to fly at a moment's notice. So they were quite simply stuck with the rags on their backs and a few extra summer shirts. As sleep left his mind Axle began to notice the puffs of steam from his breath and that of his mostly invisible companion, who's blurred edges became clearer as the sharpness of waking flooded back into his mind.

“How cold is it, Ameleo? I'm shivering like mad over here an' I doubt Zee is doing any better.”

A dry laugh came from the blurred image as they stepped into the dry sewer and turned down another pipe that ended in a pale circle of light.

“Can't see that far anyway, but you might. It could be the cold, probably the sleepy feelings, and for sure the hunger. We have to fill our bellies, y' know. Soon?”

Axle sighed. His own gnawing hunger was slow to return but he could feel the sensation filling in the edges of his mind. As the oldest he could tough it out, had to, but Ameleo and Zee, especially Zee, were not as outwardly resilient as he, or at least as he appeared to be.

“Well then we'll try to scrounge up something in the morning. Why are you up anyway, kid? No one'd ever think of looking for us here. Still in the city an' all. You gotta sleep when you can.”

“I know, I know but I couldn't sleep.” Ameleo's voice was rebellious but Axle could hear a tone of weariness in it. “And I wanted to show you this.”

They stepped into the gray light at the end of the pipe and a teen slowly faded into view. Axle knew this was no trick of the light, as he looked at the reappearing Ameleo. He knew the boy, being with someone he trusted, would allow the camouflage to fall. His dirty black hair became clear first followed by his olive skin and slightly slanted eyes which emphasized the cold look of discomfort on his face. Though several years younger he stood a mere half a head shorter than Axle and appeared to be twice as thick, all muscle. Axle could see the goosebumps on the boy's skin all around the specially designed jumpsuit that blended into the background with him though provided no more protection than a thin shirt, shoes, and pants. Before following the boy's gaze Axle extended a slightly warm wing and wrapped it tightly around his ward, one of two that escaped under his watchful eye. He could feel the heat flee into the child, feather by feather, but Ameleo needed the comfort more. Allowing a smile to flush his cheeks and quirk his lips he followed the young boy's eye up to a grating in the ceiling. What Axle saw made his mouth drop open and eyes widen in wonder. Through the grate floated what almost looked like tufts of cotton caught in a bladed fan floating gently downward until they came to a rest on the concrete floor in a mound that was not there the night before. Retracting his now chilled wing, Axle hesitantly stepped foreword barely hearing his young friend speak.

“What do you think it is, Axe?” Alemeo said, gingerly stepping up to the shallow mound.

“I dunno. I've heard of rain, water from the sky, but never, what? Goose-down showers? Hey, if it's soft we can stuff our coats with it!”

Though slightly excited Axle was truly at a loss. Though he hated to lose sleep, this was one thing that he had never experienced in his brief life in the outside world. Carefully he reached down and thrust his hand into the pile of gathering fluff. Gasping he pulled it out again, vigorously shaking it to warm it and get the clumps of cold menacing white off his already frigid digits. As he rubbed his hands together he looked back at Ameleo who had jumped back at Axle's gasp. Though miffed by the cold, the young winged man couldn't help but laugh at Ameleo who had nearly faded into the concrete wall, his response to danger.

“Its okay, kid. Just cold.” Chuckling Axle held his hand open, though fractionally warmed by the friction, tiny droplets of water clung to each digit and dripped lazily to the floor.

“Wh... what is it? Its not water but it...it IS water?” Said Ameleo, slowly approaching his friend.

“I think I've heard of this. Really, really cold water turning hard. Dunno what its called though.”

Thrusting his hand in his pocket, Axle returned his gaze to the grating to the outside. Among the gently falling hard-water, some thousand feet away and up, was the glowing sign on a tall cylindrical building. Slowly it cycled through a series of some odd numbers, the image of a misshaped gray clump dropping white specks, a set of three back-slash separated numbers which he could not make sense of, and a temperature gauge astride a digital time readout. Axle had seen time pieces and heat measuring things in the labs. He understood the readouts well enough.

