Those Who Ride With The Dawn

[Nitanius Nolund]

As many of you already know, my goal in life is to become a published author. I still have much improving to do, but in any case, here is a little narrative dealing with one of my Shining Force accounts, marive. It will be divided into 3 parts, along with an epilogue and author’s note. Each of these 5 pieces will be put into different posts, as it would be much too long to have them all in one. Read them all at once or at different times, the decision is up to you. Enjoy.


Garond d’Ivaar stepped forward cautiously into the gloomy clearing. Many wild flowers stayed in bloom throughout the summer, but the ones here were already dead and weeping. Each one would represent a dozen men that would fight tomorrow. Dust filled his already matted beard and his face was still covered in mud from the day’s ride. Left palm on the pommel of his sword hilt, he could draw steel in a flash.
He was a farmer. A plain, simple, not-a-care-in-the-world field worker. At one point in his life, he was a mercenary, and a damn good one, but he had hoped his days as a sellsword were finally over. Those days will never be over, he told himself, you cannot escape bloodshed any more than you can escape death. It will hunt for you, build up inside until you go crazed with bloodlust. We will all perish in a crimson sea, it is our fate.
It seemed the man before him did not even notice him approach. Cloaked and hooded with a dark cloak that was torn and dirty from years on the road, it seemed to...comfort the man. It was the only home he had had in years. With the utmost ease, Garond could draw his blade and cut down the man, killing him here in the wilderness. No one would here him scream. And yet, there was a mysterious aura around him that seemed to protect him from harm. This...miasma...emulated from a deep scar on his left cheek. Where had the scar come from?
The night was quiet, not a sound but the chirping of crickets. There was a soft breeze that kept the man’s cloak fluttering in the wind. The sun had not yet completely set, and a fire brightly blazed in the heavens.
“Nothing is true Garond,” the cloaked man said. “Everything is simply accepted as the truth. Men will die on the morn, and yet they choose to ride forward towards their ill fate without fear.”
“Perhaps trained soldiers do,” replied Garond quietly.
The cloaked man had exceptional hearing from his travels, and excellent tracking skills, he hunched over and examined a set of deer tracks. He had killed the beast earlier and returned to the camp with it dragging behind him.
“They may not be trained, but they are soldiers nonetheless.”
“They are bloody farmers!!!”
Garond did realize his sword was unsheathed. Crossing blades with this man was not only stupid, it was suicidal. Of the three hundred people that banded together to come to this battle, only he and another man were soldiers with any training, and he knew the man across from him had years of experience more than he, though Garond was seasons older. He ran his fingers through his greying hair as he assessed the situation. Farmers, painters, shopkeepers, and the occasional hunter were all that they had. Most had never ventured outside of their small village lives into the rest of the world. No training, and little equipment, and weapons that might as well have been made from wood they were so old. Yet, they came together to ride to the aid of a neighboring fortress without question. Brave men they were, but being brave did not mean you would survive a battle.
Three hundred untrained “soldiers” against almost two thousand trained and ruthless bandits. Reinforcements from the Silver Boars of Italdure had been promised, but it could be days before they reached Fort Daamore. Days the city didn’t have. An army built from wealth, most of its soldiers left at first sight of danger. Now, no more than one hundred soldiers manned the walls, no where near enough to hold off the invaders. If Garond could get his men into the city, it could hold out for a few days, enough time for the Silver Boars to arrive.
Sheathing his sword, Garond took a deep breath.
“You cannot ask this of them.”
“What would you have me do?” asked the cloaked man. “Let Daamore fall? These cutthroats will breach those walls with ease and kill everyone inside. At least now the civilians stand somewhat of a chance. There is already enough blood on my hands because of these bandits. I will not allow there to be any more.”
Garond was taken aback by this statement. Blood on his hands? How could someone else’ murders put the blood on the young man’s hand? Had he been one of those bandits?
“What are you saying Marive?”
The cloaked man hung his head and stared down at his palms. To any other man, they would seem to be nothing more than the hands in protective gauntlets of a soldier, but to him, to him they seeped uncontrollable amounts of blood. The blood of his friends. The blood of his family. The blood of his entire village.

