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I had seen the Smash Brothers series before, but I'd never played it. I thought the percentage thing was too weird for me. However, when my library hosted Smash Brothers gatherings and tournaments once a week for a few hours per time, I finally got the chance to play the new Smash Brothers Brawl. I immediately came to love it, but I was pretty bad at it. Luckily, an experienced played showed me the ropes and I slowly got better at the game. After around three months I had gotten pretty good at the game and I started beating my mentor with ease. He stopped coming, and I was generally the best player there. There were no real rules, sometime we would play with items, sometimes not, etc.

My skills got more and more refined, until it was generally accepted that I was unbeatable. I had bought the game myself and practiced for hours a day, constantly trying to improve. When ever I'd lose, I'd spend hours figuring out why, and how to prevent it from ever happening again. I could play and win as any character. Match types here were almost always a stock battle of five lives. Three more months passed, and I hadn't lost once. I'd reached a new peak of skill, or so I'd thought.

One day, an incredibly tall, polite guy came in for the first time. He brought his own Gamecube controller, like I did. Most serious Smash players use Gamecube controllers, so I put myself on guard, even though I was sure I'd beat him in seconds. However, the opposite happened. I lost, brutally, and quickly. And again. And again. Every match we were in, the last two players standing would be him and I.

I began to practice eight hours a day, though every week that passed, I would lose time and time again. This continued for months.... until I felt as though I reached a new peak. I slowly proved I was a greater challenge to him, and even though I still lost, I was making things harder for him. I continued down this road, until...

He stopped coming. With him gone, I rose to power again, however, the level of skill I had achieved to combat him equally was enough to devastate the rest of the crowd. None could as much as touch me, and a full year passed, and I hadn't lost a single match.

Just a bit past that year, it was that time of the week again. About ten minutes into the smashing, I saw a familiar figure standing in the doorway. He had returned, apparently finally having his Wednesday open again. The majority of the other Smashers quickly recognized him again and knew [&@%!] was about to go down. After the familiar sound of controller ports snapping into the Wii, the battle was on. After about 5 minutes of intensity, after five minutes of tense faces and a work-like full focus, and no one saying a word, the ending of the fight was at hand. I had, for the first time, won against him. After such a feat, we wanted a rematch, again and again. I won repeatedly, my skills reaching the very stars. After the seventh or so fight, I heard a voice behind me.

"Are you even having fun anymore?"

The voice had come from a girl named Kristin, someone who was a frequent of the gatherings. I paused for a moment and actually thought about the question. In my self righteous journey to be the very best, and my seriousness towards that journey, was I actually having fun? I didn't say anything for a moment than said, "That's a good question..." A bit later on, I saw that she really had a point. At this point I was almost treating this like a job. This mountain I had spent so long climbing turned out to not to be worth the effort and time. From there onwards, I took a much more light hearted approach to competitive video games. I've fallen off my great height, and if you were to play against me now, you would never guess I was once at the very highest of the pantheon of greats.



And now, everyone talks about professional gaming. Do I like it, you ask?

No, I don't. People, in their seriousness and desire to be the best, have forgotten that video games were meant to be fun, not a job that you stress over. I'm not a fan of this MLG, because I just like to play video games to have fun. And that's just the way I like it.

Moved from GD when I realised this thread existed.

In one or two days, it shall be the first of... the next month. On the tenth of said month, the Elder Scrolls Anthology comes out. The Elder Scrolls is one of my favourite series and given the fact that one may never have another opportunity to celebrate like this again (until the next single player Elder Scrolls game comes out) I thought that for the next ten days I would write a few blogs all about the series. I'll start off telling you a story I've already told you 15 times like an senile oldster.







I was at a Gamestop buying Ratchet and Clank: Tools of Destruction for my PS3 when a Gamestop employee asked me if I was looking forward to 'Skyrim'. I, not knowing what that was, said 'Noe'. A week or two later I saw a Gamespot article shamelessly gushing about some some kind preview they saw of it, or some such. I watched for a second, but, as I stated in the comments, MMOs weren't really for me. Within seconds someone with a duck avatar told me that 'The Elder Scrolls is single player, not an MMO, have you been living under a rock?'

