#i have to use up the red ink-stained page from the previous post so here we are

[chiricat]

[i don't think i want to be the hero anymore.]

[randomdudewrites]

My Magnus Opus

This was MEANT to be my magnus opus.....and then after writing out a first draft I got bored, another project for the shelf lol. THIS IS A LOT SORRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Chapter 1 - Prologue: “They’re here, man the posts!” Came the screams of Lord Arenauld sharply cutting along the wind, floating through the jagged sails to the rest of the fleet, rising and bowing with each flow of the waves. The Lord stood stout upon the deck of the main ship. His body was large and bloated with years of plenty, a common side-effect of nobility in the kingdoms, as was his lavish brown beard. It hung above his knees, gravity straining to pull it firmly down towards the ground. By Arenaulds side, beneath the thick grey cloak protecting him from the oncoming storm hung a silver object that could only be the hilt of a sword. It’s hilt adorned with a crimson mixture of stones which seemed to pierce any tranquility and peace felt, twisting those feelings into an unnerving sense of loss sifting through one's body.

The horns began to sound as a reply to the king's call, bodies rushing back and forth, a cacophony of sound screeching with each individual slide upon the deck. Panting, a much smaller figure strode up to the Lord. It’s beady eyes surveyed the scene around them, spying the distant figures approaching, understanding now why the fateful warning had been called. Through the thickly strewn black sea fog surrounding the entourage, the moon glistened upon the bows of the oncoming ships, spread thinly across the horizon. Pirates.

The Lord snapped into action. “Harbrin, go find Sord below deck, I’ll grab the others.” The panting small figure nodded swiftly, giving up on his attempt to speak over the rain striking his face. Harbrin was a fragile man, he seemed at first to be of no use in a fight and that assumption would be correct. Instead of preparing for the onslaught, he rushed beneath the deck to fulfil his task, each step a battle against the tide.

As the servant rushed through the maze of halls beneath the ships, Arenauld flashed out his blade, waiting for the attackers, continuing to call out orders. The ships' measly armed guards stood ahead of him, their leather padding peeling from years of wear. Each weapon had orange, speckles of rust branching out like fungus, if it were any other situation it would be seen as art, but in these mists it was only yet another weakness the Pirates could exploit. Swords drawn, the enemy closing in, the meagre group stood ready on the ships side, Arenauld leading the line. His heart pumping, his wife and newborn child still in his castle, their chests rising and falling as they slept in the grand bedchambers, cuddled in the safety of their smooth sheets. The thought overwhelmed his pounding head. He could not leave the world here, for their sake.

A ferocious torrent of flames trimming away at the wooden planks so precariously nailed together, shuddered the corridor Harbrin found himself traversing below the battle between the two. The enemy stalked closer each moment, their ashen flags held aloft, flying frantically in the air, now each figure lined upon the other vessel was almost visible in the halflight. Cannons began to fire. Moving to a slight opening, a slim crack of an open doorway, he shouldered his body against the door, forcing it open in one. Laying before him were three young children, two young ones which could have been no more than eighteen months old, twins.  They sparkled in a cot adorned with all kinds of gemstones, shining brightly in the fires and explosions barely a few feet outside their window.

Harbrin, however, ignored this couple, moving quickly, his face still panting, towards the far corner of the room, to another door, opening it softly. Sat, his face nuzzled in a book, strumming from page to page, sat a slightly older boy, dusty blonde hair covered his small round face as he leaned into the ink before him. The faithful servant stood waiting for the boy to finish his moment before gently clearing his throat. 

“Master Sord, we must depart.” 

Growing more and more anxious, painfully waiting for Harbrin’s safe return with his child, Arenauld swung his silver blade into yet another foul creature, this one, however,  proved to be more of a challenge. His dark eyes perfectly masked by an eyepatch with a flamboyant hat supporting a golden flash of  feather flowing upon it, placed daintily upon the figures' locks of reddish hair, or was that because of the sheer bright crimson lights from the explosions trembling around them? As if on cue such an eruption sounded beside the combatants, forcing the round body of the Lord down to the hard wooden deck with an audible whimper. He was too old to be doing this anymore, yet he rose quickly, his weapon glistening as it stayed out, brandishing it with a fury as the fight ensued. The thick arms of the pirate kept up its barrage of assaults, one hand placed neatly behind his back, showboating, as he danced. Two steps forward. One step back. His singular eye strained open, watching intently as Arenauld began to slow.

Finally rushing out from the cavernous maze of corridors below deck, Harbrin, carrying his young companion surveyed the scene ahead of him. Whilst convincing the child to leave his toys behind, he watched a woman pick up the other two children, struggling to hold them both in his grasp, but it was not his job to help her. Keeping his own balance as yet another shudder almost threw him off guard, he was back on his way, following the protocol drilled into him. Each step further and further along the ship was a greater risk. Corpses flooding the ground in a red stained ice rink, hammers clattering into the bones of anyone in range, whimpers of the dying crying out for Harbrin’s help but help he could not. Completing his journey, the servant neared a small boat placed precariously on the side of the ship. It’s wooden planks taking on a bony shine as years of rot were beginning to take hold, the rope holding it in place worn thin, it would have to do. The oars by the side cracked, unfit for a Sunday row on a lake let alone taking on the shadowy depths thrashing at the ship, it would have to do. He gently placed the now whining child upon it’s skeletal frame, the booms of cannon fire echoing around, quivering the tiny vessel threatening to force it free. Sord’s wines continued, but Harbrin paid little attention, instead surveying the horrific scene around him. 