“Oh, so the gray clump with white specks is the weather, neat-o. The temp though, never seen it this low, kid and its really early. Thirty-one “eff” little circle, and four double-dot one seven.”
The pair stood in silence for a moment, Axle still staring out of the grating at the falling white. Finally Ameleo spoke, his voice sluggish and low with weariness.

“Think 'shorty' would want to see it?” The boy finished his sentence with a heavy sigh and Axle felt the small form draw nearer to him, trying to get warm. Smiling he extended his other wing and carefully wrapped the shivering teen in it, the first still chilled against his back.

“He'll see it soon enough. Lets get back and cover up for the night. You're falling asleep on yer feet.”

The teen tried to speak but his voice was already failing as he slumped more against Axle's body. The young man smiled at Ameleo and, holding the boy tight to his body, turned toward the blocked drainage pipe. The vision crept back into his mind, the smile and extending hand memorable most of all. What could it mean? Off in the distance, Axle thought he could hear music. Bright happy notes and the tinkling of bells sounding like ghostly whispers on the walls of the cement pipe. Twisting his neck to look behind himself, he thought he felt someone watching him. He saw nothing. Nothing but shadow. Taking a deep breath Axle, the young man with wings wrapped an arm around Ameleo, between his ward and wing, enjoying the sensation of soft feathers on his skin.

[Latus]

((A little piece I did based off a character app from another site. I dislike first person perspective so I'm apprehensive on how it came out but you folks might like it.))

Night fell early, the cold setting in quickly from the lack of cloud cover. The deserts of New Wisconsin were a truly inhospitable place but the single fire that crackled and spit lit the solitary patch of dirt well enough and brought a comfortable glow and dancing shadows to the two those around it; me and the dragon. Its vibrant blue-green form sat opposite of me, midsection rising and falling gently. The thing looked to stretch forty feet from snout to tail, a row of horns surrounding its crown with a frill running from its head to the tail broadening into a flat spade-shaped tip. It's two wings were folded delicately against its back, the webbing stippled with a beautiful mix of deeper green and blues. The sharper features, horns, talons, breast were ringed in a sheen of copper and brass. Its eyes were open and shone a pale blue gazing at me on the opposite side of the fire. Every now and then it emitted a rumbling breath that carried the sound of thunder and a puff of dry sediment spinning off into the night.

Its eyes focused on me then at the massive form behind me. It was the jet, angular and aging, that she saw. The paint had faded with the years and spots of rust were showing in the cracks but that didn't bother me, flight plates were difficult to come by nowadays. The glossy coat had worn off after over a decade of use and the words “United States Air Force, Lt. Hunter” could barely be seen inscribed in the faded red white and blue paint. My aging F-16 with its raised bubble canopy, short delta-swept wings, and bulbous drop tanks under the wings was a stark contrast to the blue beast lounging opposite me. I was reclined against the landing gear, bedroll wrapped around my still warm body. I clutched a dusty, half-full bottle of scotch in my left hand, my right wrapped around the stubby stock of my black service rifle laid plain across my lap. It did not seem hungry... for now; For now at least I could rest.

I took a long swig from the bottle and my head slowly began to swim. I looked over at it, it looked back its one bright blue eye still staring me in the face almost with a questioning glow to it. I chuckled as I thought I heard it speak over the crackling of the fire; so what's your story?I didn't just want to sit there all night with a dragon staring me in the face, I had to relieve the tension somehow. Slowly I breathed in and gathered my thoughts.

“It is hard for me to remember anything before the fires. There are images here and there, maybe a voice of some long lost specter but nothing substantial. I care about little else now and I do not know why anyone would care about this ancient history, even you. I will try to put my life, if you could call it that, into some context.”

“I was born in a city in the mid-west that no longer exists some thirty... seven? No, thirty eight years ago. It could have been big or small but it doesn't really matter, does it? The coastal state with the metropolis for the capital. There are only visions from that time; I remember my mothers perfume, her smile, and my fathers laugh. My parents were kind but sickly, raised me as well as they could, and died when I was ten. In my opinion, they got the easy deal.“

The dragon seemed taken back and had shifted its position, looking at me properly now, head raised several feet off the ground.

