Wednesday, May 17, 2017

The Last Word Count Wednesday of the Semester!

Word Count Wednesday (5/17/17)

What am I working on?

Oh my gosh I cannot believe it's the end of the semester! Does the writing stop from here? No way! With a renewed sense of inspiration I am planning to continue with my story about the star and the assassin and will try to post on my blog as often as possible. I'm also planning to elaborate on my In Media Res story about the viking who gets cursed by the gods as well as making a map for it.

Word Count: 5,005 (A new record for the semester!)

How do I feel about the process?

I feel really good about it all, i've seemed to come out of my writing slump and I feel determined to finish. This semester really rekindled my love of writing and has given me a dream of one day getting a book or two published. Thank you Bradford :) You have been absolutely wonderful throughout this entire semester and I want to thank you for all of your positivity and kind words. You are the eternal happy daffodil of Moorpark. Have a great summer and I wish you the best on your new book.

What am I reading now?

A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas

(I've been waiting all year to read this baby! Woooohooo)

On Writing by Stephen King


All the poems I've written for the class. Yeah... I'm not a poet but I tried. I apologize for the bad ones but hey I'll stick to writing fiction.


Isolde's Song

Blessèd are the few that know youth's toils

Can'st thou see the fair pilgrim's pride?
The melancholy green in a maiden's eyes
That's sun-kissed upon summer's golden bride.
A heart that beats wild on a tempest tide,
An ocean deep where that heart doth lies.
Sailed for a fate of which stars defied.

Can'st thou hear the west wind straining?
Between gales lost echoes banshee's cry
Bid thee farewell, the old moon is waning,
The old world laid behind with renewed spirits shaming.
Zephyr's golden lyre bellows a traitorous sigh, 
The fair maiden travels, herself betraying.


To a Craft That I Cannot Craft

Poetry is freaking hard.
How can I compete?
When Shakespeare
When Keats
When Tennyson
Are the masters of their craft.
I am the master of faking,
Of aching,
Of contemplating,
Of procrastinating,
Of annihilating
Any poetry that comes to mind.
I try to craft a craft that cannot be crafted by me.
With that I must raise a glass in praise
To those who can phrase a phrase.
I swear upon it by the lords of the sonnet
That I raise a glass in cheers to the masters of their craft!
So I’ve crafted this craft that cannot be crafted by me.


An Ode to the Royal Felines

I feel like I am being watched and judged.
Eyes that never leave my side
Eyes that stare both blankly and with contempt.
It is then that I remember that there are at least three cats living in my home.

Call me crazy cat lady; it’ll never phase me.
I have my lord defenders and kingly felines at my side.
Lord Willoughby, First of his name Esquire; also known as Sir. Willard the Conqueror.
Sir Oliver, King of Boo and Keeper of the Fluff.
Lady Oreo, Queen of Nag and Mother of Hairballs.

My home is their castle and they rule with royal might.
I am but a peasant in their eyes and they my superior.
I am a slave to their purrs, their tufts of fur between their toes, and their magnificent bellies presented to be rubbed.

I am the crazy cat lady who endures and adores their looks of judgment.
I am a servant in my own home but what does that matter
When a castle is a castle and those who rule, rule with unconditional love


To the Girl with the Headphones: A Letter to my Autistic Sister

I wonder what’s inside that head.
My sister, the quiet reclusive ray of sunshine.
What is it like in there?
Are you locked in a pleasant world?
Is it one that I can enter?
If so send directions because I am quite lost.
Are you happy?
Do you suffer?
I know it’s hard to articulate, I know it’s hard to express,
But I want to know…
Who are you talking to?
Is it only to yourself?
Or do you have your other friends all jammed in there as well?
Talk to me please so I can to get in.
I want to get in.
Do you want me in?
Or are you trying to get out?
What is this limbo we are trapped in?
I know I must enter your world instead of drawing you out.
But let me know you are happy instead of drowning me out…
Tell me you are happy, please.
Silence is a hard pill to swallow but it is all you can give
My sister, the quiet reclusive ray of sunshine.
I wonder what’s inside that head.


Enemy, Thy Name is Writer’s Block.