In clear view of Harbrin, the struggling frail woman he’d previously ignored burst from the depths. In each arm a child was clasping at her. He spied her, cautiously skipping through the bodies blanketing the floor holding her important packages with a firm grip. Harbrin stood stranded, watching as her feet were caught upon a loose arm, almost plunging her into the depths, a thick rag of a child slipping from her grasp, sliding in a cry along the deck. However, the woman, undeterred, continued her crazed ballet. One step left, a gentle glide right over the mutilated remains of some person’s serrated frame, before, the last child huddled against her bosom, finding an escape boat of herself, filled with the least butchered survivors of this escapade. Still, two figures remained upon the ship, each now soaked in his adversary's wounds, weapons a whirl as they continued to flatter upon each other.

Arenauld had little left. Every gasp met with the metallic taste of his own blood, every stab slashing against the cold hard winds,each moment pulling more and more life away from him. Gashes pulsing with black ooze and blood clung onto his arms, even so, he strained upwards. As those standing helplessly beside him were struck down, heaps of mangled forms twisting in agony, the Lord’s body finally gave up on the . With one last breath, one last look at his children upon the escape boats, one last wayward slash into emptiness, Arenauld plummeted. Both knees crumbled as the red-haired pirate’s sword slashed through him, carving away at the neck, the long beard falling from its previous position of nobility, the lengthy hair soaking up the splattered mix of bloody remains.  

The tightly strewn ropes finally gave in to the pressure, snapping as the escape boats detached, flailing down towards the waves. Spitting out a cracked tooth, the red-haired figure rose up, wiping his palm against the damp sweat clinging to his thick brow. Through a heavy breath, he listened out to the ends of battle, his gaze resting upon the fleeing boats disappearing out of sight as the oars slapped furiously against the waves. One boat in particular caught his interest, floating melancholically away from the others towards a thick silhouette of land stranded in the far distance, the body of a skinny figure and what seemed in the mist to be a child. Though intrigued, something grabbed his attention. Just along the torn planks of wood, as the explosions reached their tonic conclusion, a new sound pierced through the air. Its high scream of sound hypnotic rhythm, forcing those around it ever closer. He moved towards it cautiously. Nearing the sound, a crowd had gathered, the mix of legs, blood, eyes of the Pirate gang allowing their leader through. Each step tentative, he reached the noise, a ragged cloth laying in amongst the fallen souls, he began to unpeel it. Laying, just as he had expected, the red face of a bawling child stared back at him. A boy.

[blueangelicrose]

Next Generation of the Ink Dynasty: Chapter 2 (part 1): The Arrival

It was late June in the year of 2018 and Henry Stein the fourth, Henry's great grandson, was in a taxi waiting to arrive at the old studio that his great grandpa used to work at. It was only this morning that he was going through his great grandfather's stuff after he was admitted to the nursing home just last week. Henry was now 107 years old and was still going strong. But the fact was, was that he couldn't be left alone for too long and needed constant attention, just in case if something were to happen to him. His son, who is now 82 years old and is a proud grandfather of several dozen grandchildren. And the rest of the family thought it was a good idea that he went to somewhere he'll receive proper care on a daily basis. Henry was hesitant at first but then he thought of all the times he wasn't able to do the simplest of things without help from one of his family members. Begrudgingly, he agreed to go. So as the family was packing his stuff, Henry the fourth, or Hank as everyone calls him, started rummaging through some of his great gramp's stuff from his heyday in the 1930's. Some of the stuff were old relics from the war and some of the stuff was from all of his previous jobs. Including animation equipment from his time in the studio. All of this piqued his interest, especially the equipment. And just like the previous three generations, he was also is a fantastic animation artist and loved drawing. He asked his great gramps if it was okay if he could borrow some of his equipment and practice his drawing. Henry said that he would do him a bigger favor. Since Henry could no longer draw like he used to and since the equipment was just sitting up in the attic collecting dust-. He figured that he would rather pass it on to the next generation of artists than letting it go to waste. Hank asked if it was okay if he could really have all of his equipment. Henry nodded in agreement.

Hank was so happy that he had professional equipment that he could use for his future career. Though the equipment is quite old, he still loved and appreciated the gift from his great grandpa. It was now officially his personal treasure. When he was putting the equipment in his room, he noticed in a box of note books amongst the animation and drawing equipment. He picked one up that had the title, "Bendy drawings" and skimmed through it till he came upon a cartoon sketch of a little friendly cartoon picture of a cute looking little devil wearing a bowtie. And all around the sketch were several notes about his personality and what he could do. Hank really liked the sketch. It reminded him of the old cartoons that was booted off the air when color came to the big picture. He always adored the black and white cartoons. It always made him laugh and always managed to bring a big smile on his face. But something about the name of this particular character sounded familiar. He figured that if he looked through more of the books, then he could figure out where he heard this character from. He flipped through book after book but nothing sparked anything in his memory. All there was, was ideas for coming up with new episodes of the Bendy cartoon and more sketches of different characters and notes about their personality traits and such. It wasn't till he reached the end of the final book that he finally realized where he heard the name of Bendy and the characters from. His great Gramps told him and his family members of what happened all those years ago in the old Joey Drew's Studios. He always thought that Henry was just trying to scare him and his siblings into behaving by making up scary stories. But he told those stories when he was still only 6 years old in 2004. But now that it was the year of 2018 and he was going on 20 years old, he thought, "I thought all those stories were nothing but white lies told as scary legends. I never thought that he was telling the truth!"