A month later, my Gameinformer came in the mail and had an eight page feature on the upcoming Skyrim. Reading it and looking at the pictures, I really blown away. I hadn't ever seen a game with this much freedom before. Also, as a big fan of high fantasy, I really loved the setting and atmosphere.

My curiosity evolved into hype, evolved into me getting the game as soon as humanly possible for my PS3. In February of 2012 I had Skyrim. I faked being sick to get out of school (Yes, yes, that was wrong) and I immediately started the game. It took a couple of seconds for the game to completely entrall me. Skyrim became one of the biggest gaming addictions I've ever had, playing roughly 8 hours a day, every day, for weeks. This game is, without a doubt, in the top five games that have had such a resounding impact on me.







Now, with the Anthology collection, I have the chance to play Skyrim again, this time with the expansions. It's been a long time since I've played Skyrim last, but, as the friendly guard in Morrowind said, 'I'm sure you'll fit right in.' However, my fun won't end with the expansions. A young Elder Scrolls fan created a mod called 'Falskaar'. This mod is 1/3 the size of Skyrim and looks stunning.

I am an Argonian. I hatched in Water's Edge on 3 Hearthfire 5E 125.

Soon after I hatched, my parents moved to the Imperial City. As a hatchling, I always wanted to be a mage. I loved to watch the mages at the Arcane University, so much that in 5E 142 I decided to attend there. I was a failure. I couldn't even cast the simplest spells. I left the University the next year. Just after I left, I encountered a fellow Argonian. His name was Teegla-Jee. He said he was going to join the Imperial Legion to fight off the invading Necromancer army. He convinced me to join up too. Weeks passed during training. Once we were ready to fight, I fell ill with Ataxia. The Legion told me I was too ill to fight, so they sent me home.

In 5E 143 I got a job at the Waterfront District docks. I worked there for only a few months, until my boss saw I had Ataxia. He was a kind man, but the one thing he hated was Ataxia.
He fired me, leaving me no choice but to go find another job.

I tried alchemy. I cured my Ataxia, but I couldn't improve my skills much more. However it left me with two things to brag about, I met the Emperor , and I survived Ataxia.

In 5E 150, after searching for a job for years, only getting septims from fishing, I decided the Imperial City was no place for me. It was a bad idea. Only one week after living there, I was robbed by the Thieves Guild. They took most of my gold, leaving only 38 Septims.

After that, I found a job there. Picks-Up-Leaves was the owner of the Riften Docks. He hired me (possibly because he was an Argonian too). It paid relatively well, gaining at least 50 septims monthly.

I have since forgot about the Thieves Guild incident, and have met several people, whom I have become friends with.

And so that ends my story for now. Not much has changed since then, and I hope all future change is for the better.

Book II
First emerged from the Night, Andain, took up his Cleaver, standing Vigilant of Cadin, the First Rift keystone.

First emerged from the Light, Lythus, looked into Andain and said “I am the Beginner, the Board, the Ender. Look to me for Truth.”

Andain looked through her and said “I am the Destroyer, the Watchman, the Firstfruit. Look to me for Peace.”

Lythus peered to the Light: “Here I make my Home, built of Heart and Stone,
for Men to gaze
and Hounds to praise.”

Andain peered to the Dark: “The Current I make my Home, built of Brawn and Salt,
for Gods to fear
and Heroes to leer.”

"Commander! Shepard!" The normandy exploded after the unknown vessel was finished attacking it. Samatha Shepard was caught in the explosion but had saved Joker by hitting the button to his escape pod. Her suit was punctured and air was rapidly leaking out of her N7 armour. She clutched her throat as she started to suffocate and panic overtook her. Samatha Shepard, the women that took down Saren and his Geth was killed in action but she wasn't always a hero. No, for she was just an average women like the rest before that fateful day on Mindoir when Slavers killed everyone on the colony apart from her.

I remember my thoughts when I first saw Khalid and Jaheira. Two half-elves like I, a sniveling false-knight and his [&@%!] of a wife; I could scarcely believe them to be the friends Gorion spoke so highly of.

