Title: The Mindworld Chronicle
Description: Yes, again!
Description: Yes, again!
BlackMage-D3 - February 14, 2007 02:26 AM (GMT)
Hey, I'm back!
Yes, I know. I never finished Mindworld Tactics. I decided it was too much like final Fantasy Tactics: advance that I was basically taking their story and putting my name on it.
But it's been a couple of years now. The story has evolved, and it's completely different. Taking a new name, the Mindworld Chronicle, its references are....less obvious, while still all the while remaining so. Not only am I drawing a simple plot from FFTA, but elements from other games like Kingdom Hearts.
So, I'm here to start over. Bear in mind that I might not post regularly, being in college and all, but I am, nevertheless, back. I ask that you respect me and my work, and know that I wrote it myself. Do not steal it and try to pass it off as your own. Quite frankly, I'll kill you for it. :p
So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the final version of The Mindworld Chronicle.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"All that we see or seem...
...is but a dream within a dream."
--Edgar Allan Poe
Preface: Dreams
Lately, things in my life have been...strange, to say the least.
It’s about these dreams that I’ve been having. You know the kind–the one where there’s nothing but darkness, and you’re falling. A light shines above you, ever enticing, but you keep falling ever so far away, and ever so excruciatingly slowly.
Now, a lot of people can say that a dream seems real. But some seem more real than others. Dreams tend to be foggy, distorted, out of whack; like Picasso’s mind after a snack of fish and paint chips.
But when you have a dream with crystal clarity...you breathe the cool air of the darkness around you; you can feel the very things you touch; fear manifests itself in physical form–sweat, blood, tears. You can feel it, you can taste it; the pain, the agony.
Fear.
And how many can say that they took a dream so far that it manifested itself into reality? How many can say that their desire, their lust for an alternate reality drove them to create one, even if it were at their own and others’ peril?
I can not, personally. And I don’t claim to. But I know someone who had. And had she not realized her error, it might have meant the fates of many.
It already happened, that, because of this mental escape, that someone lost their lif–no–lost their very existence. And this tale is to make these things known, so as to prevent it from happening again.
So help us all...that this never happens again...
The Mindworld Chronicle
Chapter 1: The Abyss
No, not this again, he thought to himself. Not this dream . Anything but this dream!
From his slumber, he began to fall through the darkness. He kept his eyes closed; this same scene had played out so many times before.
If I keep my eyes closed, it will all go away. It has to go away! he thought, although in vain. A cold, white light filtered in from above in pillars of grey, one of which cast upon his face. He felt cold, chilled to the bone, Frostbitten. His blood ran cold from the light’s influence, but it was not simply the light’s lack of warmth.
It was fear.
And on he fell, ever so slowly. His pace was almost melancholic, and he had little control over his actions. He continued to fall into his personal abyss, alone and forsaken, not knowing how he had arrived, and whether he would leave.
And then he opened his eyes.
And the sight which he beheld enticed him to scream, yet no cry escaped his lips, no action was made in futile effort to halt his fall. His mind, frantic, told his limbs to flail, and yet, they did not. Before him, the familiar black void, laying stretched as far as the eye could see, expanding into infinity. Faint grey pillars of light that filtered down from somewhere above him fell with him, they, too, disappeared in the vast infinite hole which he found himself.
Onward he fell, relaxed in body, but panicked in his mind.
Suddenly, out of the grey pillars of faint light shimmered small particles of what seemed to be...glass. They formed from midair and congregated to hover a great distance from the ill-fated teenager, until they shards formed a round platform of what resembled a vast stained glass window. The image was conflicting–both awe-inspiring and gruesome. In various shades of gray, the shards of glass had formed an image–half being of a valiant archangel clad in armors of war–and the other half, a grinning lich reaping silver wheat with its grim scythe, tortured spirits portrayed escaping from the wheat.
And as the last shards fell into place, the image rose to meet him. It was a hard fall, but the pain was bearable. Lifting his body from the stained glass floor, he surveyed his surroundings, curious as a child in a candy store.
A circle of the dim light laid miles above him, illuminating the glass platform. Particles of dust hovered in the light like little insects, aloof and oblivious to the teen’s presence. And amongst them hovered a large volume of yellowed pages bound by a cover of hard leather which gnarled around the pages like the roots of an ancient tree. Something, like voices--whispers--beckoned him closer to the tome. As he approached, the whispers grew to louder, indistinguishable raspy pleads...
He reached out to lay his hand on the book, and the whispers turned to deafening screams. The screams, pleading for justice, demanding retribution, filled his heart with pain. He tried to withdraw his hand, but some force held him there, as if forcing him to listen to the pitiful cries of the forsaken.
