Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Blades: by Zack Luzader (free reads TXT) 📖
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gaurd and at the ready."
"Alright let us let them rest, they have to mend swiftly if they are to trained in time before adulthood."
Markas aknowledges as they leave and then shifts to his feet and stumbles up and over to the bed with his brother.
"Leo... Leo, are you awake" Markas shakes Leo back and forth, but he is not as attuned to magic and he is weaked by the teleportation spell. With a sigh, Leo runs to the door to peer through the key slot in the door's frame.
"Gather for me a set of adolesence sized gloves and fetch a torch-spell book from the greathall. I will be expecting them by mid-day."
A pawn salutes the man in robes and shouts "Yessir!"
The man's eyes slant as he detects the presence of unauthourized eyes watching him. He turns to the door and Markas and the man make eye contact and a voice shuttles through Markas' head. "You, how long have you been evesdropping?" The door telekinetically swings open and Markas falls to the ground on his knees and palms.
"It was nothing to big, honest! It was only some talk about my father being a... a Wrynn?"
"Aye, that was the last known pyromancer since the second age. If you are in fact his son, you are expected highly of. Oh, and if you dont think I can know everything you do, dont mess with a mage specifically trained in mind control and telekinesis."
"I heard something about training? How are we going to afford this bill?"
"You can afford it by saving the whole continent of Maricha when you become what you are meant to be! You will save it by being your father's son, a true hero, a Pyromancer!"
Startled, Markas shifts to his feet and notices the man in robes is the headmaster. "I never heard you name when we last met. If you don't mind me being nosey, what is it I may adress you by?" The man eyed Markas from Dirty bandana, to scruffy and old, worn leather kickers. "Names are unimportant, and that is why no one be I know my name. As long as you don't speak of it publically, call me Varehn."
Somehow, that name vaguelly sounded familiar to Markas, as if he had heard it before. Markas' eyes widened and his mouth opened. "You were there weren't you? It's a faint memory, but you were with the circle of magi at the castle when I was a baby!"
"Ah, so you trully are a mage, only a mage would have a memory like that. Remembering such a day at such a horrifically young age as well." Varehn took a seat. "Aye son, that was me, we had to hold a council on that day to understand the abrupt threat that had revealed itself. We had to council to find out where the orcs were venturing from." Pausing to think for a minute, Varehn asks "Do you remember your mother or your father?"
"No sir, only a small part of my infancy could be retained."
"So you remember nothing eh? It is quite a shame, your parents were great people. Hah, you even have your father's eyes."
The thought had just hit Markas that his biologically acclaimed father, Bard, was just a place holder for his real father. And like any good man or father would do, he died for his family, for Markas and Leo.
"Wait, so Bard and Jade weren't my real parents?!"
"No son, Wyrnn and Madison Fireshout are your real parents, and Leo, he isn't your blood brother, although you two should be you get along to well."
Markas was only twelve and he was taking in so much of his life story at once his little heart could burst at the seams, but he was couragious and strong willed, like his father.
"Infact, you have your father's eyes and his stout shoulders. You remind me so much of him when he was only fourteen and was first apprentice. He was the best damn one I've ever had and that's what I expect from you, the best.
Imprint
"Alright let us let them rest, they have to mend swiftly if they are to trained in time before adulthood."
Markas aknowledges as they leave and then shifts to his feet and stumbles up and over to the bed with his brother.
"Leo... Leo, are you awake" Markas shakes Leo back and forth, but he is not as attuned to magic and he is weaked by the teleportation spell. With a sigh, Leo runs to the door to peer through the key slot in the door's frame.
"Gather for me a set of adolesence sized gloves and fetch a torch-spell book from the greathall. I will be expecting them by mid-day."
A pawn salutes the man in robes and shouts "Yessir!"
The man's eyes slant as he detects the presence of unauthourized eyes watching him. He turns to the door and Markas and the man make eye contact and a voice shuttles through Markas' head. "You, how long have you been evesdropping?" The door telekinetically swings open and Markas falls to the ground on his knees and palms.
"It was nothing to big, honest! It was only some talk about my father being a... a Wrynn?"
"Aye, that was the last known pyromancer since the second age. If you are in fact his son, you are expected highly of. Oh, and if you dont think I can know everything you do, dont mess with a mage specifically trained in mind control and telekinesis."
"I heard something about training? How are we going to afford this bill?"
"You can afford it by saving the whole continent of Maricha when you become what you are meant to be! You will save it by being your father's son, a true hero, a Pyromancer!"
Startled, Markas shifts to his feet and notices the man in robes is the headmaster. "I never heard you name when we last met. If you don't mind me being nosey, what is it I may adress you by?" The man eyed Markas from Dirty bandana, to scruffy and old, worn leather kickers. "Names are unimportant, and that is why no one be I know my name. As long as you don't speak of it publically, call me Varehn."
Somehow, that name vaguelly sounded familiar to Markas, as if he had heard it before. Markas' eyes widened and his mouth opened. "You were there weren't you? It's a faint memory, but you were with the circle of magi at the castle when I was a baby!"
"Ah, so you trully are a mage, only a mage would have a memory like that. Remembering such a day at such a horrifically young age as well." Varehn took a seat. "Aye son, that was me, we had to hold a council on that day to understand the abrupt threat that had revealed itself. We had to council to find out where the orcs were venturing from." Pausing to think for a minute, Varehn asks "Do you remember your mother or your father?"
"No sir, only a small part of my infancy could be retained."
"So you remember nothing eh? It is quite a shame, your parents were great people. Hah, you even have your father's eyes."
The thought had just hit Markas that his biologically acclaimed father, Bard, was just a place holder for his real father. And like any good man or father would do, he died for his family, for Markas and Leo.
"Wait, so Bard and Jade weren't my real parents?!"
"No son, Wyrnn and Madison Fireshout are your real parents, and Leo, he isn't your blood brother, although you two should be you get along to well."
Markas was only twelve and he was taking in so much of his life story at once his little heart could burst at the seams, but he was couragious and strong willed, like his father.
"Infact, you have your father's eyes and his stout shoulders. You remind me so much of him when he was only fourteen and was first apprentice. He was the best damn one I've ever had and that's what I expect from you, the best.
Imprint
Text: None (my brain)
Images: google
Editing: Myself
Translation: Myslef
Publication Date: 04-21-2012
All Rights Reserved
Dedication:
This book and all the books after it are dedicated to Halie Rooks, and my love for dragons.
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