It took little more than a week of traveling with them to change my foolish opinion of them. Though he seemed cowardly, Khalid fought with a fervor I have never seen, and held his shield with pride. His stuttering and gentle nature hide a great protector, someone I could truly rely on.

And Jaheira… Jaheira was definitely quite a difficult one to deal with. True to her druidic nature, there is much that bothers her about civilization. We could scarcely enter a town without her cursing the buildings and roads, citing them as blights upon the earth. She seems to be constantly annoyed, and she very well may be; but it is all with good purpose. When in battle she swings her staff like a woman possessed, and her concerns for the betterment of the group are always voiced whether we like it or not. Sometimes her harsh opinions have merit and are oft better than any I can think of.

I am glad to have them at my side.

__

The group of adventurers led by Arathir hit the road by morning, with the newly inducted Khalid and Jaheira in tow. The bard was beginning to doubt his decision in welcoming Xzar and Montaron; Xzar’s babblings were growing more frequent and grotesque; one of his comments about ripping an elf’s eye out so he could gain their ability of infravision nearly set Jaheira off, but she was quickly calmed by Khalid’s touch on her shoulder.

It was only the mutual desire to reach Nashkel that kept the group together, and Arathir doubted that desire would be enough in the long run.

Near the end of their first, uneventful day of walking south, Imoen requested that they stop and rest. Arathir agreed, as the sun was setting and it would be foolhardy to continue through the forests at night, despite Jaheira’s attunement with nature.

A fire was stoked and darkness fell. Jaheira volunteered for first watch, mostly out of wanting to keep Xzar and Montaron away from positions of responsibility.

Imoen slept outside of the tent, more comfortable outside by the fire. Arathir couldn’t sleep, and chose to stay beside the fire as well with his harp drawn, soft notes accompanying the crackle of the fire.

After a few hours, Jaheira’s turn at watch was near an end. Khalid emerged from the tent, sword and shield strapped on his back and ready to take his turn.

“Still h-haven’t gotten to bed?” Khalid asked, portraying his characteristic stutter.

Arathir shook his head. “Too much to think about.”

“I can but imagine.” Khalid replied, taking a seat by the fire. “But that is why Jaheira and I are here. You can rest assured that we shall let no harm c-come upon you. We owe Gorion that much.”

“How did you know Gorion, Khalid?” Arathir questioned. “You and Jaheira both, I mean.”

“Well, s-suffice to say that we had friends in high places. Gorion was a friend on many an adventure.” Khalid answered. Arathir could tell he was hiding something.

“You’re Harpers, aren’t you?” Arathir asked.

Khalid blinked and looked at the bard. “Eh… wh-wha?”

“Gorion had many stories of the Harpers. It wasn’t hard to tell that he was one of them.” Arathir answered, staring into the fires. “He never confirmed or denied anything, but it was easy enough to figure it out on my own. That’s how he knows you, yes?”

“W-well… Yes, I will admit.” Khalid answered after a pause. “Yes, Jaheira, myself and Gorion worked together as Harpers. I would prefer you not speak of such… Especially around our fellow traveling companions.”

“Xzar and Montaron?” Arathir asked.

“Yes. J-Jaheira and I are suspect to their motives… we are unsure of their allegiances.”

“They seem harmless enough.”

“Be that as it may…” Khalid said, in a hushed tone. “We know nothing of w-why they would benefit from investigating the shortage unless they are in direct emp-ployment of some other organization. And they are definitely not of the Harpers.”

“I figured something was up… But I didn’t think they were using me like that.” Arathir said, a bit shocked and irritated that he hadn’t thought of that sooner.

“To the c-contrary, I do not doubt their desire for help was genuine.” Khalid corrected. “But their motives remain under question. Jaheira and I shall c-continue to k-keep watch and examine their actions. Should we see evidence that they serve some malicious organization, well…”

“I understand. And I appreciate it, Khalid.” Arathir said. “I was just… desperate for help, I suppose.”

”It is smart to surround oneself with allies, of that there is no doubt.” Khalid agreed with a smile. “You are not to blame.”

