OF THE NOBLE STRAY. The Holy Earth
145 After Dark the 58th of Spring
               The Stray sat silently in his chambers. His mind felt numb from hours and hours pouring over numbers, over tactics, over cost, over possibilities, over odds, over everything, everything, everything. And now he stared blankly at the piles and piles and piles of papers of notes of letters of calculations scattered on his oversized desk in an unorganized organized way. He blinked at it dully, tired, weary, drained, and then, looked up from it and stared. The chamber offered to the Stray by the Tiger Prince was a little too big for his preferences. He had asked that the expensive Edeinian decors be removed, for they felt too alien for the Stray’s lowly canine tastes. But now the room sat a bit too barren for its unwelcoming spaciousness.
               Every dawn the Stray was always able to come up with some sort of plan, that would later bring about some sort of victory and hence some sort of celebration- And yet every dusk the Stray would sit at this very desk, in this rather large, empty sort of distant, room, finding himself, troubled, uneasy, anxious, stuck, trying to figure out the next plan. And as he scribbled, stared, thought, pondered, reflected, he would feel, his heart sink. Every victorious step, felt like an inch closer, closer to certain death. He knew that chances of winning against the White Lord was close to none; they were but a young kitten wandering into the mouth of a hungry serpent. And yet still, he would see the light of hope, of triumph, glitter so bright within the Tiger’s eyes. And his heart would beat, would race, would beat and he knew he had to weave their next victory-
               The Stray sighed. Once again he lowered his eyes back down at the piles of notes and letters and calculations scattered across his desk. He blinked at it. Nothing. He sighed again. It was time for a lonesome stroll, which will, hopefully, clear his mind from all his worries and stresses (though he’s have to come back to it later).
               High Town bears an odd eerie silence at night. Though the day did not darken at nightfall, Cruxio had a curfew imposed on his city anyways. No one dares stroll at these hours save the patrolling guards; who would greet the Stray with a subtle nod as they passed him. The Stray sang softly to the grey night sky, clearing his mind of his current troubles. Though he was not a religious man, he was rather fond of the Wanderer;
"To the lands he comes unseen like wind and early birds he sings. Cloaked in Secrets and Forest green, with his voice delight he brings.”
And as the Stray sang, he saw, in the corner of his eyes; a flutter of Forest green and a dull golden flow of hair;
"From the Mountains they say he comes yet no one’s certain where he’s from. He travels with the beat of drums with his Company free from glum.”
two blue crystals for eyes; the face of a Serpent; a strum of a lute; words that spoke
"They say he dances with the Gods. It’s hard to even find that odd for he is one with little flaws. His voice is heard all abroad.”
like distant ghosts;
"He comes and goes whatever time leaving behind blissful chimes. Deathless be his only crime yet everlasting only in rhymes.”

"Hello Mr. Luundim."

OF THE NOBLE STRAY.
The Holy Earth

145 After Dark
the 58th of Spring

               The Stray sat silently in his chambers. His mind felt numb from hours and hours pouring over numbers, over tactics, over cost, over possibilities, over odds, over everything, everything, everything. And now he stared blankly at the piles and piles and piles of papers of notes of letters of calculations scattered on his oversized desk in an unorganized organized way. He blinked at it dully, tired, weary, drained, and then, looked up from it and stared. The chamber offered to the Stray by the Tiger Prince was a little too big for his preferences. He had asked that the expensive Edeinian decors be removed, for they felt too alien for the Stray’s lowly canine tastes. But now the room sat a bit too barren for its unwelcoming spaciousness.

               Every dawn the Stray was always able to come up with some sort of plan, that would later bring about some sort of victory and hence some sort of celebration- And yet every dusk the Stray would sit at this very desk, in this rather large, empty sort of distant, room, finding himself, troubled, uneasy, anxious, stuck, trying to figure out the next plan. And as he scribbled, stared, thought, pondered, reflected, he would feel, his heart sink. Every victorious step, felt like an inch closer, closer to certain death. He knew that chances of winning against the White Lord was close to none; they were but a young kitten wandering into the mouth of a hungry serpent. And yet still, he would see the light of hope, of triumph, glitter so bright within the Tiger’s eyes. And his heart would beat, would race, would beat and he knew he had to weave their next victory-

               The Stray sighed. Once again he lowered his eyes back down at the piles of notes and letters and calculations scattered across his desk. He blinked at it. Nothing. He sighed again. It was time for a lonesome stroll, which will, hopefully, clear his mind from all his worries and stresses (though he’s have to come back to it later).