What he read at the end of the last books were logs about his survival days locked in the studio, fighting and running for his life. And judging by the amount of ink, tears, and blood stains that covered the book covers and pages, he knew his great grandpa wasn't making it up. Especially after he found the letter that Joey Drew sent him all those years ago. Finding the letter just proves of what sort of Hell Henry went through, besides reading his log book. He wanted to ask Henry himself, but he feared that he might cause his great grandpa to have a heart attack trying to force him to remember everything that he went through. As he decided to not share the new information he just learned to his family, he packed the books with the sketches and such into his room. And amongst the animation stuff that he was cramming into his room, he also found a small box that had all the items that Henry had sent over from when he was in the war. In the box were old letters, an old looking journal, a WW2 army helmet, and two medals. One was for a badge of honor and bravery and a purple heart for being injured in the line of duty. Hank read every single page of both the letters and the journal. It all described of how it was in the war and how awful the conditions were. But despite how bad things were, he still thought of his family and friends and how, even from across the sea, he still loved them and continued to fight for them. The journal also contained his stories even after the war. Like how in 1968, two years after the incident in the studio, his son, Junior, who back then was at the age of 32, became a father. His first born, Henry the third, or Harry as they called him, was Hank's dad. Henry was the happiest grandfather in the world! Besides his times in the studio, the marriage to his wife, the birth of his children, and the marriage of his first child, Junior, (immediately after he got home after the incident that year in 1966). This was one of the happiest moments of his life! Even more so when he started to get more in-laws and grandchildren. Then 30 years later, in the year of 1998, Henry the fourth, or Hank, was born. The first of his great grandchildren. And here Henry thought that he wouldn't be alive to see this happen. He thanked God everyday from then on for letting him live this far.

Hank smiled when he read the entry. Then as he turned the page and noticed that in the last entry, Henry wrote how he was concerned about his family ever returning to the old studio. And if anyone of his family reads this journal, and if, for whatever reason, return to the studio, then he only had this to say, "Run. Run and fight by whatever means necessary! Eat what you can and survive until you can get out!" Hank shuddered at this omninous warning. He thought to himself, "Will do, Gramps! Will do!" As he packed the rest of Henry's stuff and put it in the moving truck, he bid his great grandpa farewell until he visited him in the nursing home. Later, he decided to practice drawing some of the Bendy characters using some of the equipment that he inherited. He was up all day and night trying to perfect his gramps drawing style of the Bendy cartoon characters. It was around 12 o'clock a.m. when he finished his last drawing. He actually managed to recreate all of the Bendy crew in the same style as Henry's! He was rather proud of this accomplishment of his. Of course he had to sign at the bottom of the pages when he was done to show that it was his drawings, but made sure to give credit to his great grandpa as well. As he got that done, he realized that it was already drawing close to one o'clock in the morning. He stretched his body all in one exhausted yawn. He sleepily rose from his chair, walked away from his drawing desk, and flopped on top of his bed. He turned off his lamp and went into deep sleep almost immediately.

But something wasn't right. Something was in the air. All of a sudden, a little ink like creature somehow managed to unlock the bedroom window and slip inside. It turned it's inky head right at Hank and decided to take a closer look at him. It checked to see if he was in deep sleep and confirmed it when the creature snapped its inky fingers in his face and waved its inky hand in front of his face. The most Hank did was mumble a bit and turn over to the opposite side of the bed. The creature turned away from Hank and turned its attention towards the drawings that Hank made. It picked up and looked over all of the pages then paused and stared deeply at the last drawing. And with a creepy and inky smile, it looked back at Hank, then decided to "borrow" the drawings. It leapt from the second story window, ran across the front lawn, and stopped at the mailbox. He opened the mailbox door and from it's bag, that it kept by the mail post ahead of time, unzipped it, and pulled out a letter. It put in the mailbox and raised the little red flag and scurried off into the night.

To Be Continued.....

End of chapter 2 (part 1).

To be continued in chapter 2 (part 2).

[rogerblackwolf]

The Last Dragon

Estate of Elder Barnabus Jaeger

Bures, Suffolk, England

-2010-

The car ride was mostly silent as the family of three drove through the countryside. The father, a well-dressed man in his mid to late thirties with neatly combed dark hair and a trimmed beard, was driving while also following the directions on his smartphone. His wife, a beautiful woman equal to him in age dressed in a black dress and blazer, was simply taking in the countryside and occasionally checking on their son, a teen dressed similar to his father listening to his iPod. She had wondered where the years had gone, especially since they had just left a funeral. The service was for her husband’s father, a World War II veteran as well as former member of the SAS, Barnabus Jaeger, or “Barnie” as he was called by his mates and family. 

Barnabus loved his family as well, he always had something good to say and rarely raised his voice, and to his only grandson Henry he was a constant inspiration. Other than Barnabus’ military service, the wife knew that after the war he married young and went to college to study finance. He then went on to work for a successful corporation, which he later became CEO of, that helped him take care of his family, his wife Emily passed away only four years prior but Barnabus still managed his company. Sadly he took a turn health wise, he was mostly healthy but the loss of his wife took its toll. The wife took solace in knowing at least he would be reunited with his wife, hopefully filling the hole her loss left in his heart.

The car turned down a one way road and immediately into a driveway, they stopped in the driveway in front of a small mansion. It was only two stories tall, but the interior made it feel much larger, there were ten bedrooms, five baths, several offices, an attic, and a basement. The design was Victorian, which made it seem old but it was surprisingly well maintained, Barnabus did like making things last. As the family slowly drove, they noticed another car had already parked. 

“I reckon that’s the attorney.” The husband said, parking next to the black sedan.

“I reckon so. Henry, we’re here.” The wife added, before tapping her son on the knee.

The boy took out his earbuds then looked at his mother and father, they both managed to smile despite the reasons being at his grandfather’s home. 

“This won’t take long, promise.” The father said, patting his son’s head.

“You alright?” The mother asked her son.

The son only nodded, not feeling up to talk at the moment.