Arathir was about to respond when he saw something shift in his peripheral vision. As a half-elf he could see relatively well in the dark, but it was Jaheira moving that caught his attention, not something hidden in the shadow of the forest.

“Make ready!” Jaheira called, standing upon the rock she had chosen as her perch and raising her quarterstaff. “We are set upon!”

Arathir and Khalid stood immediately, and Xzar and Montaron emerged from their tent with alarmed looks on their recently-awakened faces.

Imoen yawned and slowly rose from the ground. “Time to move?” she asked, looking around. Before she could blink, an arrow flew from the dark and hit her in the shoulder, causing her to gasp and fall to the ground.

”Imoen!” Arathir shouted, drawing his blades and twirling around to see what was ambushing them.

Jaheira leapt off her rock and dashed over back to the group, holding her staff at the ready. “Brigands, no doubt.” She deduced, her gaze turning to Imoen. “Damn it! Focus on the enemy, I will tend to her!”

Khalid nodded and turned to the direction where the arrow came from, raising his shield to block another incoming arrow just in time. The impact left a bit of a sickly-looking liquid on the face of Khalid’s shield. The arrows were poisoned.

“They’re poisoned, Jaheira! Can you get it out of her?” Arathir asked, flinging a chromatic orb spell at one of the incoming bandits.

“I can try! Focus, Arathir!” Jaheira shouted, kneeling by Imoen. The young thief laid on the ground, gasping for air and clutching at her shoulder where the arrow was embedded.

“And the rivers run red!” Montaron shouted, wading into the thick of combat. He swung low, his blade ripping through a bandit’s leg like butter. His diminutive stature made him a difficult target for the poisoned arrows of the bandits.

Xzar stood by the fire and muttered an incantation, cackling madly as he gathered a ball of red energy in his hands. With a shout of the final word in the spell, the ball flew forward from the mad mage’s hands and burst in front of the eyes of the bandits. To the members of Arathir’s party, the ball simply burst into a flash, but to the bandits, they saw a horrifying face accompanied by a blood-curdling scream, sending several of the weaker-willed bandits into a panic and causing discord among their ranks.

Khalid and Arathir moved forward to join Montaron in the melee. Arathir was surprised by Khalid’s capacity in battle; the normally cowardly fighter bravely waded forth with shield raised high, slicing through the leather armor of the bandits with his [&@%!] sword.

Arathir followed suit and fell into an offensive spin, twirling his blades at a quick pace; too quick for the bandits to retaliate. Within moments two of the panicking bandits laid dead at his feet.

“Hold on, child! Be still!” Jaheira shouted, having trouble with keeping Imoen still. She couldn’t blame her; poison was a painful experience, especially for one who had never been struck by it before. Jaheira first pressed on Imoen’s shoulder for leverage, and quickly ripped the arrow out of Imoen’s shoulder. Imoen screamed for a moment, but fell back into her quick gasps. The druid then waved her hands in circular motions to concentrate the effects of her healing magics, but the poison in Imoen’s system was powerful.

“I feel so… c-cold…” Imoen managed to gasp, twitching. Jaheira cursed herself for not memorizing her poison-slowing spell the night before.

With the last of the bandits defeated, Arathir rushed back to Imoen and knelt by her as Jaheira continued to try and work her magics. “Khalid! Check the bodies for antidotes!” she commanded, not looking away. “Halfling, wizard, you as well!”

Khalid rushed over and knelt by the corpses, rifling through their pockets and bags. Xzar and Montaron did the same, though at a slower pace.

At last Khalid was able to locate a green bottle, labeled with a crossed-out skull. Taking it back, Jaheira motioned for him to hand it to Arathir.

Arathir took it and uncorked it. “Pour it on the wound!” Jaheira commanded, ripping away the cloth on Imoen’s shoulder. Arathir obeyed and poured the clear liquid over Imoen’s shoulder, and Jaheira followed with another spell of healing to completely seal the wound.

At last Imoen’s breathing slowed to normal, and her pained expression faded to that of exhaustion. “I… Th-thank you, Jaheira…”

“You are lucky, child.” Jaheira said, standing. “Had I not been here you would have passed on. This is not the place for one such as you.”