His father stood proud, stronger than any woodcutter, and braver than any knight he had read about in those many stories that he stayed up late at night to read.
“Get back!” his father warned. “They will be here soon.”
His mother, sister, and two brothers huddled together in the corner, begging him to join them, but he was frozen in place, tears streaming down his face. The other villagers were either dead or dying, and as much as he wanted his father to transform into one of the heros from his books and drive the invaders back, he knew better. His father could not hold off an entire band of bandits on his own. His family would perish with the rest, and good would not be able to triumph over evil.
The sound of bloodcurdling screams echoed through the house, an ill plague of their impending doom. The first bandit stormed in, slicing his blade through his father’s chest. His mother screamed in horror and held his sister tightly, weeping into her hair. Yet, his father made not a sound. He raised his sword in defiance, trying to defy the great power of death to save his family, but death cannot be defied. Another bandit entered the house, using his axe to send his father’s head rolling across the room, stopping at his feet. Looking down at him, his father’s final look were that of defiance and love for his family. Sorrow laced his colorless eyes. He didn’t transform into one of the heros he had read about. He didn’t even stand a chance.
His brothers attempted to fight back, but fists can do little good against armor and swords. His mother, in one final attempt to save his sister by clutching her as tight as she could, screamed in pain as a third bandit rammed a spear through her stomach, spilling her intestines to the floor, and pinning her and his sister into their final resting place.
Eyes red from crying, he looked up at his killer with a defiant look. He would be like his father, defiant until the end.
“Stout heart on this one,” said the bandit before him. “But bravery cannot deflect steel.”
He lifted his axe into the air, poised to carve him in two. It was then that the second bandit gripped him by the elbow firmly.
“Do you not see his scar on his cheek?” his thick accent could not mask his fear any more than his trembling was. “He is Ka’alaa[i], killing him would doom us all!”
The bandit grunted as he lowered his axe. With a motion to the door, the others left. He gave him one last look before following.
He stood there frozen, crying like a babe, as it all began to sink in.

[Nitanius Nolund]

Those Who Ride With the Dawn Pt 2


“Marive?”
Marive looked over to Garond with all the pain from that night awakened within him with twice the power that it had before. And yet...no tears formed in his eyes. There were no butterflies fluttering inside his stomach. Even with all that pain he felt, he appeared...calm.
“It’s been years since I showed any emotion Garond,” he said quietly, eyes fixed again on his palms still gushing out blood. “Years more since I got so close to someone. Am I still even human?”
Garond stepped forward, placing his hand on Marive’s shoulder. He did not know what to say, and yet, his gesture seemed to speak volumes.
Marive drew the sword from its scabbard and examined the blade. A fine work of steel with many intricate markings. In the Old Tongue, the markings read, Sword of the Enlightened, yet Marive felt far from that. Yet, the sword was the only part of his family he had left. It was the blade his father died wielding, and Marive promised the sword, and somehow his father, that he would avenge his father’s death. No sword in the world could compare to it in his eyes.
“This was the blade my father carried when the bandits attacked our village,” he said. “My father carried it so proudly. It was to go to my eldest brother, yet, he too perished in the attack, so I must be the one to wield it. Maybe...maybe if he had known how to use it, he could have made a difference.
“I gave up everything that day. My family, my home. My own name was cast into the ashes of that burning village. I took on the name Marive and exiled myself from civilization. I became a Ranger. And for what? Revenge and a chance for glory?
“For years I’ve searched for the origin of this scar,” he sighed, placing his hand on his left cheek. “No healer can close it, and no wise man can tell me its meaning. As much as I loath it, it seems to...protect me. It’s as though my father and mother hold a protective barrier over me. Am I going mad?”
Garond shook his head. Not to answer Marive’s question, but simply because he could not get the idea around the whole scenario. It seemed clear that Marive was indeed going mad, but telling the man would give him no comfort. Without Marive, thousands of people would die.
“Is there no way to sneak into the castle and help bolster the defenses on the walls?”
Marive shook his head. “The bandits have been here for days, gathering and preparing for the siege. If there was a way into the castle other than the front gate, they would have found it already.” As he returned his sword to its sheath, he straightened his back. “Tell the men we attack at first light. I wish to ride on the wings of the sunrise.”
He walked passed Garond and did not stop. He had much to prepare before the battle, and he had little time to complete it.