The family then got out of their sedan, stretching for a moment before walking to the front door, which opened suddenly, allowing them to be greeted by a familiar face. Before them stood a short but stout woman dressed in a Victorian style maid uniform, her auburn hair done up in a bun, and though she was mature in age she had a youthful attitude. Her freckled cheeks plumped up as she smiled warmly, doing a curtsy as she welcomed the family;

“Master Benjamin, Mistress Eveline, and young Master Henry, Welcome.”

“Hello Annette.” The parents said in unison, both sharing a chuckle how synchronized it was.

“Hi Annette.” Henry added, smirking for a moment before his frown returned.

Annette let the family in and took their coats before quickly returning.

“It’s good to see you again Annette, I wish it wasn’t on such terrible timing.” Eveline said.

“Oh think nothing of it, Master Barnabus was not one to be sad in such times. He always believed when he passed that we remember his life and not mourn his passing. If it’s not too bold of me to say.” Annette said.

“It’s alright, but I’m afraid we are also here on business. I assume the lawyer is here?” Benjamin asked Annette.

“Oh yes, they’re waiting in the office, right this way.” Annette answered, guiding them down the halls to a set of double doors, inside the sprawling office were three individuals, two men and one woman, the woman was the oldest of the trio in her mid forties while the two men seemed in their early twenties. The woman was holding a briefcase as the parents turned to Annette.

“Annette, why don’t you take Henry somewhere quiet, we shouldn’t be long.” Benjamin said.

“Be good Henry, listen to Annette.” Eveline said to Henry before he nodded and smiled warmly.

“Come along young Master, I’ll fix you something to turn that frown upside down.” Annette said with a smile. She then took Henry’s hand and led him away from the room. Benjamin and Eveline shook the woman’s hand before taking their seats as did the woman, the two men standing behind her on both sides.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger, my name is Bella Haleigh. I am the attorney provided by your father’s company and the Executor of his Will and Estate.” She spoke.

“Pleasure to meet you Ms. Haleigh.” Benjamin said.

“Yes, a pleasure.” Eveline replied.

“Before we start, let me just express my deepest condolences for your loss Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger.” Bella added.

“Thank you, Ms. Haleigh, it has been rough for all of us.” Benjamin said, with Eveline taking his hand in comfort.

“Your father was a great inspiration to us all. Forgive me for asking, but was that your son, Henry?” Bella asked.

“Yes, he was. I guess my father talked about him, huh?” Benjamin asked.

“Very fondly, he adored Henry. Forgive me for asking, but how old is he?” Bella asked.

“He just turned fifteen recently.” Eveline answered

“Oh fun age, your father had it in his mind that Henry would follow in his footsteps at the company.” Bella said.

“Well, he will make his decision in due time, then again he has it in his mind he wants to be an Art Curator.” Eveline added.

“Yes, we all have to make decisions in time, some tougher than others. I for one would be happy to have him in our company. The Financial district has very good benefits. But down to business I won't take too much of your time.” Bella said, opening her briefcase and retrieving the will.

As they tended to their business, Annette had treated Henry to some warm lavender tea, his favorite. It seemed to help for a time but Annette could sense he still had a dark cloud hanging over him. Suddenly Annette hatched an idea, she knew exactly what would cheer him up. 

"Young Master, why don't you go into your Grandfather's study while I see to my duties. I know your Grandfather left something in there for you." Annette said.

Henry smirked before walking through the halls passing portraits of medieval knights, suits of armor on stands with their swords and shields, the large portrait of his grandfather with the family, and the family flag of a red dragon holding a shield with its wings outstretched. Eventually Henry came to a room he remembered quite well, his grandfather’s study. The room was circular with several bookcases that went to the ceiling, on the far left side was a window that overlooked a pond in the garden where a gazebo was also set up. Henry walked over to the large desk where his grandfather would work and spend many nights in thought. He noticed a thick leather bound notebook on the desk with a note that said “for Henry” taped to its cover.

Henry gently removed the taped note and read it silently to himself;

“Dear Henry

Though my time in this world has come to an end, I have no regrets. My time was brief, and despite the horrors I have seen, my life was filled with so much wonder I can only thank God for how much I have been blessed. Especially for the joy you brought into my life. As a soldier I fought for my country and as a father I protected those who were dearest to me, my honor is assured.

This journal contains my memoirs and the truth of what I did, where I went, the things I encountered, and what I lost. Every word is true, no matter how fantastically absurd some of it may sound. As you grow older, I hope that you never lose your sense of wonder. Do not forget the things you enjoy and surround yourself with likeminded people, those people will always be your truest of friends. If I must have one regret, it is that I personally didn’t get to tell you of my adventures, I hope you can forgive me for that. 

Since it is Fate that we be separated on earth, I hope we’ll meet again in Heaven.

Remember me in your fondest memories.

Your Grandpa Barnie

Always.”

Henry sat in the chair as his hands trembled. A couple of his tears stained the bottom of the note so he sat it on the desk to avoid staining it more. After drying his face and calming himself he folded the note and placed it to the side before picking up the journal. It was an old leather bound style, the leather was aged and worn in some places, mostly around the edges. It smelled old as well, like aged ink and faint glue, and the binding was starting to come loose but it was still holding together. Taking a deep breath, he opened the journal.

The first page had a hand drawn portrait of a much younger Barnabus, Henry couldn’t help but see the similarities they shared. From the sparse stubble to the nose and even the curly hair, it all made him smile and even chuckle. The first few pages were of Barnabus’s being born in 1919, his childhood in post Great War Britain, his father was a veteran who struggled greatly until he was given the opportunity to work in construction. The next pages spoke of his family being German immigrants, which was the origin of their family name, “Jaeger’’ meaning “hunter”. Henry skipped ahead several pages, settling on the page that labeled his time in the army; at the start of World War II he readily joined the effort.