“What? Don't give me that look. I was ten; that's a long time for such a wound to heal and it has. I will not open it for you or anyone else. My parents died before this whole mess even occurred and that is good for them.”

I shook my head and out tumbled the thoughts of mom and dad. They rarely entered my thoughts lately.

“After they died I was bounced around various foster homes with various foster douche-bags that showed no more love for me than a potted cactus and, in some cases, considerably less. This lasted for all of seven foster homes and three years before I got fed up. I killed the "beloved" family pet; this pampered, spoiled yappy bastard of a dog that my foster mother fed better than she did me. I poured anti-freeze in the little thing's water bowl. The woman shipped me off to military school before I could think twice about it. When I got around to doing so I was undoubtedly glad; no one had to suffer for that little shit's yipping again.”

The memories flow into my head like water. I can see the pampered, fluffy, evil little thing lapping up the bluish liquid as I put the cap back on the bottle. A noise in the hallway and I turn to see the thin woman with a look of horror on her face. Good memories.

“To me the next half-decade is a blur of "yes, sirs," canes, fighting; all until I turned eighteen. At eighteen, when I was formally an adult, I completed my hellish schooling and moved up in the world, to boot camp. I recognized early on that I had nothing holding me down, no parents or debts or obligations; what I had always wanted to do was fly. Every child has daydreams, mine was flying and the only thing I could think to grant that wish was the military. I joined up and passed air force boot camp on a song. One of my classmates, Samantha...” I pause as the name leaves my tongue. “Sam her name was, had kept her eyes on me for a long time. At graduation she asked to go out with me. I then made my first big mistake; I fell in love with her.”

“It was during those few blissful years that I learned about you... about the dragons. Some hippie group had freed a handful from a secret experimental facility in the rockies, exposing the them to the public for the first time. Between pilot training, Sam, and the rigors those things brought I was blissfully unaware of any danger growing from the beasts. Maybe if I had known I would have been better prepared; my second mistake. We both received our Wings after five years of training and Sam and I tied the knot. We were married on the airstrip surrounded by my squadron and our F-16s. It was the summer, sixteen years ago.”

“Sam didn't opt for airborne combat with her wings, Sam became chief ground controller. My missions saw her talking into my ear, coordinates and attack patterns with a hint of sweet nothing mixed in. Her voice kept me alive through dozens missions deemed suicidal but I always followed her voice home; I always came back to her. I never loved anyone so much in my life as I loved that woman. We conceived that fall and a beautiful baby girl was born that following summer fifteen years ago.”

“Later that spring both Sam and I were granted leave to care for our young Helena. On top of that I was given an amazing opportunity. I was asked to fly in the Thunderbirds Air Exhibition Squadron. The privilege was offered by my higher ups and I was more than willing to accept. Every few weeks I drove our little family out to Otis Air Force base in old Massachusetts. I learned all manner of tricks during that time; spins, stalls, fakes, loops... things I thought at the time to be worthless. We lived the first several months at Otis, and Helena became accustomed to the noises of jets.”

“Our lives continued for a time; living as a family working and growing together. On top of the jest Helena spent her first few months in the control tower. The lights and sounds seemed to keep her calm and happy and quiet. She never once cried while in the tower, or so Sam claimed. It was heaven on earth for us and it lasted until the fall thirteen years ago... then everything fell apart.”

I could feel my eyes glaze over as the worst memories of my life burned behind my eyes. The dragon's eye burned into me even more fiercely than before, the reflection of the fire almost masking an almost invisible glint of pity. Shaking my head I take another long drag of the alcohol.

“The hell started in the mountains where you were first released. Hundreds, thousands must have been bred in a matter of years. All of a sudden military communication goes down, reports of rampant wildfires come through, and rains of choking ash and dust falling all across the plains. You dragons must have razed everything to the ground and spread outward burning everything. I heard the army, air force, marines fought to the last man but even they couldn't stop you. My squadron was reenlisted for combat only a few short months after the initial reports came through.”