We meet again my long time foe… writer’s block
Brain, why do you hate me so?
Netflix calling me to finish season 4 of a show nearly a decade old.
The cliffhanger from chapter 26 you just have to finish.
Laziness, no you are never lazy… just reluctant to write.
Gosh darn it, write something!
Anything! Make it garbage just write!
I’ve got it!
Nope, nope it’s gone.
Darn that was a good one; at least I think it was…
It’s been four hours.
Do I give up now?
Never give up.

I’ve got it!

Experiment #8 (The Flares of Sunday)

Experiment #8: : Create a setting description/character outline for a play

"The Flares of Sunday"

Setup: A dinner party gone wrong. The King family’s Sunday dinner is turned upside down when the party intended to announce Pammy and Eugene’s engagement is interrupted by the crazy family’s antics. Stanley fights with his overly judgmental father. Helen debates what she wants in between the life she’s built with Stanley or the life she imagines with the much younger milkman. Millicent debates her choice to continue her relationship with Cyril when she sees her former lover fight to have her back at dinner. Pammy wishes for her father’s blessing over her marriage and Eugene wishes the same all while hiding his draft notice from Pammy. Jenny and Henry try a get rich quick scheme and sneak contraband materials (fireworks) into the house all while the party is afoot. All ends in a laugh and a boom.

Setting:  Cincinnati, Ohio, Spring 1942, a house in suburbia in a lower middle-class             neighborhood.


·      Stanley King –48, a WWI veteran and steel mill worker. Husband of Helen and Father to Millicent, Pammy, and Jenny. Has a very strained relationship with his father and feels the constant pressure of trying to keep his family together.

·      Helen King – 38, Stanley’s wife and stay at home wife and mother who is unhappy in her life and fighting the urge to leave and run off with milkman.

·      Millicent King – 20, eldest daughter torn apart by her perception of love. Her heart broken by Patrick and now has settled for Cyril despite her attraction for the man she cannot have. The most sensible and level headed of the daughters.

·      Pammy King – 18, middle daughter, engaged to Eugene and is in a constant struggle with her father to accept her new fiancé. A known romantic and a stubborn hardhead willing to fight for what she wants.

·      Jenny King – 16, youngest daughter, caught up in the most nonsensical and hilariously high-energy relationship with local bad boy Henry. The most dramatic and charismatic of the daughters

·      Patrick Bateman – 40, Stanley’s playboy boss at the steel mill who is in love with Millicent King despite the 20-year age gap.

·      Eugene Loy – 21, a rather timid young man engaged to Pammy who is keeping the secret of his draft notice. He must juggle meeting the family, trying to impress his new father in law and hiding his notice from his fiancé.

·      Henry Krupp – 18, An overly dramatic con artist and local bad boy who is constantly getting into trouble with Jenny including trying to sneak her in and out of their house to sneak contraband items into her house.

·      Stephan Friedan – 24, a cougar hunting milkman who seems to have an infatuation with Helen and has even suggested that they run away together despite their 14 year age difference.

·      Cyril Evot – A local college student who is in a current relationship with Millicent and seems to a rather jealous type.

·      Archibald King – 75, Stanley’s father and local grouch with not a positive bone in his body. He suffers from occasional dementia and is in a rather strained relationship with his son.

Dorothea – 55, The King’s prudish and rather nosy neighbor who is always prying into the family’s business and always seems to have her eyes on the illegal activity Jenny and Henry bring.

Experiment #1 Children's book (unfinished)

I'm so sorry I attempted children's literature and I failed so miserably at it. I think I'll stick to adult fiction but it was defiantly a fun try.

The Little Red Boat and the Viking Cats

We stand on the shore in our little red boat, just Hazel, and Socks the cat and me, Alice.

We look from the boat to our big blue house on the hill and see our mother waving from the front door.

Goodbye Mom, we are off on another adventure.  We take off on our little red boat, just Hazel and Socks, and me, Alice.

We sailed away from the big blue house

It gets smaller

            and smaller

                        and smaller

                                    then gone.

Hazel is first mate and keeps the boat running.

Socks is our look out, he is the best to climb and watch the ocean.

I am the captain and steer the boat to our new adventure.

Over the waves and towards the sun we see a figure in the distance!

“Ahoy! Ahoy! Incoming ship!” meowed Socks from his post.

The ship was getting larger
            and larger
                        and larger

                                    then here.

Inside the boat were a boatful of cats, Viking cats wearing big horned hats and large furry vests.

“Ahoy matey!” called the captain of the cats.