As he read further, Henry read a passage that was both disturbing and unbelievable;

“I was on night patrol with a couple of my mates along the coast just a couple hundred yards from our base camp, ours was one of many Anti-Aircraft Batteries along the coast to defend against bombing raids. We were part of a platoon, nearly fifty men, it had been quiet the previous couple nights so everyone was incredibly relaxed. We would regret not being prepared. The first time I heard it, I brushed it off as simply a gust of wind, a breeze from the ocean. The second time my squadmate, Joseph Makkey, turned to me and asked “you heard that, right?”, all three of us began looking to the sky. 

The moon was high but there was some overcast that obstructed any clear view. The sound was clearer now, a whoosh of wind followed by some kind of growl, but not the growl of an engine. No, this growl was too natural, no plane engine could imitate it. Suddenly the silence was broken by this haunting shouting voice, followed by several terrible roars. The world was ablaze as streams of fire rained onto our camp, the sounds of my comrades screaming filled the air as their bodies melted to ash, explosions of our ammunition and vehicles filled us with terror. 

Me and my squadmates ran to the camp, our training taking over, but before we could reach the outskirts, I saw them. Three large black shapes silhouetted against the moon as they got into formation to come around for another pass, I shouted to my mates as they reached the camp before me but it was too late as three pillars of flame descended from the sky. One moment my friends were in front of me, the next they were engulfed in flame, somehow I got a clear look as these creatures flew overhead. Each one was at little over thirty feet long with a wingspan of comparable length, scaled bodies, leathery wings like a demon, and from their mouths came fire. On their backs were men shouting and whooping in celebration as they saw their handiwork, the one leading them shouted something, and as quickly as they appeared they were gone.

As the fires died and morning came I silently sat surrounded by the ashes of my platoon, some of the bodies were barely even skeletons. At my feet was Joseph Makkey, his face was coated in ash, his torso was scorched of all flesh, and nothing but brittle blackened bones below his waist. His uniform had melted to his body, almost replacing his skin but what I will forever remember is the look in his eyes. How scared they looked, how much pain he was in, the raw agony of the fire. For so long I cursed God for leaving just me, why was I allowed to live and not more? Out of the fifty men in my camp, Why was I the only one who survived? They stayed forever young, and here I am still…”

Henry was a mix of sad and disbelief at how horrible his grandfather really felt, that under that chipper and loving exterior was a man who had been through Hell itself. Henry read the journal more, finding out that after the incident, which was labeled a surprise bombing, Barnabus was approached by a man who claimed to be part of the SAS. What stood out though was how knowledgeable this man was about the creatures that Barnabus saw, describing them as “Firedrakes”. He went into greater detail about them, adding that they were being used by the Germans as part of their Blitzkrieg, but also told Barnabus that the information would not be free. The other pages read about how Barnabus joined the man in a secret organization called The Order, the cost for surviving and knowing of their existence. 

As Henry read through the journal, back in the office downstairs the meeting was close to wrapping up with Ms. Haleigh set the will to the side and grabbed a final piece of paper.

“Now that we have the legal matters settled, it was the last request of your father that I read this to both of you.” She began, before reading the letter.

“Benjamin and Eveline 

While the mansion and estate have been my home in the twilight of my life, it barely felt like home since your mother, my Emily, passed away. Since it now belongs to you both, I will not fault you should you choose to sell it, all I ask is that my personal journal and my war chest be given to Henry. I know he has been interested in my adventures, and my one regret is I was unable to tell him everything. My hope is that even though my life has come to an end, I can continue to be part of his.

Your Father Barnabus” Ms. Haleigh finished.

Benjamin looked at Eveline and both agreed while they had their jobs in Cambridge it wouldn’t be too much of a change. If anything, moving into the mansion would mean adjusting for drive time since it was an hour from Cambridge to Suffolk. They could also agree that it couldn’t hurt for Henry to have some of his Grandfather’s things, it’s what Barnabus would’ve wanted anyway. And the country air would likely do them all some good, and the village people were all so nice. As the couple finished their business, Henry was still reading the passages in the journal.

He was barely a quarter through, learning Barnabus had joined a special battalion meant to hunt down and kill these dragons, they were aptly called The Dragonslayers. Several more pages described the Firedrakes used by the German’s Elite Air Division, most were thirty feet long from nose to tail, Barnabus did note that while he and his comrades brought down larger Firedrakes, the thirty footers were the most common. The Firedrakes only had four limbs, two wings, which folded to allow for walking on all fours, and two back legs and they could breath fire that could reach up to a thousand degrees fahrenheit. The Germans used hidden factories as breeding depots to churn out hundreds of these creatures in a matter of months and used strange devices that grew them to adults within only a couple months of hatching. There were detailed drawings of the creatures with lengths and wingspans, even descriptions of the saddles of the German riders along with their flight suits and equipment. 

Several pages later showed some new creatures that resembled the type of dragons he had seen in storybooks, four legs and a pair of wings, not to mention the depiction of them breathing fire. There was a chart labeling the sizes of the European dragon throughout their lifecycle;

“-Hatchling-Infant- around 20 inches long, 10 inches tall at the shoulder, wingspan comparable to body length, incapable of flight, unable to breath fire, scales are rough to the touch but not thick. Pupils are round and horns are nubby. After 6 weeks the hatchling is considered an infant and stays near its parent or nest. Susceptible to small arms fire.

-Wyrmling- around 40-50 years of age, 40 to 45 feet from nose to tail, standing 10 to 15 feet at the shoulder, pupils have constricted to a more vertical shape, horns have lengthened and sharpened to points, wingspan is same as body length, and scales have begun to grow dense. Scales have the same armor density as 25mm of steel, most small arms unable to penetrate. Heavy weapons or anti-tank weapons are advised.