The next morning found three hundred men moving quickly to douse fires and strip down from their horses anything that could not be used in battle. Marive needed his men to ride swiftly, and anything that would weigh them down and ultimately slow them, needed to be removed.
It took almost an hour to prepare for the charge, and faces filled with unease and fear marked each and every man.
Two men held flags at the front of the columns. One showed a falcon flying with a sunrise, the other showed a golden wolf. Both standards had been created in the night without Marive noticing, and their bearers refused to leave them behind.
“A captain must have a battle standard sir,” they had said.
“Today!” he shouted, trying to have his voice heard among all of the men. “Today you become not mere soldiers, but heroes! Your actions here today will save the lives of thousands of innocent people within the walls of the fair city you see before you! Artisans, farmers, shopkeepers, blacksmiths. No more! Today you become the Golden Wolves! The Da’alamune!” A cry of cheers rose among the men. If Marive had hoped in raising their spirits, he had achieved it, but he felt he must also give them a dose of reality. “Now, I cannot promise you that you all will survive. I cannot even promise you victory. What I can promise you is that you all will see your homes again. Either in a wooden crate, or the cart delivering it, I will get you all back to your loved ones.
“Garond, you will take your men and attack their left flank. Destroy their supplies and make sure none reach the other encampment. Dogal, you’re to take your company right, and cut hard towards the heart of their force. The standards and I will charge towards the center of their force and cut down as many was we can before Dogal and his men meet up with us. I hope to deal a devastating blow before the bandits have the chance to regroup.” He took a deep breath, and rose one more statement. “Let us ride with the dawn.”
Horns blared and horses whinnied as the men put heels to horseflesh. Already, the stench of blood crusted Marive’s nose. Out of the clearing they rode, trampling the dead wildflowers, much as bodies would be hewn against the cool plains. This place of peace would soon be drenched in a sea of red, the blood of the brave.
With his sword in hand, Marive was the first to reach the enemy, slicing up from under the man’s shoulder and catching his neck. Blood sprayed up onto Marive’s face, a feeling he had become all too familiar with over the years. With almost one thousand bandits in this encampment, his task was no easy feat, but his men had taken them unaware and pinned them between three companies of charging horses. The bandits were scrambling to find their weapons, and were divided and leaderless. Chickens in a hen, and Marive was the fox picking which one to take home for dinner.
“Do not falter!” Marive cried. From his years of experience, he knew fear was the knife hidden in the enemies sleeve, waiting to be released and plunged deep into the heart of a military force. Fear meant that your enemy could force you back, force you to retreat, and slaughter you like pigs before a feast as you tried to escape. But advancing without fear, that was an enemies worst nightmare, and drove them to fear. So long as the bandits were afraid, Marive had the upper hand.
Marive wheeled his mount to the left, hoping to meet up with Garond’s men, and trampled a nearby spearmen, which drove a spear deep into his horse’s ribs, sending the beast tumbling to the ground, and Marive flying through the air. Landing in the dirt, Marive got up and exchanged parries with a bandit before cutting the man down. Already, the bandits were attempting to escape, and Dogal’s forces could be seen charging to meet with Marive’s.
“Dogal!” Marive called, hoping the man was nearby. Sadly, none answered his call. Instead, he heard horns in the distance, not the horns of his own men, but horns made from the antlers of a mountain goat. The other bandits were telling their comrades that help was on the way. “Archers!” he yelled, and half a dozen nearby men came to answer the call. “Go tell the men that we regroup back at camp. Be sure that Garond hears first, and order him to let the bandits go. He cannot give chase. Do you understand?”
Before they could even so much as nod their heads they were off. Quick men, they should have word spread throughout the men in short time. Marive needed all the men he could for the last stand, and he felt sure that he had lost a large portion of his men. They may have killed over five hundred of the bandits and demolished the supplies, but had the cost been too much? His men had become true soldiers, and would now bear the pains that came with that title. Each one of them had killed another man, and the unbearable memories they would see would soon come.
We have ridden with the dawn, he thought as the bandits ran off in terror, some still falling with arrows in their backs. I pray that we can survive to see the moon