*Gosh darn it children’s books are so hard to write… this was all I was able to “craft”

Monday, May 15, 2017

Experiment #3: MAP

Ok so I just spent the last three hours carefully crafting this map. This is the world from my "from where the stars fall" narrative, i've christened it "Parthenia". I apologize for the poor quality of the photo and the fact that it's all done in pencil... but it's the best I have so far. I hope you enjoy :)

Experiment #12: Character Sheet "The Girl"

Experiment # 12 :Character Sheet
From Where the Stars Fall: “The Girl”

Full Name: Ashara (No known last name)
Alias: Diana Frobisher, Vera Wickim, and Sibella Crew
Age: About 22
DOB: Unknown; but remembers it was sometime in the winter.
Current Location: Favershim, Parthenia  
Biological Gender: Female
Identifiable Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Read/ Write: Illiterate
Intellect: Average; More street smart than wise.
Parental Unit: (Biological Mother; Elide (a 20 old prostitute in Keatston. Deceased. Father unknown)
            (Adoptive ward of Sally Dish {43}. Deceased)
            (Member of the Greensleeves Bay Kip. 12 members (all deceased))
Siblings: None that she knows of.
Family Allies/ Enemies: Greensleeves Bay Kip’s enemies include the Red Hand Kip                         and Gus Winkler’s Goons
Still lives w/ Family: No
Place of Birth: An alley slum in Keatston, Parthenia
Ethnicity: Parthenian
Broken the law: Heck Yes
Laws Broken: Burglary, robbery, assault, vandalism, mass murders, carrying                                     illegal firearms, breaking and entering, and many others.
Education level: No schooling what so ever.
Special training: Self taught assassin.
Current Associations: None.
Economic Situation: BROKE.
Economic class: As low class as you can get.
Debts: None, she leaves no loose ends behind.
Income: Whatever she can scrap together from her jobs. Cheapside assassinations don’t               exactly rake in a ton of money.
Current Occupation: Assassin and occasional bounty hunter.
How was the job received: She seeks revenge on the men who murdered her friends and             trained to be able to track them all down and kill them. Assassinating others on the side is more of a way to keep from starving and to fund her revenge hunt.
Length of employment:  5 years.
Current Criminal Record: Nothing recorded; she’s never been caught.
Marital status: Single.
Romantic Interest: Robin (Deceased)
                              Tamriel “The Star” (Current)
Children: None yet

