Counsel of War

This was a war that happened time out of number. The opponents, weaponry, and strategy change, but war is always the same, destruction and devastation. The old against the young, race against race, belief against belief, clan against clan- whatever the cause, pain is the true victor. 

This bloody war between the Patriot tribe and the Loyalist tribe has raged for years. Both sides felt their cause was the righteous one and would not yield one inch of ground. Compromise was out of the question. Surrender was unthinkable.

Both sides’ strategists were extremely clever. Each plan should have led to a total victory, but somehow, it never did. The opposing side would pivot, deflect, and retaliate with greater vitriol than ever. The end always looked close at hand but never came.

One from outside the war stumbled into its chaotic midst. Scared out of his mind, he dodged exploding bombs and hand-to-hand combat to stumble behind the Loyalist’s front lines. After regaining some measure of composure, he was able to look about him. His perspective was not that of the soldiers. He did not look only at the battling people but at everything, and that is why he noticed what they had not. Large, looming shadowy figures behind the Patriot’s camp. Shadows not cast by the individuals. They were much farther back and higher up. They moved in strange ways, almost as if they were pulling invisible strings of the soldiers on the field.

The outsider showed this to the soldiers around him. Once pointed out, they, too, could see the looming, shadowy figures. The leaders were called to a war council. They listened to the young outsider. His guidance was to aim at those figures instead of the soldiers. The oldest, wisest, most battle-hardened general strongly disagreed with the stranger. This mad scheme would leave them vulnerable to a counter-offensive, which he believed would wipe them out.

He was not wrong, but the shadowy figures were there and could not be denied or ignored. What to do? Continue in this long, bloody conflict with the current ineffective strategy, or try something new that could be fatal?

After much debate, the attacking the shadows strategy was adopted.

The Loyalists focused all their resources on the figures. Holding their collective breath lest the enemy attack and finish them off, they shot. The distance was tremendous, but their flaming arrows were true and, at last, hit their targets. Down crumbled the looming shapes.

The Patriots had seen their enemy line up for a great offensive. They responded by preparing to defend themselves and retaliate, but the enemy’s shot went overhead. They followed the journey of the arrows and saw for the first time the shadowy shapes, which fell as soon as the arrows hit them. Immediately they felt a great heaviness lift. The madness, anger, and heat of war that had cloaked everything cleared. As one, they turned their gaze over the heads of the Loyalists. There they saw shadow figures as well. Without conferring, they shot their arrows at those figures and watched as they, too, fell.

Weapons were dropped. It would take time to heal… it always does, but the war was over.

Seeds

The Argon are a complex and unapproachable people. They were made from humble dust, but they have forgotten that over the ages. They are strong, independent, prideful, and hard. Their hardness has led to a gradual crumbling of self.

This slow decline was the state of things until one was born, who saw the decay and crumble and decided to do something about it. He filled a bag full of promises and hopes, which looked like flower seeds. This man scattered them indiscriminately onto everyone he encountered through smiles and kind and wise words. Some seeds of promise stuck took root, and blossomed, while others fell away.

The environment began to change. The air filtered by hope’s sweet fragrance became fresh and pure. In this fresh air, the Argonites remembered their beginning. They were made from dust, meant for something lovely to dwell in them.

More followed in the man’s footsteps and became ambassadors of truth, beauty, and goodness by emulating his actions and repeating his words. Flowers bloomed in the lives of people. The stink of death and decay faded. The Argonites had hope and a promise of something good and beautiful. The purpose of life became bigger than they were. A movement started and was spreading.

Dragons

Dragons have not gone extinct, not entirely. We know this because one lives among us. Mostly she is not in her dragon form. She has often been seen laughing in the park or strolling contentedly to the markets, peacefully resting on the shore of the lake. These are the good days. But there are other days than just the good ones. Those are the ones to run for cover.

It doesn’t take much to trigger a reaction. Once the transformation has begun, it cannot be stopped. All the deep fire within her must be blown entirely out before she can resume her normal shape. In the aftermath, it is always discovered she is the one who is most covered in burn scars.

Why does the village not do something? Well, we have known her since she was little. We love her, so we protect her. Flame retardant armor is at everyone's fingertips, but having a wild dragon among us is challenging.

There is a story the old people tell about dragons. I do not know if it’s true, but they say in the beginning dragons were created with a noble purpose. Their elders taught them to control their fire and strength. Dragons were fearless, which was necessary because they faced and fought the most terrifying enemies. They protected the world with their incredible courage and flaming breath. It was an extremely rare occasion that an innocent would be scorched.