[Nitanius Nolund]

Those Who Ride With the Dawn Pt 3


“Garond, how did your men fare?” Marive asked.
Garond removed his helmet, dirt still on its visor, and blood still dripping from the ear. It was already dried on his face.
“We lost about five men,” he stated proudly. “And their supplies lay in rubbles. We slew many of their number as they tried to escape.”
Marive grinned, the first smile he had shown in almost a dozen years. Perhaps he wasn’t going mad.
In total, they had lost less than two dozen men, and, for the moment, things were quiet. When Marive and his men retreated, the bandits let them leave, probably fearing ambush in the forest. They had regrouped in the far encampment, and did no look ready for attack.
One of the soldiers came rushing into Marive’s tent, stopping to gasp for air before giving his report.
“The Silver Boars are here sir,” he wheezed.
Marive almost jumped for joy. With the aid from Italdure, he could possibly launch another attack before nightfall, possibly ending the bloodshed quickly. He did not anticipate aid to come at all, yet alone so soon.
A man entered in a shining breast plate, as though he had spent days polishing it. The insignia of Italdure, a silver boar, was crested over his left breast, as a protective barrier over the heart. His long, dark hair was tied up, and an essence of regency emulated from him.
“Who is in charge here?” he asked.
“I am,” Marive replied, studying the man from his seat. “I’m Marive, and I lead the men here.”
“If you can call them that.”
The man that brought the report looked hurt, and rightfully so. He had killed a man, survived a vicious battle, and another knight was demeaning him. With a motion from Garond, he left, leaving the three of them alone.
“They fight as well as can be expected,” Garond said quietly, eyes fixed on the flaps of the tent. He had timed it so that the man would just hear it as he left to continue his scouting. “Three hundred forcing a thousand bandits to retreat.”
“Bah! Any idiot with a blade can do that,” the knight said. “From here on, the Silver Boars will be leading the charges. Under my command of course.” He turned to leave, but stopped after taking a step. “Oh I forgot! I am Duke Mongall. Anything that needs to be reported is to come directly to me.”
Before Mongaal, opened the flaps to leave, Marive got up from his seat and stepped forward.
“How many men did you bring?” he asked.
Mongaal turned. Obviously, he was used to having people doing what he ordered when he ordered it without question, but this Ranger dared defy him. He studied Marive from head to toe, trying to get a read on the closed book. How could a Ranger think he could stand up to a Duke?
“The better of eight hundred,” he replied coldly. “Good soldiers with years of training, unlike those mongrels that follow you. No better than the bandits if you ask me.” As he turned to leave, Marive grabbed his shoulder in a tight grip, and glared at Mongaal. “Listen here you retched imbecile! I am your superior! I command you to release me! You will unhand me this instant!”
Marive brought the man close.
“I am a Ranger,” he whispered. “I follow no man. Now you listen here you old dotard, I care not about your titles. You will not come here and demand command of the force that held off these bandits in the first place. If you demean my men again, I will challenge you to duel. And win. Command of this battle is mine. Do you understand?”
Mongaal glared at Marive sideways.
“You sir, have just lost the aid of the Silver Boars. Once I deal with these bandits, my men will come after you. I will be basked in glory while you and your...mutts...will be watching on in pools of blood.”

“Sir?”
Marive looked up from his map. Ahead of him was a tall, proud man in thick breastplate. He had no hair and green eyes. Marive nodded for him to proceed.
“I am Count Daun,” he said through a thick moustache. “I admire what you did to that wool-headed dolt Mongaal, and came to tell you that not all of the Silver Boars feel as he does. On the morrow, five hundred Silver Boars will ride behind your standard.”
Marive felt his spirits rise. So the world was not full of fools after all. There were also those that were brave of heart and filled with common sense.
He looked into Daun’s eyes, something he learned long ago. You could tell a lot about a man by his eyes. Daun’s sea-colored spheres gleamed with pride and devotion. This was a true knight, one that would die to follow the path of chivalry.
Marive smiled, placing his hand on Daun’s shoulder.
“I am honored to have your sword among mine Daun,” he said. “May tomorrow bring glory to our friends.”
“And sorrow to our enemies.”