Personality type: ENTJ

Good at Interacting/ people skills: Yes; as a con artist and general thief she has to be able to trick and interact positively in order to continue her craft.
Favorite things: Her beloved knife collection, all named and at her side at all times.
Favorite color: Purple.
Favorite food: Steak; medium rare or a nice custard tart.
Favorite drink: Ale.
Favorite Animal: Cats (both real and mechanical.)
Favorite musical genre: Jig Fiddle.
Favorite sport: No time for sports unless you call killing her favorite sport.
Motto to live by: Kill or be killed and don’t look back.
Special Talents: acute observation, master of both armed and unarmed combat, proficient with any type of weapon, lock picking, expert thief, and a weird ability to juggle.
Hobbies: Collecting unique blades, juggling, dancing.
Easily Bored: No.
Known Quirks:  Cannot pronounce her H’s to save her life.
Quiet or Loud: Quiet.
Special Mementoes: Her beloved blade/dagger collection.
Worst Experiences: She’s lost everyone she’s ever cared about.
Fears: She’s afraid of commitment and loosing those she is close to.
Role in the group: In a large group she usually the rebel; in a pair she is the leader.
In a group, would contribute: She is the muscle.
Good at cooperating: For the most part yes but she has her stubborn streak.
Kind of thinker: Realist.
Annoys Characters: Stupid people, too many personal questions, slowness.
Reaction when annoyed: She usually gives a snide remark or becomes aggressive.
Reaction when angry: She blows up like a bomb.
Easily angered: Yes; she’s a bit of a hot head prone to violent tendencies.
Sad often: She’s not happy but will never admit to being sad. Her sadness is viewed as her own personal weakness and must not be shown.
Reaction when sad: She clams up, becomes incredibly aggressive and harsh. If it                                     becomes too much to handle she will break down into tears.
Immediate Goals: Gain enough money to continue her search for Gus Winkler.
Long Term Goals: Not to end up dying in the slum and one day be able to work into             something considered to be “decent.” Maybe be able to live away from the city in a nice house with people she cares about.
Self Serving/ Self Sacrificing: Self serving for the most part but self sacrificing to those who do end up close to her.
Dreamer/ Realist: Realist
Personality Flaws: Overly aggressive, a total hothead, violent tendencies, a cold front and             uses sarcasm to deflect people from becoming too personal
How reliable is memory: Pretty good
Earliest Memory: Around 4; She remembers her little cot by the fireplace that was always             covered in ashes in the morning.
Fondest Memory: Finding the mechanical cat in one of the garbage cans and bringing it home to try and fix it.
Most Embarrassing Memory: The time she fell into the open sewer and one of the older  boys in the neighborhood had to help her out
Biggest Failure: Her two years of homeless wandering and starving after she ran away from Sally Dish’s home.
Biggest Regret: That she was the one to survive the Greensleeves Bay Kip massacre and not her friends.
Greatest Achievement: That she singlehandedly took out every person responsible for her friend’s deaths (with the exception of Gus Winkler himself) over the course of 5 years.
Self-Confident/ Self-Depreciating: Overly confident in her abilities as an assassin
Triggers to Past Traumas: The mention of the City of Greensleeves
Trauma was: That every one in the Greensleeves Bay kip was murdered by Gus Winkler and his goons. It left her as the massacre’s only survivor, left to bury all of her friends and swear vengeance upon all of them.
Method to calm down: Beats the crap out of whatever is nearby; will later use breathing exercises to keep her calm
Sense of Humor: Morbid sense of humor but loves to be a smartass.
Secret Keeping: Great, she doesn’t snitch.
Prone to Gossip: No; snitches get stitches.
In a social group: Dominate.
Bullied/Teased (past):  Yes.
By Whom: Sally Dish.
Bullied/ Teased (Current): yes in a way…
By Whom: Society and the higher ups who scoff at the slum people…
Relationship w/ Parents: Abusive and distant.
Issue w/parents: Yes. Abandonment issues with her biological mother. Has a hatred for Sally Dish because of her abusive behavior and alcoholism.
Lots of friends: Yes but they are all dead.
Lots of romantic partners: A few small flings here and there. Only had one real meaningful relationship, which ended with his death.
Any bad breakups: No unless you count one of them dying.
Any jealous lovers: No.
Family Reputation: Mother is a prostitute and Sally Dish is a drunk.
Religion: None.
Personal moral code: Kill for revenge or business. Violence against children is not an option. Prostituting yourself for money is not an option. Do whatever you can to survive. Cheat steal kill and don’t look back.
Social status: Lower than dirt and basically invisible.
Active in community: No.
Bad Childhood memories:  Living with abusive Sally Dish in Keatston. Being locked up in the log box by Sally Dish. Loss of her friend Lettie (Sold to Grigor Slag.)  Anything having to do with Sally Dish, Grigor Slag or Gus Winkler.
Happy childhood memories: She found a mechanical cat in the trash once. Playing sticks with some of the slum children. Pranks on the local elderly.
Manias: Getting revenge over the people who have wronged her.
Inept at: Obtaining any type of class; she’s just an uncouth person and will most likely never retain any refinement.
Taboos: Hurting or exploiting children.
Secrets: None; she’s an open book if you really want to know.
Rivals: Noemi, Darius, Ned, Gus Winkler/ Goons; {King Octavian, Prince Ambrose, Lord Septimus (Later in the story.)}
Health Issues: None.
Sound Mind: Questionable but she’s not psychotic.
Mental Health Concerns: Some question to PTSD and defiant anger management issues.
Skin color: Pale.
Height: 6’1.
Long Arms/legs: Yes both long legs and arms.
Right or left handed: Right handed.
Body type: Ectomorph (Slim.)
Frame: Willowy.
Overall Body Shape: Willowy and slim.
Muscular: Yes.
Face Shape: Oval.
Forehead: High.
Distinguishing features: Very high cheekbones and an angular face.
Skin type: Dry.
Eyebrows: Curved.
Eyelashes: Average.
Eye color: Violet-Blue.
Nose shape: Long straight edge nose.
Lip size: Full.
Teeth size: Average.
Hand size: Average.
Finger length: Average, 2-3 inches.
Missing appendages: No.
Look older/younger: Baby face makes her appear a few years younger.
Attractive: Yes, and she uses this to her advantage when she can.
Ugly: No unless you count her scars on her neck and back “ugly.”
Healthy/good shape: No, for her weight she’s rather underweight but she does have some             muscle on her arms and legs.
Most predominate feature: Her eyes, which are rather large for her face.
Current weight: 125 lbs.
Clothing measurements: About an American size 4/6.
Shoe size: 8 women’s.
Natural stance/ posture: Slouches with arms on table, shoulders usually hunched                         foreword to protect her center.
Speaking gestures: Cocks the right side of her mouth up when smiling and when she speaks she opens her mouth making it rather wide.
Expressive when speaking: usually always collected and almost always wearing a smirk a scowl on her face.
Strange mannerisms: Always biting the inside of her mouth. Taps things with her middle             finger.
Hair length: Long that hits her mid-back.
Hair color: Black.
Thick/average/thin/: Thick.
Hairstyle: Just long without any stylish cuts.
Regional/Foreign: Eastern Cockney region dialect.
Voice pitch: a little deeper and rather pleasant.
Quality of voice: Rather rough in her pronunciations but rather smooth.
Distinctive voice: Thick lowbrow cockney accent.
Better senses: Sight and Hear.
Worse senses: Taste.
Damaged teeth: Some wear on her back molars but not too bad
Natural smell: She smells like every other person in the slums but takes care not to                                   constantly smell like them.
Vision: Good.
Fingernail length: Short.
Fingernail condition: Ragged.
Noticeable hands: Hands are average and very worn.
Tattoos: None.

