Rough Draft / Early Stages: Artaxiad

Well, I’ve secretly always wanted to write an epic of some sort. Like Beowulf or the Iliad, something so grand and fantastic, that’s it’s most surely out of the scope of my own talent. Regardless, if it’s worth aspiring to, it’s worth giving the old college try. So here’s a small look at something I started working on tonight, that could have potential, I don’t know. It’s unedited, probably a bit sloppy and needs to be tightened.

I’d like to get some feedback / criticism, any thoughts any of you that read this have. There’s little to the story right now, but I’d love to hear what anyone thinks.

With that being said, here’s an introduction to Artaxiad.

*****

Working diligently from the tallest tower
With sight over courtyard and kingdom
The clever old wizard plies his trade
Creating bubbling concoctions, tinctures,
Elixirs, potions and magical mixtures
An alchemist’s dream at his fingertips.
His snow-white hair thinning with age
Still falls over his shoulders and back.
A wispy beard of great length is yellowed
At the mouth from smoking garnal weed
Out of his favorite ornate wooden pipe.
Wearing simple black robes and pointed hat
He weaves his way through his laboratory
With fantastic ease, floating through the air.
Smiling and nodding his head at one vial
all while frowning and sighing at the next.
Artaxiad was the name he had gone by
For as many generations as the kingdom
Could remember and many, many more.
He had served dutifully under every king
Though recorded history would disagree
As old stories passed down through the ages
Would tell of an Artaxiad driven by madness,
plotting his deception against many kings.
Though stories were just that and never
Did any wise man know to raise any story
Above the sound of a whisper that would
Get lost in the cool harvest breeze
Lost to prying ears at the top of the tower.
He was both feared and revered by subjects
All were wary of his unholy magical prowess
Though few had ever seen it used before.

On The Rise

Moon on the rise
A lonely silhouette
Pressed dark against the last remaining light

And two dim eyes
Searching the horizon
Peer beneath his dusty traveler’s hat

He digs his heels in from their stirrups
The earth is stirred
Kicked into the sky
A bellowing whinny pierces through the night
Echoing over the hills
And down into the valley

A torrid pace through the wastelands
Black cloak twisting silently in the wind
Horse and rider approach the destination
A desolate farmhouse on dying earth
Blood curdling shrieks of terrified children
Watch the beast tear open helpless livestock

The rider dismounts his steed
And stalks upon the gruesome creature
Unsheathing his curare tipped dagger
Two dim eyes narrow on approach
Beneath his dusty traveler’s hat
As the beast crunches bone and sinew

His blood lust and hunger never sated
The creature doesn’t sense the rider
As the garrote slips around his neck
And the poisoned dagger strikes true
A grievous wound through his evil heart
With a roar into the throes of death
The beast collapses in the rotting orchard

Rider on the rise
Reprising his role in the saddle
He tips his hat to the indebted farmer

And two dim eyes
Searching the horizon
Peer beneath his dusty traveler’s hat

Witches, Devils and Heroes

Broken glass and bare feet
A walk across burning coals
A trek across any surface
To find what makes you whole

Afflicted with a mark that itches
Don’t pick the scab, it won’t heal
While the dark hooded witches
Will surely question your steel

Cast an eye over your shoulder
As their incantations will begin
The world around starts to feel colder
While a lonely aging traveler grins

Leading you through crystal caves
Moving deeper inside the earth
With trials you acquiesce to brave
One day a man must prove his worth

Of sharpened steel and forged metal
Take your sword and raise your shield
A crushing blow rained upon their skulls
The enemy’s fate had been all but sealed

Now in terror watch the witches flee
In all directions with eyes that are crazed
Some fall to their knees to make a plea
But all of their bodies must be razed

Pile the corpses in the funeral pyre
Escape the sorcery and this black magic
Floats to the stars as the flames grow higher
Smiles the man with the devil’s walking stick

Pry on your insecurity and weakness
And devise a way to ravage your heart
Staring down to the bottom of the abyss
As the fabric of life becomes torn apart

The cracks widen and you can’t claw
Lose footing, as evil gazes down and laughs
Cut through your spine like a buzz saw
A misstep, a wrong turn, your final gaffe

Captured in chains and tied to the rack
Locked in the dungeon and nowhere to go
His light soon to be eclipsed to pitch black
A most fitting end for this failed hero

Climbing

Climbing ever higher,
last week, bartered my soul,
to the richest buyer.

Miles from the summit,
a man with idle hands,
and insatiable wit.

Scaling above the trees,
an effortless feat, like
swinging from a trapeze.

I can’t feel my fingers,
the further up I climb,
my mind starts to linger.

This man floats above me,
to urge on my ascent,
to become what I’ll be.

With a sinister smile,
he pushes me toward,
my own miracle mile.

It’s too late to repent,
for all of my misdeeds,
or for me to repent.

Up on this mountain side,
with no soul to my name,
and evil as my guide.

I’ll get myself to the top,
filled with a sense of pride,
just to be made to drop.

The fall happens so fast,
feel the fire rushing,
up to meet me at last.

Now we’ll go up in flames,
that’s me, my soul and I,
without an heir to claim.

Except for the buyer,
with his delicate hands,
climbing ever higher.