Imoen raised an eyebrow. “Pardon? I was taken by surprise, m-mind you.” She argued, slowly sitting up. “And… don’t call me child. I’m not much younger than Arathir.”

“If you continue to be a liability, then I will not be able to guarantee your safety, child.” Jaheira responded coldly.

“Jaheira! Please.” Arathir shot out, looking at the druid. “That’s enough. I want Imoen here.”

Jaheira raised her eyebrow. “Very well. But make note to take any other antidotes any of the bandits may have been carrying, to ensure that this does not happen again.” With that being said, Jaheira turned and went to her tent. “It has been a difficult night… Rest would be appreciated. Should you need me, wake me.”

Khalid looked at Arathir and Imoen. “I know she can be… c-confrontational, but she means well. She only c-cares for your safety.”

Imoen sighed. “I’ll try not to such a burden from now on.”

Khalid patted her unharmed shoulder and made his way to the lookout rock, sitting with a book in hand.

“Maybe she’s right.” Imoen sighed, looking down.

“If you hadn’t killed that gibberling I wouldn’t have even made it past the forests outside of Candlekeep.” Arathir told her. “Don’t forget that.”

Imoen rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Y’er just buffle-headed.” She said, her normal tone of voice returning. “Next time we get attacked, I’ll be puttin’ an arrow in their gullet for sure.”

“Just promise me you’ll sleep in the tents from now on.” Arathir said, looking into Imoen’s eyes.

The thief nodded solemnly. “Yeah, yeah.”

Xzar and Montaron were slow to return to their tents, as they had been inspecting the bodies of the bandits.

“Be they agents of the great unseeing eye, perhaps? Hunters in search of my prized fava beans?” Xzar asked.

“Sometimes I wonder if ye’d be more tactful if y’er head were separated from y’er shoulders, wizard. They be bandits preying on iron traders from Amn, no doubt.” Montaron answered, sheathing his bloodstained blade. “Attackin’ the iron caravans.”

“Be that what we seek?” Xzar asked, twirling a dagger among his fingers.

“Aye, I’d wager it. Be best to get to Nashkel before the opportunity to find out passes o’er our heads. Well, my head.”

“Oh Monty, if you love me you need only say so.” Xzar said, heading back to the tent.

“Ye be temptin’ my blade, necromancer. Ye already be disturbed, ye need not push y’er madness on me. Y’er company’s toil enough as it is.” The Halfling muttered as he entered his tent.

Arathir was seriously doubting the advantages to keeping Xzar and Montaron around, but while they were on the road, they would need as much help as possible. He would be able to dismiss them when they came across a town, perhaps, and hopefully they would not turn on him for doing so.

Prologue – The musings of a killer
It was a cold October night in London, in the year 1837. The day was done, there was barely anybody around. This was perfect for the figure in the alleyway, he’d been trailing this serving girl for twenty minutes, he reckoned. However, he had never learnt to count or read time, but always relied on his own sense. He’d seen her leaving her parents’ home from the rooftops. He had a personal hatred for people who saw their parents often; they reminded him that he couldn’t remember his own origins. He didn’t even know if he had ever had parents. As strange as it sounded, it could have been entirely possible. He’d always been different, he was a freak. He could pass as normal, walk amongst the people of London like one of their own, but there were never any real similarities. The girl was passing by the alleyway, now was the perfect time. He stepped forward into the light of a nearby streetlamp.
The girl was tired; she was never short of chores as a servant of one of the wealthier class. Even so, she was shocked when this strange figure stepped out in front of her. He was tall, not abnormally so but above most people. He wore a tattered black coat and ragged white shirt, ripped at the edges in places with a few holes also. He wore a top hat in a similar state. His black hair was horribly greasy, his face smeared with dirt. And he stank, it was overpowering, it was like a corpse that had been left for a few days. His eyes were the most troubling. They were a strange yellow, like a wild animal’s. They were looking directly at her, and were full of hunger.
He stepped forward and smiled, his teeth were black and unnaturally sharp. He leapt at her and began raking his hands, his claws, across her body; her clothes and skin were torn to pieces and there was blood everywhere. She attempted to flee, but the figure somersaulted over her and landed right in her path of escape. Then, he jumped and spat at her. The “Spit” burnt her face and hurt her eyes, and it looked like there was a great fire all around her. The figure was jumping around her, off the walls, over her head, and she could see that he was spitting blue flames! He was enjoying himself by now, tormenting this girl. He circled her, spitting his flames around. She was terrified. And then she did the last thing he had wanted her to do. She screamed.
The man stopped and looked at her. He could hear people getting closer, her scream had been heard. He punched her square in the face, nothing fancy, but it knocked her out cold. He saw another man running towards him, he snarled and jumped. He jumped up higher than any man could possibly reach. He landed perfectly on the rooftop above the street. The man, as well as many people who’d gathered around the girl, stared at him incredulously. He tipped his hat to them and leapt across the rooftops, away from the street. London was his at night, nothing could catch him here and he knew it. He leapt from roof to roof, finally stopping above a large chimney. He could smell them within, a wealthy family, with many servants for dessert he thought. He’d been denied his supper that night already, and was hungry. He looked out across the city skyline, letting the moonlight show his face. His pale skin glowed in the light. He grinned as he thought of food, and leapt down the chimney.