               High Town bears an odd eerie silence at night. Though the day did not darken at nightfall, Cruxio had a curfew imposed on his city anyways. No one dares stroll at these hours save the patrolling guards; who would greet the Stray with a subtle nod as they passed him. The Stray sang softly to the grey night sky, clearing his mind of his current troubles. Though he was not a religious man, he was rather fond of the Wanderer;

"To the lands he comes unseen
like wind and early birds he sings.
Cloaked in Secrets and Forest green,
with his voice delight he brings.”

And as the Stray sang, he saw, in the corner of his eyes; a flutter of Forest green and a dull golden flow of hair;

"From the Mountains they say he comes
yet no one’s certain where he’s from.
He travels with the beat of drums
with his Company free from glum.”

two blue crystals for eyes; the face of a Serpent; a strum of a lute; words that spoke

"They say he dances with the Gods.
It’s hard to even find that odd
for he is one with little flaws.
His voice is heard all abroad.”

like distant ghosts;

"He comes and goes whatever time
leaving behind blissful chimes.
Deathless be his only crime
yet everlasting only in rhymes.”

"Hello Mr. Luundim."

OF THE NOBLE STRAY. The Holy Earth
146 After Dark the 23rd of Winter
               Prince Cruxio was in a bad mood. A very, very bad mood. “You let the rebels live!?” his voice boomed across the hall as he raised from his throne.
               “They’re only children.” Doussa replied softly. He was already prepared for the worst. In his heart he knew there was no way this Tyrant Prince would let him off this one.
               “Children!?” Cruxio cried, pacing, around his throne. The frustration was crawling through his face. “Children with knives at my army’s throat.” He hissed, carefully pronouncing the words ‘knives’ and ‘my army’. The senior advisor opened his mouth nervously but he hadn’t the chance to answer. “Do you even understand the consequences of your actions!? Have you let your kindness blind you!?
               “Useless!!” And the hall was silent. “Take him away. I have no need for a strategist who harbours no results. Punish him for his ignorance.”
               The guards marched forth to the quiet man, grabbed him by the arms and began to lead him away. The Prince turned his gaze away from the scene.
               Silence, all but the sounds of marching footsteps. Away.
               “Wait.” Silence. The Prince turned his head, softly he said, “Don’t you have a son, Doussa Regmint? Who is turning six at the turn of Spring.”
               Silence. Doussa’s eyes turned wide. He screamed. Prince Cruxio did not hear his words.
               Take him away.
               …
               …
               Silence. The hall was silent.
              “I leave for just three seasons and I come back to this?” A familiar voice echoed across the hall. Fearless. “What a mess.”
               “You’re back!” Cruxio cried, his eyes wide with joy. Like a child.
               The Stray nodded, “Yes. I’m back.”
               Cruxio descended from his throne to meet the Stray.”Where the hell you’ve been?” he asked. “You just, suddenly took off!”
               “Yeah.” the Stray replied blandly, “I went to pray.”
               “To what?” the Prince frowned, confused. But he was not disappointed. He was never disappointed, not with the Stray.
               “To pray.” the Stray repeated himself.
               “But you’re not-“
               “I’m not religious.”
               The Stray did not bother to explain farther. He never did. It was slightly frustrating at times, but since he’s the Stray, it was alright. After all, it’s all about, results.
               The Stray looked the Prince in the eyes. “I got rid of those rebels.”
               The Prince smiled. Results.

OF THE NOBLE STRAY.
The Holy Earth

146 After Dark
the 23rd of Winter

               Prince Cruxio was in a bad mood. A very, very bad mood. “You let the rebels live!?” his voice boomed across the hall as he raised from his throne.

               “They’re only children.” Doussa replied softly. He was already prepared for the worst. In his heart he knew there was no way this Tyrant Prince would let him off this one.