Experiment #4 In Media Res

Experiment #4: In Media Res
Rhysand’s Curse

            Oh the joys of glorious chaos. It all begins with the screams; the high-pitched screams of the women followed by the war cries of those foolish enough to fight. They know they cannot win and he knows how easy it is to slaughter the lot of them and deduce their homes to ash. The village of Morva was bright with flame then gone The thick black smoke of destruction billowed high into the early morning sky still pearly pink by the sun’s shy rays. Rhysand stood amongst the unfolding chaos watching his forces with boredom; victory amongst these lower peasants was much too easy. Grima was diverting his forces to the east to cut off the escaping villagers, what a useless lot they were. Several smaller villages dotted the plains that led up to the temple. It would be his cousin's job to have his troops sack the villages and keep them distracted long enough for Rhysand and his men to get to the temple. Leave Grima to anything, what a leap of faith that would be hopefully the idiot could lead the charge without embarrassing him. These lowlife villages were nothing but cheap pocket change in comparison to whatever treasure lie within that stony temple on the hill. The temple was a tall looming fortress with thick with fog and black smoke; made of thick jutting stone wrapped in ancient runes and towered high with river rock. The temple was dedicated to whatever heathen gods or goddesses the horse riders worshiped but it was an ancient cultural core to their people. Destroying it would cripple the tribe, and weaken them to further attack. It was a perfect for the taking. Upon the stone steps leading to the entrance of the temple stood from the darkened entrance a harsh looking woman with a long willowy frame; the head priestess no doubt. She was dressed it what looked to be a rough brown gown with brass bangles around her bare ankles. Her long dark hair was plaited in a myriad of tiny braids weaved within a headdress of small twisted branches and her piercing eyes stared daggers a headdress of small twisted branches and her piercing eyes stared daggers at the incoming invaders at the foot at her door. The head priestess held out her palms in front of her with a look of anger burning through her green irises. "Stop in the name of the gods! You approach the temple of the godly family Ragrok, Theodywn, Taran and Máire. You dare not come a step further!" She took a step forwards as several other priestesses stood behind her to create a blockade from the entrance. What a nuisance, they were blocking their entrance. "I don’t think your imaginary friends in the heavens will do anything to stop me,” he said to the head priestess with a wicked look upon his face.