* * *
There was a wet slap as he dropped the girl’s corpse onto the damp floor of the sewer. He’d have to enjoy her later, the sun would soon rise, and he was in the mood for a nice rest, an entire house in one night, his record yet. He’d then hidden the bodies, they would have simply disappeared. He tidied the house up, made it look un-inhabited though. Between that and the little rumour he spread, the people would believe that the family had simply moved away. Perfect.
“All up there in their sunlight, eating working eating working sleeping and eating and growing fat, so hungry, find the ones who know, find them find them find them. They know! They must! I don’t! I should! Why! I know this city! It is mine!” The words were spat and echoed amongst the tunnels. No one would ever hear, he was deep, at the lowest part of the city that belonged to the men. The sunlight couldn’t hurt him here. The blackness was his; it was his shroud, his comfort and his retreat. He could see what the others couldn’t here. Yet there was one thing he could never retreat from, his true enemy, the greatest question he could ever ask: Who was he?
He knew nothing about his origins; he knew he was old, very old. The last century or so he could remember well, but beyond that was misty, an occasional memory, but nothing he could understand or interpret. He was infuriated with this, but he was not lacking in hope. He had one memory, something still clear from long ago. “They know, they know” he whispered to the darkness. Someone knew. He didn’t know, but someone else did, someone like him. They’d told him that they knew. He couldn’t remember them, what they looked like, their name, nothing. But he was still going in the hope that someone knew who he was. He would sleep now; it was all out of him, his pain. He was in the mood for celebration, a whole family in one night. He’d eaten enough, time for some mischief.
***
Another cold night, he always wondered why people were so afraid of cold nights. The wind howled, the cold bit into his skin, the rain battered him and trees groaned. It was truly wonderful. But of course it meant no one was out, which for him, was an annoyance. He didn’t want a meal, just some fun. That’s why he was waiting for the carriage that was on the way to London, the coachman had been travelling for a while in the foul weather, was irritable and neglected to notice the tall man in a tattered suit following the carriage . The driver looked sober enough, this would be fun, and he’d been looking for a little attention. As soon as the driver was near, he jumped out and kicked the coachman with both legs. He heard several bones get crushed, and smiled. He spat his flames at the horses, panicking them and sending the carriage off road. The horses freed themselves, with some effort and a little blood, and ran, mouths foaming, into the dark night. The coachman hit the road with a hard crack and didn’t move again. There was movement coming from the carriage that was now on its side, half fallen into the nearby hedge, and two men clambered out. He laughed, our little monster. They ran at him, while another man, who was climbing out from the carriage screamed for a constable. He looked at them, observing, and jumped many feet into the air, over a wall, cackling and babbling, spitting blue flames into the night. A crowd gathered and they attempted to follow the assailant, but it was impossible, he’d vanished without a trace
He walked amongst them the next day, the news of his attack had spread. “Spring heeled Jack” they were calling him. He liked it. From now onward he would be known as Jack. Spring Heeled Jack.