-Adult- adulthood begins around 80 years of age, up 90 feet long from nose to tail, standing 30 feet tall at the shoulder, scale armor density equivalent to 90mm of steel, eyes have dim glow to them, horns show wear and tear, scales are bright and brilliant in color. Tank and air support is heavily advised.

-Great Wyrm- approximately 100 years of age, 140 feet long from nose to tail, 40 feet at the shoulder, scale armor density equivalent to 110mm of steel, eyes brightly glow, sometimes glossing over the pupil, horns beginning to splinter at the tips, wingspan same as body length, scales in some parts show signs of scale rot. Aside from breathing fire, one was observed to use lightning as a breath weapon and as an area of effect attack. Tank support, heavy artillery, and air support is required.

-Elder Wyrm- several centuries old, 280 to 300 feet long and 80 feet tall at the shoulder, scale armor density is near impenetrable except when worn down by continuous heavy weapon fire, scale rot has set in and is most visible around where the joints flex and bend. The body is covered in horn and spine growth, the wingspan is equivalent to the body length and capable of hurricane level gusts. The rarest of the dragon species, very little information, other than infield hunting, is known.``

Henry was confused by that last note, as he thought dragons were just fairytales. Yet why would his Grandfather have so much information on them? He turned the page to find several maps of France, Germany, Eastern Europe, Scandinavia, and even England itself, all maps had X’s along with a date and page number next to them, each one signifying where various dragons were killed during and after the war. He flipped through the journal some more, passing a page that made him go back. This one had a location and a date, “Southern Bavaria, 1950, Elder Wyrm, casualties 97 of 110”, steeling himself, Henry read the passage.

“It was a warm summer day, in the shadows of these mountains I’m pretty sure they were the Chiemgau Alps. There was this village we had arrived at situated in this peaceful valley, but there were wyrmling sightings in the area, we feared that meant an Adult was roaming around. The Order sent a hundred and ten of us to investigate, we had support from four Centurion tanks, each with a crew of four, a battery of these 5.5 inch guns, six whole guns with ten men on each one, and that left only thirty-four of us to engage the beast on foot. Well not on foot per say as we all had horses that we would be riding, like the knights of old. We waited into the night, we all sat and talked about the finer things, family back home, situations abroad, and other things. 

I remembered my time with the Dragon Slayers as we took the fight to the Germans, I remembered while the Firedrakes were used to take on our armed forces the Dragons themselves were reserved for more vile deeds. When Hitler’s final solution was enacted, they used dragon fire to extinguish the evidence of their fell deeds, burning hundreds of villages, taking the lives of countless innocents. For these crimes there was no forgiveness, our orders were to hunt down the beasts and end them. I didn’t question my orders, not once, for me it was as simple as avenging my comrades. Then all of a sudden, it happened.

The sky opened as a streak of fire rained on the village, the silence broken by the sound of rushing wind and the wails of the dying and panicked people. In the dead of night, it looked like day, like Hell itself, whether it was courage or our training we leapt into action. We spurred our horses onward as it came over again, setting the rest of the village on fire. There was a great rumble that made the earth tremble, then we saw him standing illuminated by his own fire. Crimson scales glowed in the light, his wings like great shadows stretched outward, his maw was like an open furnace and his eyes glowed bright, the size of him left us frozen, awestruck, frightened. 

From his mouth came death, flame so hot it turned buildings of stone to dust, our escape was cut off, our rearguard left incinerated. Our tanks and artillery fired on him, but those that hit barely grazed his armor, his impenetrable scales held even as we hit him with our anti-tank weapons. It didn’t faze him, what happened next shattered our hope. As he was assaulted by artillery, his body glowed red hot then took an orange color as sparks traveled up his spines, his neck, and wingtips, he faced the hillside where our tanks and artillery were and drew a deep breath. With a deafening roar, lightning spewed from his mouth, wingtips, and back, the hillside erupted in explosions, with one sway of his head the heavy guns were silent.

Our commander ordered us to hide as he went to distract the beast, we found a basement and took shelter as the beast continued his furious display. We dared not emerge until morning, we easily found the body of our commander, his body scorched from the chest down. Even when the dragon was gone, I couldn’t stop shaking. One hundred and ten men went to Bavaria and only thirteen came back.” 

Henry was shocked by the story, disbelieving if it could be real but he didn’t have time to think as the door was opened by his father.

“Henry, we've been looking all over for you. What have you got there?” His father asked in relief.

“It’s Granddad’s old journal, he left it to me, there was a note and everything.” Henry said, showing his dad the letter. 

It was then the rest of the mother and Annette came in. All three let out a sigh of relief before embracing Henry and his father. Ms Haleigh and her two companions also entered the room and, noticing the happy family, said her goodbyes before seeing herself out with her two escorts in tow. The family also decided it was time to head home as well, of course they took Barnabus’s war chest, a large trunk, with them before leaving. Once the family was back home they had dinner and discussed moving into the mansion, all agreeing it was a good idea, before turning in for the night. Henry however stayed awake to read more of his Grandfather’s journal, getting to the part where he fought the Elder Dragon a second time made him worry a little. 

Barnabus wrote that in the 1960s, he and the Dragonslayers returned to Bavaria, this time with more advanced artillery, in this case some experimental tanks we called Chieftains, three whole companies of them. Knowing that the same dragon they faced had roosted in the mountains, they were taking no chances this time around. Barnabus even mentioned they had help from a pair of magic users, which Henry questioned as dragons were one thing but people using magic was pushing the reality a little. He continued reading, getting to the part where the dragon appeared and as he breathed his fire, the magic users pushed it back at him. The Chieftain’s gun had been equipped with high penetration sabot rounds that were devastating to the once impenetrable armor of the dragon as every shot sent scales and blood flying. 