But times changed; the great evils the dragons fought mostly went into hiding. With that constant danger gone the general mentality shifted; the focus moved from feeling safe because of the protection from the dragons to the extraordinary capacity of destruction the dragons wielded. Instead of being respected and revered, they became misunderstood and then despised. They were thought to be unpredictable, uncontrollable, and too powerful. True, rarely did an innocent get scorched but rarely is not never. Dragons must be controlled, which is impossible. If not controlled, then removal was thought to be necessary. An awful shame campaign began.

The massive, strong, courageous dragons experienced widespread rejection from almost everyone. The distrust, loathing, and isolation wounded the dragons deeper than any evil beasts they had fought. Some shrank in upon themselves until they were nothing. Others transformed, hiding who they were, and sadly a few turned against those they were created to protect. Those few broken dragons proved the worst fears were valid. Horrible things happened before the end, but the end finally arrived.

Dragons are known to be extinct… well, all but one.

The Swindler

From the beginning, it has been understood that one must do all one can to avoid the Swindler. For it roams the face of Truth, seeking an unsuspecting individual to steal, demolish and annihilate. It is the worst wickedness on the planet. Hypervigilance is critical to avoiding the Swindler.

What does it look like so I can know when it approaches? It is not precisely known, but the Swindler is thought to be enormous, dark, loud, and monstrous. A rancid smell accompanies it. It leaves nothing but chaos in its wake. The Swindler is a vicious trickster, but if you follow all the rules and do what is right, you will not get caught in its grotesque clutches.

At first, these rules, though not easy, were light and manageable. Following the rules made life easier by bringing order to complicated, complex, and confusing circumstances. However, a time came when they began to grow in length and magnitude gradually. This happened so slowly that no one noticed until the rules were too many and too heavy. They became impossible.

During the third age, the combination of the Swindler’s physical description being preposterous and the exhausted state of the overburdened population, the belief in the Swindler itself died. It became a myth, and the many, many, many rules became optional. A general apathy settled into that generation's hearts and minds, causing a disregard for order and rightness until rightness became a myth.

But the Swindler is and always has been real. Rather than loud, stinky, and obnoxious, it is astonishingly sly, sneaky, and clever. The rules broke the spirit of the population. They were good and right when they were established. That was why the Swindler turned its ruinous eye upon them. Slowly and silently transforming and warping their protection into something so large and heavy that it crushed them.

Had anyone listened to the heartbeat of the rules, there would have been evidence that something was wrong. Something had twisted them, added to them, sucked all the virtue out of them. Examine closely the complexion of what you follow. Concerning this population, at this time, the Swindler’s purpose is being fulfilled; it has stepped from the shadows and is exerting all its power. The inhabitants embrace its strange unnatural ways. It has come to steal, destroy and kill. And it does its work very well.

Barbarians

Barbarian common sense says safety can only be found in familiarity. Obviously, beyond the limits of the known world were indescribable troubles and pitfalls. This has been proven many ages ago when a generation of weird and wild barbarians were born. Their souls were lit with a desire to wander. But all soon returned to the tribe covered in cuts and bruises. Pitfalls and traps abounded in unimaginable quantities in the unknown world.

Though barbarians knew outsiders were foolish, they were not unfriendly to those lunatics who passed through their village. Overall, barbarians were helpful and generous in the aim of assisting all outsiders on their way.

Over time one of these outsiders formed a friendship with a young barbarian. She invited her friend for a visit in the neighboring town. Young barbarians are not known to be foolish, so it took all by surprise to discover the visit had actually taken place. Not only that, but the young barbarian had returned virtually unscathed, and with a strange abnormality resting upon her nose.

Excitedly, the young barbarian shared about her adventure. Immediately upon leaving the land she was familiar with, she had begun to stumble and tripped an incredible number of times. This happened until her friend observed that her vision might be poor, which could be causing her to stumble and trip so many times. Together, they found their way into a shop that had the most amazing devices. It was there that she discovered, after placing an unfamiliar apparatus upon her nose, that the world could be seen clearly. She had thought all objects were blurry blobs, but the world was not full of blobs. It was full of clear, crisp objects and bright, vibrant colors. Wonderful tiny things previously unseen were everywhere. The stumbles and pitfalls were knowable, and better yet, avoidable. The unknown world opened before the young barbarian, beautiful, and as kind to her shins as her own village.

The tribe listened carefully until she had finished, but they did not believe her irrational ramblings. Nor would they entertain the notion that the world could be as she described it, with insane detail and fanciful color. They decided she had left the safety of the known and, as a result, had sadly gone mad. They would not, under any circumstances, place the foreign device that had caused her delusions upon their own faces. The world was as they knew it. And that was that.

The Whack-A-Doodle

No one could really get a firm handle on the Whack-A-Doodle. No one would have the audacity to say he was sane but, then again most couldn’t honestly say he was insane. The Whack-A-Doodle was somewhere in-between and that was a very uncomfortable place to be exposed to.