               “Children!?” Cruxio cried, pacing, around his throne. The frustration was crawling through his face. “Children with knives at my army’s throat.” He hissed, carefully pronouncing the words ‘knives’ and ‘my army’. The senior advisor opened his mouth nervously but he hadn’t the chance to answer. “Do you even understand the consequences of your actions!? Have you let your kindness blind you!?

               “Useless!!” And the hall was silent. “Take him away. I have no need for a strategist who harbours no results. Punish him for his ignorance.”

               The guards marched forth to the quiet man, grabbed him by the arms and began to lead him away. The Prince turned his gaze away from the scene.

               Silence, all but the sounds of marching footsteps. Away.

               “Wait.” Silence. The Prince turned his head, softly he said, “Don’t you have a son, Doussa Regmint? Who is turning six at the turn of Spring.”

               Silence. Doussa’s eyes turned wide. He screamed. Prince Cruxio did not hear his words.

               Take him away.

               …

               …

               Silence. The hall was silent.

              “I leave for just three seasons and I come back to this?” A familiar voice echoed across the hall. Fearless. “What a mess.”

               “You’re back!” Cruxio cried, his eyes wide with joy. Like a child.

               The Stray nodded, “Yes. I’m back.”

               Cruxio descended from his throne to meet the Stray.”Where the hell you’ve been?” he asked. “You just, suddenly took off!”

               “Yeah.” the Stray replied blandly, “I went to pray.”

               “To what?” the Prince frowned, confused. But he was not disappointed. He was never disappointed, not with the Stray.

               “To pray.” the Stray repeated himself.

               “But you’re not-“

               “I’m not religious.”

               The Stray did not bother to explain farther. He never did. It was slightly frustrating at times, but since he’s the Stray, it was alright. After all, it’s all about, results.

               The Stray looked the Prince in the eyes. “I got rid of those rebels.”

               The Prince smiled. Results.

OF THE NOBLE STRAY. 
-The Holy Earth-139 After Darkthe 75th of Summer
 Quietly, he awaited in a lonely alleyway. The day was still fresh; the Stray was able to tell from the subtle change in the shade of grey in the clouds. There was no longer night or day now; no Sun to light the day nor Stars to brighten the night. The Stray was used to it. All his life he knew only the greyness of storm clouds that loomed the sky, and the blazing storms that fell with it from time to time. And though the storms may pass, the clouds will not; not until the White Lord descends the throne. But he will not; for he does not age, nor does he catch illness, nor can any of mortal status challenge him; for he now holds all the Magic that exists on the Holy Earth.
 The sky wasn’t the only thing that was grey. The entire town was grey. The inhabitants were Grey. Grey with suffering. Grey with fear. And though Riddsen might have been the safest place within the Empire it still wasn’t exactly that safe. Luckily the Stray was smart, smart enough to have taken every single, little, precautious step possible. And he knew he was the safest as safe can be. The rest was all up to luck really, and luck, is a very, very tricky thing. 
 And though the Stray was not far off from being a genius, he was a realistic man, and realistic men do not hope for unrealistic things. Unlike most of his peers, he did not fancy the tales of Viiron the Great, and the Glorious Empire from the time of his great-great-great(-great…?) grandfathers; when the Sun still glowed in the blue sky of day, and Yelende, the brightest Star still bore its shine. Many spoke fondly of times ages before their birth and silently whispered the coming of a Great Hero, a Great Triumph and a Great Salvation.
 But the Stray was no fool. He knew; there will be no Salvation, there will be no Triumph.
 There will come no Hero.
 And thus. He came.
 "You’re late. Your Highness." the Stray said, bitterly.
 The young Tiger Prince frowned, “Uh, yeah. Cruxio, just Cruxio is fine.”

OF THE NOBLE STRAY. 

-The Holy Earth-
139 After Dark
the 75th of Summer

Quietly, he awaited in a lonely alleyway. The day was still fresh; the Stray was able to tell from the subtle change in the shade of grey in the clouds. There was no longer night or day now; no Sun to light the day nor Stars to brighten the night. The Stray was used to it. All his life he knew only the greyness of storm clouds that loomed the sky, and the blazing storms that fell with it from time to time. And though the storms may pass, the clouds will not; not until the White Lord descends the throne. But he will not; for he does not age, nor does he catch illness, nor can any of mortal status challenge him; for he now holds all the Magic that exists on the Holy Earth.