Then, a cloud of billowing black smoke erupted from the book's parchmented pages, thrusting him backwards onto the platform. The smoke leapt from the pages, slowly shifting into the shape of a man...a warrior with glowing red eyes.
As if from nowhere, the assailant summoned a length of shadowy smoke and swung it at him. Shaking off his fear, he rolled away in time to dodge the sparking impact of the shady sword.
He looked around frantically for something--anything--to defend himself with. The dark gladiator's intentions were clear: remove him from this place by force.
The warrior swung its sword again, forcing him to dodge again. High, low, lunge. Sweat dripped from his brow as he deftly avoided the cruel weapon. High. Low. Slash left. Uppercut. A chill across his arm, then intense heat and pain. The blade had contacted and tasted his blood. He cried out in silence, clutching his arm as it bled. Am I going to die? he thought to himself as he sidestepped a succesive swing.
As if to answer him, shards of glass formed out of thin air, forming a long black quill, and then flanking it on each side in silver until finally taking the shape of a feather. A sword, thought he, taking hold of it to block a blow from his opponent with its flat side. The blade looked large and cumbersome, but it was as light as the shape it was forged in.
Another swing came, and he parried it, returning with his own set. High. Low. Chop. The shadow dodged each. Low. High. Slash. He composed himself after his combination, blocking a blow and thrusting his blade at the shadow. The blade pierced the smoky figure and blood spilled from the wound. As it did, the shadow dissipated, revealing a human form. Legs, arms, a body...a face.
The face was his own.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, that battle scene is hard to write, but I'm working on that. You'll see. I'll stop there for now, allowing you to relay your thoughts. It's great to eb back, and hopefully we can make this a decent experience.
Yes, I know. I never finished Mindworld Tactics. I decided it was too much like final Fantasy Tactics: advance that I was basically taking their story and putting my name on it.
But it's been a couple of years now. The story has evolved, and it's completely different. Taking a new name, the Mindworld Chronicle, its references are....less obvious, while still all the while remaining so. Not only am I drawing a simple plot from FFTA, but elements from other games like Kingdom Hearts.
So, I'm here to start over. Bear in mind that I might not post regularly, being in college and all, but I am, nevertheless, back. I ask that you respect me and my work, and know that I wrote it myself. Do not steal it and try to pass it off as your own. Quite frankly, I'll kill you for it. :p
So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the final version of The Mindworld Chronicle.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"All that we see or seem...
...is but a dream within a dream."
--Edgar Allan Poe
Preface: Dreams
Lately, things in my life have been...strange, to say the least.
It’s about these dreams that I’ve been having. You know the kind–the one where there’s nothing but darkness, and you’re falling. A light shines above you, ever enticing, but you keep falling ever so far away, and ever so excruciatingly slowly.
Now, a lot of people can say that a dream seems real. But some seem more real than others. Dreams tend to be foggy, distorted, out of whack; like Picasso’s mind after a snack of fish and paint chips.
But when you have a dream with crystal clarity...you breathe the cool air of the darkness around you; you can feel the very things you touch; fear manifests itself in physical form–sweat, blood, tears. You can feel it, you can taste it; the pain, the agony.
Fear.
And how many can say that they took a dream so far that it manifested itself into reality? How many can say that their desire, their lust for an alternate reality drove them to create one, even if it were at their own and others’ peril?
I can not, personally. And I don’t claim to. But I know someone who had. And had she not realized her error, it might have meant the fates of many.
It already happened, that, because of this mental escape, that someone lost their lif–no–lost their very existence. And this tale is to make these things known, so as to prevent it from happening again.
So help us all...that this never happens again...
The Mindworld Chronicle
Chapter 1: The Abyss
No, not this again, he thought to himself. Not this dream . Anything but this dream!
From his slumber, he began to fall through the darkness. He kept his eyes closed; this same scene had played out so many times before.
If I keep my eyes closed, it will all go away. It has to go away! he thought, although in vain. A cold, white light filtered in from above in pillars of grey, one of which cast upon his face. He felt cold, chilled to the bone, Frostbitten. His blood ran cold from the light’s influence, but it was not simply the light’s lack of warmth.
It was fear.
And on he fell, ever so slowly. His pace was almost melancholic, and he had little control over his actions. He continued to fall into his personal abyss, alone and forsaken, not knowing how he had arrived, and whether he would leave.
And then he opened his eyes.