"You barbaric heathens dare to insult our gods, I wouldn't do such things if I were you this is a sacred place" she said her voice deepening and her eyes met his in an aggressive manner. "You are free to be here for worship but if you think you can pillage this holy place then you are gravely mistaken..."  
"That's exactly what I intend on doing today" Rhysand said calmly as he adjusted his gloves. His men were now very close behind; ready to charge forwards the moment he gave the signal. "I’ll tell you what. Give me what I want now, or let me take it by force. It’s your choice."  "Is that a threat? I warn you now if you pillage this temple grave consequences beyond imagination will happen to you" she said menacingly and stood up straight looking back towards the priestesses. "Come along ladies I have warned him of what is to come. If this barbarian wishes to ignore them then it is his own doing. You may pass inside but do not say that I did not warn you sea demon." The head priestess then turned aside and stepped back inside. The other priestesses followed obediently behind and sat in the middle of the giant temple their eyes watching for their next move. "Barbarian?" Rhysand scoffed. "I take offense to that. "Those stupid priestesses would pay. He lifted a hand and closed it into a fist, signaling his warriors would attack. The warriors streamed forwards, swinging axes and swords, with the prince standing back and taking all the action in. It was relatively easy to take the temple. The men streamed inside smashing statues and the grand alters with their massive axes and began ransacking anything of value inside throwing it out into giant piles. Within no time, Rhysand was able to walk up the steps and into the temple to find what he was looking for. In the middle were four golden objects, supposedly one dedicated to each of their gods. Each one was individually worth a fortune and ancient.  The four golden treasures stood upon large rough stone pedestals with light from a skylight above shining down on the sacred items. Each was beautifully detailed and intricately carved detailing the stories surrounding each deity.  Rhysand walked around the pedestals slowly, very much aware of the high priestess's presence. "They say that these relics are over a thousand years old,” he said, reaching out for the one in the middle. "As far as I'm concerned, they just look like statues of gold to me. Perfect for the taking."  "I will issue you one last warning Viking man you may be able to steal what you will from men but you cannot steal from the gods without retribution. The moment you take them your fate is sealed. Be wise and leave while you can" she hissed at making her way towards the foreign invader "do not lift it from its pedestal mortal you will be punished."  His eyes met hers, matching some of the blue gems inlaid in one of the statues. "I don’t believe in your heathen myths,” he told her before he lifted the first of the statues from the pedestal, tucking it away into a satchel he had over his shoulder. "A wrong choice. It's a shame you will believe in them soon enough" she hissed running towards him with a sadistic smile on her face, her eyes lighting up with evil intent. "You will believe in our gods now!" The priestess grabbed hold of his left arm with the ironclad grip of a man and her hand began to tremor.  Before Rhysand could draw his sword, the witch woman was upon him. When she grabbed him, it was as though he had stuck his arm straight through a roaring blaze and melted his flesh off. It was pure agony. He dropped to his knees, her grip relentless, and the burning went on for what felt like hours before it abruptly stopped. The stench of charred flesh was the only thing he smelled. He lifted his head to look at his arm, stunned that it wasn’t burned to a stump, and instead was covered with some sort of black, winding markings. "With that the gods have cursed you. All actions come with a cost Viking man. Do not say I did not warn you." She hissed releasing his arm and grinned wickedly. With a snarl, Rhsyand leaped to his f feet and grabbed the woman by the throat, slamming her back into a column. "What did you do to me?" He hissed, fingers digging into her flesh.
"What did you do to my arm?" "I told you already you barbarian, you stole from the gods and now you are cursed with everything that you would have ever wanted" she forced out her hands going to pry his grip off of her throat though her eyes never left his. "Did I not warn you that the consequences of stealing would be beyond your comprehension? Are you so stupid as to think you could run from the watch of Ragrok, Theodywn, Taran, and Máire?" The priestess lent him a rather serpentine smile as the sky around began to darken with storm clouds, thunder crashing in the distance. Rhysand's eyes shone with fury, his face bone white. He drew his sword, pointing it at the priestess. He briefly noticed that whatever she did to him burned all his armor and clothing off on his arm. He drew his sword, ready to run the woman through. "What curse are you speaking of?" he repeated.  "You fool, you stole... you stole from Ragrok himself. He sees all, young barbarian. He watches all and can see into the very soul of men. He saw you; he saw what you will become. He knows your every desire and wish. He sees who you are, for the brute that you present yourself as and dug into your heathen soul the moment you placed your palms against his holy relics" she rasped in a low breathy voice. "He saw what you wanted and gave you just that. You use your brute force to conquer and kill and he gave you the tool to do just that… at a price no less. He curses you with an arm that maintains the force of a hundred men but as much as you conquer you will be drained. You will slowly have the life sucked out of you until you are no weaker than a dried leaf on a shriveled branch. You will die weak at your enemies' hand and leave no legacy behind, your legacy like your own life will be cut short at the hands of Ragrok.”