The sky wasn’t the only thing that was grey. The entire town was grey. The inhabitants were Grey. Grey with suffering. Grey with fear. And though Riddsen might have been the safest place within the Empire it still wasn’t exactly that safe. Luckily the Stray was smart, smart enough to have taken every single, little, precautious step possible. And he knew he was the safest as safe can be. The rest was all up to luck really, and luck, is a very, very tricky thing. 

And though the Stray was not far off from being a genius, he was a realistic man, and realistic men do not hope for unrealistic things. Unlike most of his peers, he did not fancy the tales of Viiron the Great, and the Glorious Empire from the time of his great-great-great(-great…?) grandfathers; when the Sun still glowed in the blue sky of day, and Yelende, the brightest Star still bore its shine. Many spoke fondly of times ages before their birth and silently whispered the coming of a Great Hero, a Great Triumph and a Great Salvation.

But the Stray was no fool. He knew; there will be no Salvation, there will be no Triumph.

There will come no Hero.

And thus. He came.

"You’re late. Your Highness." the Stray said, bitterly.

The young Tiger Prince frowned, “Uh, yeah. Cruxio, just Cruxio is fine.”

OF THE LOST CHILD. 
The Wandering Snake is but a Fool, with royal blood who refuse to Rule. And still he seeks to this very day; the things he chose to cast away. The Hunting Eagle is but a Fool, with hands and eyes as killing tools. Cannot tell a gift from curse; in ignorance he remains immersed.
               The Lost Child looked down upon her work in satisfaction. However she was interrupted by a familiar voice.
               “It’s time to go, Little Miss.” The Butler said with a low bow.
               “Is that so, Mr. Luundim?” the Lost Child asked, turning around to face the Butler.
               “Yes, Little Miss.” The Butler answered. The Lost Child nodded and let out a small sigh as she closed the book. It was a little sooner than she expected…but there was no helping it. Life is difficult when you’re being pursued by Nameless Gods.
               (Unfortunately for the Lost Child, she did not Begin with the Snake nor the Huntress)

OF THE LOST CHILD. 

The Wandering Snake is but a Fool,
with royal blood who refuse to Rule.
And still he seeks to this very day;
the things he chose to cast away.

The Hunting Eagle is but a Fool,
with hands and eyes as killing tools.
Cannot tell a gift from curse;
in ignorance he remains immersed.

               The Lost Child looked down upon her work in satisfaction. However she was interrupted by a familiar voice.

               “It’s time to go, Little Miss.” The Butler said with a low bow.

               “Is that so, Mr. Luundim?” the Lost Child asked, turning around to face the Butler.

               “Yes, Little Miss.” The Butler answered. The Lost Child nodded and let out a small sigh as she closed the book. It was a little sooner than she expected…but there was no helping it. Life is difficult when you’re being pursued by Nameless Gods.

               (Unfortunately for the Lost Child, she did not Begin with the Snake nor the Huntress)

OF THE LOST CHILD.

             It’s hard, to tell a Tale that does not entail the mortal obsession commonly known as Time.

               It’s hard, to tell a Tale that exists separately, yet cannot be separated- from many others.   
So I supposed the only way, to tell such a tale, is to tell the many others, since there isn’t really a way to tell it otherwise.

               Though it continues to perplex me at which moment in the vastness of silly mortal ideas called Time and Space should I name the Beginning. I guess for one such as myself, the idea of a Beginning is still rather obscure. In the End, I guess that stories cannot be grasped with simple words. Emotions cannot be explained without being felt… Though it’d pain me for you to pass up on a Tale so grand.

               Oh? Am I the main character of this Tale? Oh my! Of Course Not! I am something like the… Useless Narrating Side Character- but not quite. You’ll come to understand, I’m sure.

               Now- where should I Begin? Was perhaps with the Snake? or was it with the Huntress?

               Oh my this is quite puzzling.