Back when the forest was new, there was a farmer named Eddie. Eddie was a genius with farming equipment. He however, loathed math, just like you and I. His farm was on the smaller side, at about 5 acres, with most of the farm surrounded by the forest. But on one side there was a tiny town and a handful of other farms. It was 1934 when Eddie bought the farm from his father, who wished to move to the city to start a business. For years Eddie worked as hard as he could, making small pay, but it was enough to feed himself, and his wife, Penny. But in 1938 something queer happened. Eddie was sleeping one night, when he dreamt of a man wearing a white suit. The man refused to tell Eddie his name, but he told Eddie that he should work on the farm, and specifically, dig a large area out on an unused field. Upon waking, Eddie thought deeply about the subject of his slumber, and told Penny about his dream.

Later that day, Eddie decided to dig in the field as the man said. He got a plow, and began to plow the field. After plowing away most of the field, he found nothing spectacular. Dissapointed, Eddie left the field alone for a few months.

In August of that year, Eddie had the same dream again. However, this time, the man in the white suit told Eddie more about the field. He told Eddie that the field has many secrets, that Eddie would discover, once he digs the field down about a floor. Eddie woke, to find himself in the field. He noticed he couldn't move. It appeared to be around midnight. Near him, was a man wearing a white suit. His face was covered by the shadow cast by his hat. He was wearing white gloves, and on he feet he was wearing a pear of spectator shoes. The man told Eddie, that he was the man from his dream, and that Eddie would receive the proper tools in the day. After the encounter, Eddie closed his eyes. He felt a jerk in his feet, and quickly opened his eyes. It was morning; he was in his bed. He got dressed, and walked downstairs into his kitchen. Something caught his eyes outside a window. It was a crate of farming tools, and an excavator. The man in the white suit had sent them. As he saw them, he heard a
voice in his head. It resembled the man in the white suit's voice, and it told him he must dig the field.

Doing as the man said, Eddie went straight to the field after telling Penny about the man again, and began to use the excavator and the other tools. Penny also helped him dig away the field. After digging for about seven hours, they found something. It was a mass gravesite. All the people looked either exactly like Eddie, or Penny, right down to their clothing. Staring for a few minutes, Eddie told Penny to go back to the house and call the police. Just seconds after Penny entered the house, Eddie saw something which made him feel like his heart was going to fall out of his chest. The people's eyes opened. They began to move, slowly crawling towards Eddie. However, once they reached him, they dissapeared. The man in the white suit contacted Eddie once more. He told Eddie not to fear what he just saw. They represented each day that they put off excavating the field. He told Eddie something that he had been meaning to tell him for ages. The man in the white suit told Eddie that he was his Father. He also told Eddie to dig just a bit deeper, and perhaps he would discover something that would save the world.

Eddie quickly ran to his house, got Penny, and told her to stop calling the police, and come back to the field with him. Once reaching the field, Eddie and Penny started excavating the field again. After digging for another seven hours, they found it. They found a small piece of paper, it was written by his father, and it was old. It appeared to be ancient, yet what it said seemed related to Eddie's father selling the farm to him, and starting a business. It said that Eddie's father was his guardian angel, and that he was really leaving to go and protect Eddie. Oddly enough, Penny found something even more intriguing. It was a gilded globe, which predicted the future. It showed a war, it showed Eddie, it showed Eddie going to fight in that war, it showed Eddie surviving. However, it showed Eddie disappearing in the late 1960's. But just before disappearing, it showed Eddie selling the farm. However, it showed Eddie becoming a guardian angel after disappearing, just like his father. Shocked, Penny showed Eddie the globe. Eddie looked at the globe, and rather than being stunned, he merely stared at it. He told Penny that it was his globe he had as a kid, and that he saw nothing predicting the future, but he had a strange feeling when he held it, and he heard his father speaking to him. He said that his father told him that he musn't tell anyone about what he said, not even his wife. But he told Penny that he may tell her one thing, but she must not tell anyone else. He told her that he was going to become his son's guardian angel in the late 1960's, but first he would have to dissapear. Penny told Eddie that she knew that already.