Though Henry was astonished by the passage, the following passage of the dragon’s lair left him in awe.

“…Deep in the cavern, among the blackened rocks and clawed trenches in the stone I found a central chamber with only one other occupant. Another dragon curled up in the back, its tail and wings covering most of its body minus it’s neck and front legs, the shorter horns and overall smaller size identified it as a female. Her scales were taken by the rot, once vibrant scales were now dull and brittle, her body was skinny and her limbs frail, her wings had barely enough leather for gliding let alone flight, but even in this state she could’ve still posed a threat. Seeing this female as she was made me feel something I thought I had lost, I felt sorry for her. I put down my rifle and sword before slowly approaching the female, her eyes burning holes in me not in rage but as if looking for something beneath my armor. 

Her voice startled me, so much it made my heart stop, she asked him a single question. “Why do you falter?” 

I replied that I didn't know, which was true. I had no idea why now I chose to take pity on her, just that for the first time in a while, I was unable to end her. She spoke again saying;

“Perhaps you finally know the gravity of your actions. The countless numbers of my kin you killed, and soon I shall join them.” 

“But why does it feel wrong now? Your kin burned countless people, erased villages, and for what?” I answered, my anger resurfacing but she kept her calm voice as she retorted.

“Me and my kin joined the humans of Germany because their leader promised us a return to our glory instead of living in the shadow of the new dawn. When we finally knew the cost of such promises, we were too late to oppose it and in truth many of us were blind to the consequences. We burned millions and for that alone your kind sought our extinction, but I must ask, was it worth it? When we are all gone, erased from your memories, does it absolve you of your own sins?”

Her words rang through me, in my own quest for revenge I had sullied my hands in the blood of countless dragons. I looked her in the eyes and told her how sorry I was. I even told her that, if it would bring her peace in her final moments, she could take my life. Instead she gave me a chance of redemption, she lifted her tail revealing a single egg laying against her body, covered in red scales and even had a faint glow to it. Tentatively I took it in my hands, it was heavy at least ten pounds and a little bigger than a soccer ball.

As I held the egg in my arms she revealed her name as Fyrasol, and with her last breath made me promise to care for her last hatchling. I vowed that day that the cycle of death ended with me and I would sooner end my own life before I broke it…”

Henry was speechless at the ending but decided that perhaps thinking about it would be best suited for the morning. He sat the journal on the nightstand and laid in his bed before drifting off to dreams of dragons.

-Ten years later-

Henry had finished looking over a report of a relocation project for an Adult dragon to one of the Shetland Isles. Seeing the team had successfully released the Dragon, he ordered them back to Headquarters as soon as they were able. As he relaxed he looked at the picture of him and his Grandfather when he was a kid, it made him think of how far he came after his Grandfather’s funeral. After he finished his secondary education, Henry was recruited by the Order, then further followed Barnabus’ footsteps in joining the Keepers, the former Dragonslayers who joined Barnabus’ dream to ensure the survival of the remaining dragons. As Henry sat in memory he suddenly got a call on his desk phone;

“Director Jaeger.” Henry greeted.

“Director, she’s ready for her afternoon flight.” A female voice answered.

“I'll be right down.” Henry said before hanging up.

Henry went to a closet and pressed a code on a keypad, revealing a black fitted flight suit, he got dressed in it before leaving his office and navigating the facility’s halls to a room overlooking a hanger bay. This hanger however wasn’t for aircraft, instead it had been turned into a lair for a rather exceptional female Wyrmling, she was born from the egg Barnabus saved all those years ago. Following her recovery, Barnabus returned to the Order where he and his fellow Dragonslayers vowed they would dedicate themselves to the preservation of Dragons. The newfound Keepers then began their efforts by locating and guarding the last remaining dragons in Europe, even coordinating with their comrades in the east, learning how to care for these creatures. Named after her mother, Fyra hatched in 1970 and was cared for by Barnabus until his passing in 2010, and less than a decade later she was placed under Henry’s care.

When Henry entered the room he noticed she was being tended to by several people attaching a saddle to her back and in front of her was a woman with glasses and a ponytail who waved at Henry as he came to greet them both. 

“Afternoon Director, I was just giving Fyra a weather update.” The woman said adjusting her glasses.

“I've flown in high winds before.” The dragon replied with a huff.

“Yes but our Director will be on your back, so I’m simply reminding you to be careful.” The woman says as Henry shakes his head, knowing all the regulations when he went out on such dangerous activities.

“Dr. Blume, I can assure you I will be just fine. Now I think Fyra has waited long enough, if everything is ready let’s get this ball rolling.” Henry said.

The men secured the saddle and joined Dr. Blume in the observation room as Henry put on his oxygen supply and a helmet to protect him from the high winds. He got onto Fyra’s saddle, secured a line to his harness, and gave the thumbs up for the hanger doors to open. Fyra stamped her feet excitedly, her wings extended slowly as a red light blinked slowly, once the doors were open fully the light turned green giving Fyra the go ahead. She started with a loping run before leaping out the hanger and taking to the sky, her excitement made evident when she let out a roar and a jet of fire into the air.

[maligknights]

-GOETIA Pad Cover Tutorial-

‘Sup Emblem nerds, if you saw my post on the handmade Goetia notepad on my general blog, well here’s how to do it.

NOTE: The cover tutorial is for a half-letter hand-bound notepad (14 x 21.5 cm). If you’re using a different size adjust measurements.

Also, super long post ahead! 