Marive looked on as Mongaal and his men charged towards the bandit camp. It was a brave attempt, especially because the bandits would not be taken unaware this time, and would have a trap set.
“Should we give aid?” asked Garond. Even towards a man so arrogant and ignorant, he could not wish death upon anyone.
“No,” Daun stated flatly. “Mongaal feels that three hundred of the Silver Boars can defeat fifteen hundred bandits because a rubble of peasants held off a thousand. His stupidity will cause his death.” Looking over at Marive, he did not know was the man was thinking. “So Marive, got any tricks up your sleeve?”
Marive turned his head and studied Daun. The man was ready for what was to come. He had hundreds of strategies he could use, each one as good as the next, but he was going to trust his instincts instead.
“No,” replied Marive. “No tricks. No plans. We just charge ahead and do not stop.”
He put his lips to the horn and sounded the charge.

Dodging a flying axe, Garond fell to the ground. He quickly got to his feet and charged into a fray of bandits, and even four of them could not match his speed and skills. The battle had been bloody so far, but the bandits refused to withdraw, and were holding their ground quite well. Garond applauded this, even though the bandits had no real chance of holding off a cavalry charge of this size.
Looking for any sign of Daun or Marive, he felt a pain in his left side. He twisted, and lunged onto the bandit that attacked him, driving his sword through the man’s stomach. It was not a deep cut, nor was it very lethal, but if left unchecked and opened, it could prove to be dangerous. A man could only lose so much blood before his body felt weak. Only so much more before he was dead. The thing burned with pain, but he feared it would be hours before he could get a chance to bandage it.
Oh Light, let this bloodshed end soon.
He charged off, following his cavalry, into the crowds of bandits, raising a battle cry he hadn’t used in years.

Daun tried to steady his breathing. The blow could not kill him, but he had been taken by surprise, and was fidgety. Every little sound made him jump, but that could just possibly be because each “little” sound was deafening to him. If he did not calm himself he would perish in this forsaken part of the world. No. I will see Italdure’s lush plains again, he vowed to himself, these bandits will not stop me from returning home to my loved ones..
He was bleeding, and his head ached, and his soul felt heavy. Yet, he had the Silver Boar over his heart, and so long as he had that, none could defeat him. That insignia made him immortal.
With his men at his back, and his family in his heart, he charged forward, and the bandits finally began to fall back.
Italdure, I am coming[/I

“I’ve been looking forward to this day,” the man across from him said in an almost slither. “I was told slaying [i]Ka’ala would give me ultimate power. Enough to conquer continents!”
Marive studied the man across from him. He did not care that he was clearly insane, nor did he care that it was the second time in his life he had been called Ka’ala. All he cared was that this was clearly the leader of the bandits, and he would cut the man down, here and now.
Gripping his father’s sword tightly, he charged forward. Screaming a battle cry, sparks seemed to fly out as the two blades connected. Twisting to the side, the bandit tried to attack Marive’s ribs, but Marive was faster and parried the attack and countered with a slash to the man’s shoulder. The man clenched his teeth but continued to thrust, searching for an opening.
“You killed my father,” Marive said, parrying another attack. “For that you will die.”
He thrust forward his own blade, catching the bandit’s side and opening a gash in his ribs. The man fell to the ground, almost dropping his blade. Marive stepped forward to end the man’s miserable life, but the bandit lunged forward. Marive side-stepped and slashed down at the man, cutting another gash in his back. This one was deep and crippling. The man had no chance of survival now.
Defying all odds, the bandit rose to his knees and glared at Marive defiantly. Just as his father had done.
Anger filled Marive. He would not stand to have a bandit glare at him the same way his father did. He drove the sword into the man’s stomach. Yet something happened. Suddenly, he was a young boy again, and his own father was ahead of him. His mother was screaming and his brothers were rushing forward to try and save their father.
“B...brother,” the bandit said.
Suddenly it occurred to him. He had not actually seen his brothers die, he just thought they must have.
“No...”
His brother fell forward and Marive caught him. Around him the battle still raged, but all he saw was the man he had killed. He was Ka’ala according to his brother, and he had truly fit the role. His actions proved that he may not have been insane, but he was Ka’ala, the Devil’s Left Hand.
He sat there, holding his brother, tears finally running down his cheeks, screaming defiantly at the heavens.

