The Long Tale No. 30 - Nature's Duel

The two duelers jumped and danced their way through the battle, trading blows and experience in equal measure. The girl grabbed the ground and launched a flurry of stones at her opponent which he himself froze with a stare. They dropped to the ground and shattered before his feet. The man nodded in approval at this display and motioned for the two to carry on. The girl formed a platform from the body of the mountain and rode it across to the boy, punching him in the chest with a stony fist. The boy was flung into the nearby lake... 

The Long Tale No. 29 - A Fight for the Air

The jet rushed overhead, its engines screaming as it was tested to the limit. Its missiles were primed and aimed at the great tongue of crimson flame erupting in the distance. It fired. The missiles screeched across the sky and met their target, exploding in a blackened plume that dirtied the pure crimson. The man watched in fear as a great beast shot from the smoke and plunged its talons feet into the body of the jet, tearing it from the sky. But the pilot within was not done yet and shot the great creature in its knowledge filled eye...

The Long Tale No. 28 - Footprints of Memories

The man ran. He didn't know from what or where to, only that he was running. Each step pounded a memory into the ground, each footprint a voice from the past. A fire; raging among the trees. A shadow; creeping along the ground with malicious intent. A young girl; whispering ghosts from her mind. An older boy; a king atop his riches. And, finally, the man, hiding among the shadows that the fire sought to destroy. Tap, tap, tap. His pace was a beat to demise. The eyes watched as he leaped over a crevice, flames raging through his mind. 

The Long Tale No. 27 - The Steps

The trek was long and arduous, the steps steep and endless. Many posts littered the path, each a testament to the failures of the previous challenger. Many had fallen and many steps had been climbed but none had yet reached the top of the hardship. This time it was the man's turn and he was determined not to fail. For failure meant a continuation of the purgatory he faced. Climb and fall, climb and fall, forever. His post was not yet placed but he was certain that its time was near. There were not many more chances. He tried again. 

The Long Tale No. 26 - The Coffin

The room was void of life, bare-boned and empty. The cramped area made it into a coffin, the sharp corners the nails. The only furnishings were a tiny, barred window and solid wooden door. There was no light but that from the sun, stars and moon. The man sat, back against the wall, as stiff as the stone below him. The walls were straight and seemed to entrap whoever say inside, forbidding their escape with their gravel gaze and twilight skin. No insects dare tread on the flagstone and no birdsong ever reached the occupants' ears. The coffin sat, dead.

The Long Tale No. 25 - Watching Eyes

The stars were watchful eyes from the heavens, looking down upon the world with the experience of a thousand ages. Each speck was a story, each ray of light a teller. The light fell upon the world and told a tale of war and strife, life and death. They lit the skies with a fiery brilliance that was lost to the distant void leaving only sparks and embers. The man looked up at these eyes and vied for their knowledge and views, their experience and protection. But stars are impartial in the matters of others. Impartial but always there. Watching.

The Long Tale No. 24 - The Dragon

The dragon stood, staring at the man with a ferocious glare. The great eye contained the knowledge of thousand men and its spear like talons held the ground with the might of a mountain. Its huge maw snarled open to reveal long curved razors and a stream of crimson flame leaked out between its lips. The beast's wings unfurled and buffeted the man with the force of a hurricane before the creature lifted itself up and took flight. It could have flown to the stars and back in but a few flaps of its mighty wings. But, instead, it stayed.

The Long Tale No. 23 - The Watchful Moon

The moon shone like a silver coin on top a velvet cloth. Full in its brilliance, it's light enveloping the Earth in a cold embrace. The man stood facing the cold, dead flame, the light glistening in his tears. Clouds dare not touch it for fear of eradication and no bird nor other flying creature soared over its pale face. Craters had been shot into its face and great seas of deep grey poured from the wounds. The waters of the Earth felt its strong pull and moved towards it only to rush away again, waving at their distant onlooker. 

The Long Tale No. 22 - The Box

The box sat forlornly on the desktop, silently waiting for someone, anyone to open it. Or was that reopen it? For, you see, the man had left the box for so long, so very many years, that it had forgotten whether it had once been open at all, never mind what its contents was. There were only two things that the box was certain of. That its contents was important or otherwise the man wouldn't have hidden it so well. And that the man would one day return to seek what he had once hidden. And, so, the box waited. 

The Long Tale No. 21 - The Changing Wind

The snow fell like spiralling feathers. They formed a soft, white blanket upon the ground which seemed to block out all sounds, movements and emotion from the area. It was just... Still. The man sat in the midst of it all, the dancing angels gently kissing his cheeks before settling around him. The air was crisp and the clouds full, turning the night to twilight. Everything was calm. But then it was that the winds began to fight, each sick of the snow taking claim upon their night. They turned the angels into dogs of war that bit and roared... 