You’ll Need:

For the Goetia cover:

Acrilic Paint: Red, blue, pink, white, yellow and gold.

Golden fabric.

Pleather, preferably thin.

An x-acto knife and/or cutter and scissors.

Butterfly clips, various sizes

A pen or marker

A ruler, I used a T-Ruler and my sets of squares for extra precision.

Brushes: One thick (1 inch or more) for coating and  for details and correcting two or more small, painting brushes (as thin or thick as you need them).

Needles or pins, the thinner the better.

A golden ink marker.

Masking or blue tape.

Craft or electricity pliers.

Metallic spatulas, one for the paint and one for the glue.

A printed stencil for the type and another stencil or guide to cut out the details.

Varnish or laquer to seal the paint.

A cutting board or safe surface.

A godette or bowls to mix your paint and a little water on the side.

Glue, you can use the bookbinding cement from your pad or silicone.

Your notepad ready for the cover, the pages sown and glued together. (Or an old notebook, hard cover) 

Cardboard cutouts, the same size or a few milimeters larger than your notepad. Two for the sides and one for the spine.

RESOURCES:

Goetia Template (AI File)  | Goetia Design Reference

Title Font (SS Ancient Hylian) | Ancient Tongue Font

INSTRUCTIONS:

Here’s an example of my template.

So you got your notepad ready as explained in the DIY bookbinding tutorials, time to make it cool. Place your materials on or close to the cutting board.

(excuse the diagram, I forgot to take a picture)

Trace the size of your sown and glued pad with 5mm of allowance between sides. Add 5mm of allowance on the border around the whole area, then another border with the same proportions and trace the corners into flaps. Cut the fabric as marked by the general outline.

NOTE: I made the slight mistake of cutting the symbol pattern before painting, you might want to skip these steps and return once your cover is painted and sealed.

Get your cutting stencil and place it on the top of your fabric where the symbol should be. Fix it to the fabric with the pins, you may want to use a layer of cardboard underneath to pin it real good.

Cut the fabric according to your pattern, I did it on both sides but the books in canon only have the symbol on the cover. 

If you missed the painting first like I did, pin down the pieces of the pattern you will use so they won’t move when the brush applies the paint.

Mix a navy blue and red to make a nice, dark purple and add the first coat of paint. If your fabric isn’t purple (like mine which is red) make sure the paint covers all spots, this might take a second or third layer.

Add some pink to the mixture to get a prettier shade of plum and paint the cover unevenly to give it an old timey texture with quick, lighter strokes. Add more pink and a teensy bit of white and as many layers as you think the texture will look best. I added about 5-7 layers of paint total, but if you want a different effect or a darker shade of purple feel free to do so.

Once your cover is painted, get some varnish or lacquer and seal it. I usually add two or more layers just to be sure.

While your paint dries, cut the golden corners as they’re shown in the reference pictures, I used double-sided cutouts (glued together with the cement, if you don’t have cement use silicone), the x-acto knife, and the butterfly clips to shape the inner pattern on several pieces at a time. If any edge gets wonky I used a lighter to burn out the ugly edges, careful though pleather is flammable.

Similarly, while or after the purple paint is done, cut two straps double the size of the large markings that should be on top of the spine of your pad. Fold them and glue them together with the cement. You can reinforce the glueing process with the butterfly clips.

If you haven’t cut out the design on the cover, do that now. Sepparate the pieces and you’ll be left with a big triangular hole on the pleather. Glue the pieces of the golden fabric to cover the hole up from the back of the pleather.

Once dry, flip the cover and glue the pieces from the design. I used the pins to make sure they wouldn’t move and to prevent the fabric from staining or hardening with the glue. (Bookbinding cement is very noble though)

Time to coat your extra pieces. Since most metallic paints have an annoying transparency to them, we’re first making a mix of yellow, a bit of the gold paint and a little drop of red. The red should turn the yellow darker, not orange. Give it the first coating and let it dry. Give it another coat of  yellow, and then at least two of gold, there’s no need to paint the side you’ll glue on but I did it just in case.

For the second line in the spines I made a mask with masking tape and painted them the same: two coats of yellow and two or more of gold. Remove the tape and correct if necessary. I used the cut parts to measure the position and length.

Meantime I practiced the ancient tongue script on a sepparate sheet of paper as indicated by my stencils.

Once your parts are ready, take your lettering stencil and cut out the words, careful with the closed shapes or you’ll have to draw the lines by hand or correct the centers. Use the pins to fix the stencil and a thick paper so the humidity would let me use it more than once. With the thin brush(es) apply two coats of yellow and at least two of gold. Repeat on back and spine or wherever you want.

Remove the stencil carefully and correct any mistakes. 

With the golden marker, write the ancient tongue message on your pad. I scratched a grid with the x-acto to make sure I didn’t get out of line, then repainted the scratches.

NOTE: The title stencil reads GOETIA, but I couldn’t find the font for the runes used in Awakening and didn’t feel like vectorizing so I used a Zelda font which is very similar. The ancient tongue message reads “Not Really just a Noptepad”.

Glue the spine lines and coat again with varnish, don’t worry the fabric should be fine. I gave it several coatings of varnish so the letters wouldn’t tore off the previous acrylic layer. You may add varnish to the corners separately or once the book is complete. 

(The corners are just put on for reference, I’ll glue them last)

Next, paste it together accordingly to the cardboard/hardcovers of your notepad, add a kraft sheet on top to cover the flaps and firmly glue the spine parts. 

Finally, glue the corners. You may varnish one last time if you didn’t coat the corner cutouts. Let it dry completely.

Ta-dah! Your magic tome is ready, try combining different papers (for notes, or special drawing paper, you name it!). You can create your own stencils for other designs, FE-Themed or otherwise, enjoy!