The Whack-A-Doodle had no home, no money, and probably not even a change of clothes. He would wander into and out of towns and villages as a forerunner declaring the zaniest of things, such as: a mist of misery is approaching or waves of trouble are heading this direction.

Needless-to-say, he was an unwelcome visitor wherever he found himself. Most all who heard him, however- either subconsciously or secretly- lest others discover and mock them- would make some sort of preparation to protect against the forewarned bad fortune.

Whether in fulfillment of the Whack-A-Doodle’s words or simply the occurrence of nature, bad days would sooner or later befall the towns and villages. Though no one ever acknowledged it, those who listened and prepared were in a better position to withstand those days.

No one ever welcomed the Whack-A-Doodle or even thanked him, but he didn’t need or expect it. Wandering here and there as felt right to him, calling out in a loud voice whatever was on his heart, the Whack-A-Doodle spent his days.

Pirate Jack

Pirate Jack is no longer a pirate but the name has stuck and Jack doesn’t much mind. He turned from his thriving career of pillaging on the high seas to become a rescue vessel. How that transformation happened is another story.

Pirate Jack is an old Dwarf, heavily weather beaten, and with only one leg. Neither his age nor his disability has stopped him from becoming renowned for his daring rescue missions.

He claims that he owes his successful rescue attempts to his steadiness. No matter how violent the storm, Pirate Jack can walk about the deck with ease while all the crew are being flung about like rag dolls in the hands of angry children.

When asked about his ability to maintain sure footing, Jack explains his strength comes from his core. It has nothing to do with the legs or anticipating the waves because that is impossible. Since he has made his core strong, there is little he cannot do.

Strengthening the core isn’t glamourous- no one can see your efforts pay off as with burly arm workouts. It is also tremendously difficult fighting off the old habits of laziness and gluttony. However, it is core strength that is required to be able to do what needs to be done.

 In his gruff voice he explains that one cannot be tentative in a storm when the waves, water, and sea monsters are attempting to catch hold of you. There is a job to be done- rescuing the drowning.

Do the work of training the core while the weather is fine, so that when the storms come you will be able and fit. These days are not about easy enjoyment but about thriving and living successful lives. Extraordinary lives are being lived even if no one else notices them.

Strong Man

There was a little boy, amidst the Strong Man people, who wanted so much to grow and be impressive like his father. Each day he would look at his reflection and see only himself. It can be terribly frustrating to be four when you want to be a great man.

His parents saw more than the boy could, how each day his character and integrity were developing into the valiant little warrior he was created to be. All too soon he would be battling the bad guys he was pretending to now in his play time. He would fight evil and rescue the good, while bringing joy wherever he went. But for now, he was just a little boy with big dreams and a bigger heart.

Each night while he slept, his mama would sneak into his room to silently encourage the boy not to grow up too quickly- because being a little boy is an amazing thing to be.

Pirate Jack

Pirate Jack is no longer a pirate but the name has stuck and Jack doesn’t much mind. He turned from his thriving career of pillaging on the high seas to become a rescue vessel. How that transformation happened is another story.

Pirate Jack is an old Dwarf, heavily weather beaten, and with only one leg. Neither his age nor his disability has stopped him from becoming renowned for his daring rescue missions.

He claims that he owes his successful rescue attempts to his steadiness. No matter how violent the storm, Pirate Jack can walk about the deck with ease while all the crew are being flung about like rag dolls in the hands of angry children.

When asked about his ability to maintain sure footing, Jack explains his strength comes from his core. It has nothing to do with the legs or anticipating the waves because that is impossible. Since he has made his core strong, there is little he cannot do.

Strengthening the core isn’t glamourous- no one can see your efforts pay off as with burly arm workouts. It is also tremendously difficult fighting off the old habits of laziness and gluttony. However, it is core strength that is required to be able to do what needs to be done.

 In his gruff voice he explains that one cannot be tentative in a storm when the waves, water, and sea monsters are attempting to catch hold of you. There is a job to be done- rescuing the drowning.

Do the work of training the core while the weather is fine, so that when the storms come you will be able and fit. These days are not about easy enjoyment but about thriving and living successful lives. Extraordinary lives are being lived even if no one else notices them.

Mags

Mags had a hard life- as did all who lived on the mountains of Talus, but she was unique. She didn’t let the hardness of her circumstances dictate her actions. Even in the mean years when almost nothing would grow, she tried to be as faithful as she could in sharing the tiny portions of what she had. Unbeknownst to herself, her acts of generosity sowed magic into her little plot of stony ground. Things began to grow there that were impossible.

Though her circumstances greatly improved, Mags’ nature remained consistent. Most believed that she was generous because she was blessed; some, however, remembered her hard, early years and knew better- Mags was blessed because she was generous.