[Nitanius Nolund]

Those Who Ride With the Dawn Epilogue


When Garond found Marive, he was standing over the body of a bandit. He had been there for hours according to the soldiers, refusing to leave.
“What could possibly possess him to stand there like that?” asked Daun. The man had bandages around his head, and if he had not withdrawn when he did, he would have needed a splint for his arm.
Garond shook his head. He had no clue why Marive refused to move, but he would not move his gaze from the body before him either. He stepped into the gloom and stood beside Marive, wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulder. It seemed that he needed comforting, and Garond was the only one that knew him well enough to offer him any.
“They did the one thing that could fill me with pain Garond,” he said through tears. “They let my brother live.”
Garond stared at Marive with a dumbfounded look. Letting his brother live pained Marive? Should he not be joyful instead of shedding tears for a dead bandit?
“They finally took everything from me.”
It was then that Garond understood. The bandits had let Marive’s brother live, but it was by Marive’s own hand that his last brethren fell. Now Marive had lost all, his sanity, his innocence, and his family.
“For years I thought it was painful to live with no family. I learned to cope, and move on. But..but this...this is so much worse. I had family, but these bandits poisoned the minds of my brothers. I know Telsan still lives. I can feel him now, but was he poisoned to believe I was evil as well?
“Pedar believed I was Ka’ala because of these bandits, and he sought to slay me, and get all the powers that the legends say. Could that be what this scar means? Could I truly be the Devil’s Left Hand?”
Garond blinked, and searched for words. Words of wisdom, words of comfort, anything. Yet he couldn’t find a single one. He did not know what to say. How could he try and fix a broken heart?
“Marive?” Daun asked, stepping towards the two men. “If I may?”
Marive finally broke his gaze on his brother’s corpse and looked at Daun. The man was close to death because of his actions. No more. No more innocent people would die because of him.
“The surviving bandits have fled for the mountains. It is possible that there are more of them there. Should we give pursuit?”
Marive shook his head. It was time he let these people go home to their families. Over a hundred good men died in the charge, though it seemed like a battle that would be sung about in stories for years to come.
“No. I will not ask any more from you. I will press on alone. My brother is with those bandits, and I must try to convince him I am not Ka’ala. Or die trying. I will not put you in danger anymore.”
Daun laughed. The knight should be glad to go to his home and see his family, and yet, after a quick chuckle, he turned serious.
“Our job is not yet done sir,” he said. “And if I may, I will accompany you on your journey. There will be many swords between you and your brother, and I will be sure to see that they are cleared.”
Despite his tears, Marive smiled. He was right about Daun all along. He was truly a man that followed chivalry.
“Preparations have already been made to send the dead back to their homes,” said Garond. “But I too will follow you, wherever that may lead us.”
Marive studied the man beside him. The sellsword was offering his loyalty to him, something no mercenary had ever done. It was an action that Marive could not ignore.
Turning towards his men, he asked:
“How many of you feel as these two men do?”
Cheers rang among the men. He had not only turned a rabble of peasants into a band of soldiers, but he had made an army. Loyal and proud, they would follow him wherever he led them, whether it be to their demise or glory.
Marive smiled. Wiping away his tears, he added his brother’s name to the list of people he would avenge. He looked down at his palms; the blood no longer poured. The blood was on the bandits’ hands now, and it was blood that would be spilled.
“Get some rest. Tomorrow, we ride with the dawn.”

[Nitanius Nolund]

Note from the Author

Written in 2005 for my grade 10 English class, “Those Who Ride With the Dawn” is one of my favored pieces of writing, if not my best. My teacher sent it away to a short story contest, which I won $500 in. I was surprised, as I thought the story itself was excellent, but the way it was written was mere adequate compared to some of my better stories.