The Long Tale No. 20 - Made in the Sand

The tumbling stones were cascading water droplets against the callous sky. Jagged peaks and crumbling crevices fell into place as the grains streamed downwards. The man held out his hand and caught some in an outstretched palm before letting them sift in between his long fingers. The falling sand and stones soon formed a story. One of highs and lows, flows and blockages. One of broken gems and diamonds in the rough. One of salt and sea, land and air. One of time and those left behind. The sand trickled down from the man's hand and told a thousand words. 

The Long Tale No. 19 - Hidden Secrets

Inky black snakes lay scrawled across the page, writhing into shapes and words. A terrifying secret was greedily eating up the page as the man continued to write. There was a noise in the background, forcing the man to stop and turn around. Nothing. He continued to scribe, etching truths and lies into the flesh of knowledge. The paper was soon done as the man knew the secret off by heart and was only archiving it as... a precaution. Shadows danced as candles flickered and then the paper was safely stored, kept safe forevermore. And it shall never be found.

The Long Tale No. 18 - Frozen in Time

The frost glistened and shone in the slight sunlight that attempted to pierce the dawn. Stars twinkled on the ground as the sun just peeked over the horizon. Crisp and clean, the man left his footprints behind him. A sense of purity followed the frost, as if the ground had been cleansed by its presence. New grass would grow and more mud would form but, for now, everything was frozen in time. The power of the cold was terrifying and peaceful at the same time and many other things besides. But soon it would be gone and time would thaw. 

The Long Tale No. 17 - The Door

The door slammed shut and darkness replaced light in the blink of an eye. It was a wooden door, with rings and grains that told a thousand stories of a thousand pulls and pushes, slams and shouts. The golden handle gleamed and reflected the images and thoughts of those going through. Many people had walked through, for many different reasons and at many different times. The man had walked through once, adding his story to the grains and his thoughts to the gleam. And there were wounds in the door, of knives and fire. Of people forcing their way through. 

The Long Tale No. 16 - The Time Changers

The clock ticked steadily on. Always forwards. Always on beat. Never stopping. Never a miss. Sound fell down the hourglass and a hand spun round and round. The man stared at time passing slowly by. The sun rose and set every dusk and dawn. The moon phased in and out, light and dark. Creatures were born, grew old and died. And time passed ever on. Never stopping and never going back. But there were some, some that could control the flow of time and control its constant pull. Changers and saviours, recorders and destroyers. The controllers of time were here. 

The Long Tale No. 15 - Nature's Wrath

The lava constricted and spasmed in the torched crater. A writhing inferno of boiling rock and metal. Plumes of smoke gushed from the crater's centre and a storm of ash rumbled overhead. The man fell down the side of volcano, trying to escape nature's pure wrath. Rocks crashed and splintered as the Earth shook itself awake. Bombs were shot from its belly and noxious gas cascaded down the side like waterfalls. The sun was gone, replaced with a crimson twilight. The mountain's blood erupted from wounds as the scars of the past were ripped open with the ferocity of hell. 

The Long Tale No. 14 - Broken Glass

The glass lay on the cold ground, cracks spider-webbing over its once clear surface. The handle rested a few feet away, where it had splintered into a rough knife. Wine spilled over the cobblestone floor and settled in the cracks and crevices, like veins of blood. The man stared down at the chaos before turning to the pain in his hand. A wave of emotion flowed through the room, of anguish and hate at an untold demise, drowning all happiness and hope and joining the sea of crimson. Another glass was filled and downed before being thrown away like before.

The Long Tale No. 13 - The Portrait

The portrait stared down at all who walked by. The person it depicted had long since faded into the dusk of time but still her steely gaze bore into passers-by, her grey eyes peeking over the rim of her cold metal glasses. The man stared at this portrait for the longest time, taking in the wiry hair and twilight complexion and wondering about who she may have been and what had made the painter paint her like this. Was it out of emotion? Rage or spite, perhaps, or possibly kindness? Or, maybe even an accurate depiction? The portrait stared on.

The Long Tale No. 12 - The Spreading Disease

The illness spread throughout the forest like wildfire, contaminating all in its wake. Trees, plants and animals alike fell to its grasping touch, each a finger for its poisonous reach. The very air was merely a breath of destruction, the sickness carried on the breeze. The man ran through, dodging between the trees, hand over mouth as he tried to escape the oncoming death. He didn't know where this disease had come from, nor when or how, but only that it is would stop at nothing to destroy the forest. But, it would seem, that the forest had other plans...

The Long Tale No. 11 - Remembrance

Will you be remembered? The man was asked this a long time ago. Remembrance is a strange phenomenon. Connecting and distancing people. Keeping them alive and others dead. Their struggles and triumphs, their lives and legacies all remembered forevermore. A testament to their deeds and their shaping of their life and the lives around them. People, places, wars and celebrations, some remembered, some forgotten. Some tales were sad and some joyous. Some were bland and some were colourful. And as for the people, places and events themselves? Some wanted to be remembered and some lost to the sands of time. 