“My squadron was transferred from McGuire Air Force base in Jersey to Kirtland in New Mexico, one of our last major air bases. Sam stayed in the East, directing more missions than ever. We flew sorties over the Sierras; steel against talon, vulcan against fire, man against beast. They were like nothing else I had ever flown against before. Sidewinder Heat-seekers, BVR Long-Range missiles, Sparrow Radar guided, all were used in the constant dogfight. When that wasn't enough our vulcans tore through them. It was a rain of fire but still they came, unrelenting and tireless. On our fifteenth mission, my ten wing flight was jumped by over one hundred of you. When one was shot, five more rose up to take its place. We were overwhelmed. I lost nine good men that day, and nine capable planes. Every one of them died in crashes or were devoured after ejecting. I retreated to Kirkland to refuel and rearm but... but that was what they wanted.”

“I was just taxiing for take-off fully reloaded when they hit. Dozens of them practically fell out of the sky on top of us all with a bone to pick. Within moments I was in the air, fighting tooth and nail for every inch that was taken. Dozens of aircraft were destroyed in their hangers, what few managed to take off were quickly overwhelmed themselves. I held them off of myself with the tricks I had learned in my days as a Thunderbird, keeping them moving, thinking, disoriented. A surviving ground crew likened my flying to a red white and blue eagle... fitting for the 16.”

“Everyone on base managed to drive them off but all that remained was a warzone. Hundreds lay dead on the tarmac or in the burning structures. Ammunition stores went up like the 4th of July igniting jet fuel and prolonging the burn even longer. The call came in a few days later as we licked our wounds; Sam's voice calling all aircraft that still flew back to the East. It was hollow, strangled. A baby could be heard crying in the background. Myself and the few aircraft that remained, a F-18 Hornet, two F-15 Eagles, and a C-5 Galaxy transport plane filled with survivors, flew east. We all saw the devastation as we flew; ashes and fire, the dead by the millions. When we finally reached MacGuire...”

I could feel my voice trail off. I had never told the story in full to anyone, much less to a beast that likely had a hand in the destruction itself. I can feel the muscles on my forhead bunch and release, anger and sadness welling up inside my chest.

“Devastated. Everything was burning. We couldn't raise command, tactical operations, anyone. The Galaxy unloaded its passengers and they scattered to search for loved ones. Sam's command tower was razed to the ground, hangars mere blackened husks with still smoldering wrecks of planes sitting in storage. I knew she was dead... I knew everyone was dead. The other pilots had abandoned their planes and fled as well but I just stood, staring up at the blood stained piece of technology before me. Without thinking I managed to find an untouched fuel tank and get the 16 fueled. With a single sidewinder under my wing and half of my vulcan ammo spent I took off again only wanting one thing; revenge. That was just over twelve years ago.”

“Now I fly nonstop, firing at anything that isn't human, until my fuel gets low. By luck I have found small caches of weaponry untouched by the devastation, underground storage tanks filled with Jet Fuel. That's where I found my rifle. Just keep flying, just keep fighting; I tell myself but, no matter how many I kill, no matter the years that pass... they still keep coming. Dozens, hundreds have fallen. They are no longer as dense but no less vicious. I always kill a dragon on sight, no exceptions...”

I undo my bedroll and stand, taking my rifle in my hands I move slightly closer to the fire glaring at the dragon, rifle raised. Its wings slowly extended, lips parting to reveal a set of wicked ebony teeth a growl emanating from the lethal grin. I wasn't afraid of her; death was meaningless after twelve years on my own. In fact I would welcome it if the beast could take it. I take another step closer and pause.

“Until you.”

The beast's eyes widen and its growl ceases and looks down at me, its gaze with an almost knowing glint to it.

“You didn't attack back. I was on the ground outside of my plane. I fired on you, I tried to kill you. Why didn't you try to kill me?”

I lower my rifle to my side and the dragon's head tilts. It was true, I had been scavenging from a ruin when I had come across her. I fired a full magazine at her but she only curled up and protected herself, not attacking back. It was the first time I had ever seen a dragon do anything like this. The beast stands and takes a few cautions steps toward me though I make no move in response. It took every ounce of will to keep still as the muzzle moves toward me stopping only a few feet from my face.

“You are the first human that stopped shooting.”