As a teenager of 16-years, I hope to one day be a published author, but still have much to learn. My writing style is as provocative as I can make it, and I try to sink into the spirit of human nature, which I rarely do to the extent that I would like to.

I left this story open for a sequel, which I have yet to write, but, if asked, will attempt to do. Marive does not yet know the origin of his scar, or whether or not he truly is Ka’ala, and eventually, I hope to write a third story to show how it came to be. I doubt I can follow his story any longer than a third story though.

If I get enough demand, I will attempt to write a story, or group of stories for every Shining Force account that has a Character BIOS, which as of right now is just the accounts owned by me (Nitanius Nolund, Da’alavon, Agrafes, Duran, Istal, and marive).

I hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope that one day I’ll post another for everyone to enjoy.

[C4nt t0uch th1s]

It's great, good luck with being a author. I can see you being a great one.:)

[zz99]

Note from the Author

Written in 2005 for my grade 10 English class, “Those Who Ride With the Dawn” is one of my favored pieces of writing, if not my best. My teacher sent it away to a short story contest, which I won $500 in. I was surprised, as I thought the story itself was excellent, but the way it was written was mere adequate compared to some of my better stories.

As a teenager of 16-years, I hope to one day be a published author, but still have much to learn. My writing style is as provocative as I can make it, and I try to sink into the spirit of human nature, which I rarely do to the extent that I would like to.

I left this story open for a sequel, which I have yet to write, but, if asked, will attempt to do. Marive does not yet know the origin of his scar, or whether or not he truly is Ka’ala, and eventually, I hope to write a third story to show how it came to be. I doubt I can follow his story any longer than a third story though.

If I get enough demand, I will attempt to write a story, or group of stories for every Shining Force account that has a Character BIOS, which as of right now is just the accounts owned by me (Nitanius Nolund, Da’alavon, Agrafes, Duran, Istal, and marive).

I hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope that one day I’ll post another for everyone to enjoy.

Make a character BIOS for Naucratis. =P

[Nitanius Nolund]

I'll do it tonight and PM it to you tomorrow. PM me on LF if there is anything specific you would like to be in your BIOS

[_Thunder_]

Wow took me awhile to read this.. its pretty good, good luck on bieng an author.

[zz99]

I'll do it tonight and PM it to you tomorrow. PM me on LF if there is anything specific you would like to be in your BIOS

If I told you to put something specific in it, even with your great writing skills it would come up dull, and boring. =P

[Nitanius Nolund]

I mean as to what type of person you are, profession, etc

And thanks for the positive feedback Thunder and cant touch this

[zz99]

I mean as to what type of person you are, profession, etc

And thanks for the positive feedback Thunder and cant touch this

You've known me for what, two years? You know what type of person I am. =P

[Cuathon]

it was actually pretty good.

[Nitanius Nolund]

You say that like you are surprised xD

Actually, I read it again and I was surprised at how well it turned out.

[Cuathon]

well, a large majority of people cant write.
you mind if i post in on this lit forum i go on?
i wanna see what other people think, would get way more comments than it would on tao.

[AlabamaBoy]

When you are first making the description of Garond you add too many charicter aspects. You should not tell the reader this much about him in the start, if you leave these out in the beggining it adds for more interesting charicter development later on in your work. Just to add, I enjoyed it thouroughly and my comment was meant to be constructive.

Also you dont need to mention the cloaked man's extensive tracking skills, that can be gathered by the reader it also takes away from the mystery involving the charicter.

[Nitanius Nolund]

well, a large majority of people cant write.
you mind if i post in on this lit forum i go on?
i wanna see what other people think, would get way more comments than it would on tao.

Go ahead

When you are first making the description of Garond you add too many charicter aspects. You should not tell the reader this much about him in the start, if you leave these out in the beggining it adds for more interesting charicter development later on in your work. Just to add, I enjoyed it thouroughly and my comment was meant to be constructive.

Also you dont need to mention the cloaked man's extensive tracking skills, that can be gathered by the reader it also takes away from the mystery involving the charicter.

I see what you mean...yeah...makes sense. Thanks Bama ^^