The Long Tale No. 10 - Dancing Inferno

The ground was dappled with light from the fire. Shadows danced with sparks to the wooden beat of their forebear's destruction. The heat was intense and the man felt his hair singe. Red and orange, green and yellow, black and white - the fire portrayed each colour as emotion. The fierceness of the flames and slow burning of embers. The growing inferno and dying ash lay in harmony and fed off of each other. A pillar of smoke reached for the sky and brought attention to the warmth. A stream of water fell upon it and it was gone. Extinguished. 

The Long Tale No. 9 - A Prison of Clouds

The fog had appeared without warning that night. It consumed everything. The stars no longer twinkled and the moon no longer shone. Even the darkness was overcome by the soft twilight. The man stood in the middle of it all and breathed deeply, a clearing forming in front of him, only to be covered once more by his own misting breath. All sounds were dampened to silence and all smells and tastes, bar the pemuating dampness, were deadened as well. It was strangely peaceful, yet panicking at the same time the man thought. A prison made of the softest clouds. 

The Long Tale No. 8 - The Mountain's Children

The mountain stood, impressive and foreboding among its children. The foothills rolled among the grasses, a flowing river of peaks and troughs. But the mountain stood, distant and unreachable, spiking into the sky. The man had climbed it once, long ago, and stood atop its great shoulders, gazing upon the world. And, what he could see were the ups and downs of the mountains' children; a reflection of his journey to the top, misted with cloud and time. But, yet, there was another mountain in the distance and another challenge to climb. And many foothills to cross to get there. 

The Long Tale No. 7 - The Stream

The water trickled, slowly, down the stream, bubbling over pebbles and through tiny cracks and crevices. Sunlight dappled the water and made it gleam like liquid mercury. Droplets flew from the gently lapping waves and formed yet more ripples on the flowing surface. Clouds of the purest white were reflected deep in the water's being and made the sky and stream seem one and the same. A leaf glided down from the branch of an oak and tentatively touched upon the liquid. The man leant down and retrieved this blemish from the water. And, so, the stream trickled ever on. 

The Long Tale No. 6 - Questions

A whisper could be heard upon the wind. A tale of meaning. An uttered word here and there. Secrets. The man pondered the meaning of this story as the wind rolled past. Questions, always questions! Never answers and never completion. Just an endless cycle. What, where, who, when, how, why? Nobody really knew the answer to these questions and not many really cared. And, yet, still they were asked. Perhaps it was the question as to what they were and why they were asked and by who, when, and how that was the real questions. A question with no answer.

The Long Tale No. 5 - The Music of War

The clang of swords could be heard for miles, the man noted. The music of war was both monstrous and beautiful. Two dancers, moving to the beat of their fury. Each slice a note, each block a beat. A chorus of pain silenced only by the call of victory and the shriek of defeat. For neither could exist alone or apart. As, even if the pen became mightier than the sword, or the men fell to their own destruction, either death or diplomacy wins and the other loses. This is the true music of war. An endless cry of futility.

The Long Tale No. 4 - A Home

The house stood, resolute, on the top of the hill. With smashed windows, missing bricks and half a roof, it certainly had seen better days. But as the man explored the ruins, he began to see its story unfurl before him. A lone dwarf had built it from the ground as a storage for gold. A thief had hid out among the rooms as the mob tore past. A family of elves has made a home here and lived for many years. Finally, a terrible storm had come and the house had defied it. Always resolute and always a home. 

The Long Tale No. 3 - Nature's Beauty

The golden sun shone bright in the azure sky as a small wisp of a cloud drifted, leisurely, along. Flowers of all kinds bloomed in the rich soil of the land and their marvelous odors pervaded the air. The man breathed deeply and lay his head against the blanket of grass. Leaves rustled nearby as a great oak entered a conversation with the wind and very soon all sorts of life could be heard. Bees were buzzing, birds were chirping and a fairy hummed lightly to herself. Nature herself appeared to be smiling at this scene and all was well.

The Long Tale No. 2 - Ever Onwards

The small bird flew, silently, over the rolling hills. It was heading, ever onwards, towards the rising light of the moon. The air was still and clear giving the night a sterile quality and, yet, the feel of the place was that of a calm before the storm. The man below shivered as the bird flew overhead, caressing the sky with each tiny movement of its wings. The moon, risen to its throne, shone and illuminated the tiny black bird, a speck amongst the vast sky. And ever onwards this bird flew, into the night. Ever onwards, for ever more. 

The Long Tale No. 1 - Unopened Stories

The book sat, closed, on the desk. But, while its words were hidden, its knowledge poured from within. This book knew wonders. All it needed was for someone to read them. To tell them. To believe in them. Oh, the adventures it had had! The things it had seen and heard and done and known and loved! But now it was closed and alone, for the pencil no longer scribed and the man no longer imagined. The reason may have been unclear, enshrouded in secrets as it was. But it has to be questioned. To be read again. Will you?

The Long Tale - The Beginning

Hello there, readers of this strange and rather lackluster Chronicle.