And the sight which he beheld enticed him to scream, yet no cry escaped his lips, no action was made in futile effort to halt his fall. His mind, frantic, told his limbs to flail, and yet, they did not. Before him, the familiar black void, laying stretched as far as the eye could see, expanding into infinity. Faint grey pillars of light that filtered down from somewhere above him fell with him, they, too, disappeared in the vast infinite hole which he found himself.
Onward he fell, relaxed in body, but panicked in his mind.
Suddenly, out of the grey pillars of faint light shimmered small particles of what seemed to be...glass. They formed from midair and congregated to hover a great distance from the ill-fated teenager, until they shards formed a round platform of what resembled a vast stained glass window. The image was conflicting–both awe-inspiring and gruesome. In various shades of gray, the shards of glass had formed an image–half being of a valiant archangel clad in armors of war–and the other half, a grinning lich reaping silver wheat with its grim scythe, tortured spirits portrayed escaping from the wheat.
And as the last shards fell into place, the image rose to meet him. It was a hard fall, but the pain was bearable. Lifting his body from the stained glass floor, he surveyed his surroundings, curious as a child in a candy store.
A circle of the dim light laid miles above him, illuminating the glass platform. Particles of dust hovered in the light like little insects, aloof and oblivious to the teen’s presence. And amongst them hovered a large volume of yellowed pages bound by a cover of hard leather which gnarled around the pages like the roots of an ancient tree. Something, like voices--whispers--beckoned him closer to the tome. As he approached, the whispers grew to louder, indistinguishable raspy pleads...
He reached out to lay his hand on the book, and the whispers turned to deafening screams. The screams, pleading for justice, demanding retribution, filled his heart with pain. He tried to withdraw his hand, but some force held him there, as if forcing him to listen to the pitiful cries of the forsaken.
Then, a cloud of billowing black smoke erupted from the book's parchmented pages, thrusting him backwards onto the platform. The smoke leapt from the pages, slowly shifting into the shape of a man...a warrior with glowing red eyes.
As if from nowhere, the assailant summoned a length of shadowy smoke and swung it at him. Shaking off his fear, he rolled away in time to dodge the sparking impact of the shady sword.
He looked around frantically for something--anything--to defend himself with. The dark gladiator's intentions were clear: remove him from this place by force.
The warrior swung its sword again, forcing him to dodge again. High, low, lunge. Sweat dripped from his brow as he deftly avoided the cruel weapon. High. Low. Slash left. Uppercut. A chill across his arm, then intense heat and pain. The blade had contacted and tasted his blood. He cried out in silence, clutching his arm as it bled. Am I going to die? he thought to himself as he sidestepped a succesive swing.
As if to answer him, shards of glass formed out of thin air, forming a long black quill, and then flanking it on each side in silver until finally taking the shape of a feather. A sword, thought he, taking hold of it to block a blow from his opponent with its flat side. The blade looked large and cumbersome, but it was as light as the shape it was forged in.
Another swing came, and he parried it, returning with his own set. High. Low. Chop. The shadow dodged each. Low. High. Slash. He composed himself after his combination, blocking a blow and thrusting his blade at the shadow. The blade pierced the smoky figure and blood spilled from the wound. As it did, the shadow dissipated, revealing a human form. Legs, arms, a body...a face.
The face was his own.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, that battle scene is hard to write, but I'm working on that. You'll see. I'll stop there for now, allowing you to relay your thoughts. It's great to eb back, and hopefully we can make this a decent experience.
kingtard - February 14, 2007 04:34 AM (GMT)
that was freking sweet dude.keep up the good work
BustaMo - February 14, 2007 05:30 AM (GMT)
That was pretty intense man. That whole scene reminded me of:
Very sweet start though to it. Looking forward to seeing what the next couple chapters hold.
Very sweet start though to it. Looking forward to seeing what the next couple chapters hold.
BlackMage-D3 - February 14, 2007 06:46 PM (GMT)
Funny, I thought it turned out reminiscent of
Nevertheless, thanks for the input.
Nevertheless, thanks for the input.
cloud leonheart - March 13, 2007 05:09 AM (GMT)
My favorite form of entertainment, is mind twisters, stories, movies, novels that make you think hard about it, even weeks after you finished it. This, was a perfect example.
There were a couple typo's, but so minor, it doesn't affect the story.
Great job!
There were a couple typo's, but so minor, it doesn't affect the story.
Great job!
The Turk - March 13, 2007 11:24 PM (GMT)
Bloody hell! Very long time no see. I read all of your Mindworld Tactics fiction and loved it, I even PM'd you to let you know how good it was and was that and was dissapointed that I never got to read the end of it. Please don't dissapoint me this time as that was part was great and I want to read more.