Daydreamer
Chapter 1: Visions

The dragon swooped down, crashing onto the trees ahead of me. The bird fluttered down, landing lightly on the branch ahead of me. People ran, screaming. The people walked by, almost automatically. A great warrior, upon his steed, thundered by. The bus trawled past, stopping at the traffic lights. I strode along the rocks, shield held high to protect me from the blaze of the dragon’s breath. I trudged along the concrete pavement, my umbrella doing a poor job of keeping the rain off.

I glanced at my watch, damn it, I was late, Again, I thought to myself. It hadn’t been my fault of course, the bus was late showing up, and then it had taken a detour due to a “Serious traffic jam”. It’s never your fault is it? There’s always something, you’re barely adequate for anything, should have bought a return ticket, they’ll probably sack you once you arrive, bleak thoughts rushed through me like wildfire. “Shut up, just shut up” I whispered to no one in particular. I didn’t have an alter ego or anything, no one was talking, it was just me. That was the point, I was just normal, I was just a face. I was barely noticeable; I was so disposable you could just throw me away. I still couldn’t tell if I was upset or glad about it.

The grey walls of the fortress loomed above me. I forced myself to look up at the dull grey building that I call ‘Work’. It was nothing important, a small shop; I just cleaned floors and occasionally stood at the till. Minimum wage, of course. I stepped through the great gates into the throne room, Generals and Kings knelt before me, my throne awaited. I opened the door, tripping on a loose tile, the guy at the till glanced at me and went back to checking the temperatures on the fridges.

I lightly pushed the great oak door aside, the court erupted into a murmur, discussing this testament to my strength. I gave the door to the back room a sharp kick, hurting my toe. Walking up to the toilet, which was there for staff, I saw my face in the mirror above the sink. My majestic form was a bit too big for the mirror, but my black, wavy hair was just visible, coming down to my shoulders, passing my beard. My face was pale, making my piercing blue eyes stand out. My dark brown, curly hair was messy from sleeping, my face was pale, making the dark rings around my eyes stand out. My glasses were reflecting the light.

I washed my hands, goodness know what people have on their hands when they touch the hand-bars on the tube trains, and set about to work, sorting out stock in the store room, putting it where it should be. I pushed my hands against the wave, pushing it back, removing the blood from my hands. “Hey, uh, can you just give me a hand here? Cereal needs restocking” I half turned, there wasn’t really much point, since it could only be the guy at the till, Rob or Adam or something.

“Sure, I’ll just put my coat up and get to it” I replied, doing exactly that. Never did understand why Cereal boxes had to look so stupidly bright and exaggerated. If they’re trying to get kids to eat them, wouldn’t the kids be more worried about the food? And why do I care? You get to think about these things when you’re left alone. I just sort of keep going, thinking my thoughts, and I come out of the trance and everything I should have done is done.

I didn’t exactly work at the most interesting place, obviously. I didn’t work with the greatest of people. There weren’t any views or anything like that. There were, in essence, no advantages at all. And that’s the perfection of it all, the normalness. People out there say ‘Normal’ doesn’t exist, but they haven’t seen the routine of it all, the monotonous cycle, never changing, the same people, and the same problems. It was normal.

People were normal, for example, being predictable, and I was no different. I was always here and there, at this time, give or take 10 minutes. There was the guy at the till, John or George or whatever. He was always here before me, he always left before me. Always went to the same pub with the same guy. It just doesn’t change. I didn’t enjoy it, on the contrary, I hated it, but the normality of it was safe. Mindless zombies don’t exactly have much to worry about. But I wanted something more; something within me was telling me I was made for better. It wasn’t that I’d done my 18 years of school only to end up here, it wasn’t that I’d gone to all the effort of fitting in, trying to indoctrinate myself into thinking this was where I was supposed to be, why? Because I was placed here? I was under the impression that it was my choice. It was an underlying force, a subtle hint that said this wasn’t right, there’s a lot missing here. It takes it out of you.