Kung Fu Fighting (Part Fu)

How to Kick Someone Properry

Before Double M had fully erected himself upon standing up, Fu Yoh had launched himself into the air with his slim though powerful legs using the legendary Elephant Flying with Fire on Ass technique and spun the staff so quickly and masterfully above his head appearing momentarily like an early prototype of a machine to be created 500 years later known as the 'helicopter'. His clothes trembled and shook as he landed not five feet from where he landed stylishly with both feet solidly on the ground.

'Ah, so you know some kung fu,' chuckled Double M casually.

'I AM Kung Fu!' declared Fu Yoh angrily as he felt his chi building up around his points of power and struck the threatening Wounded Tiger Taking A Breather Before He Rips Your Face Off pose, his magnificent wooden staff held out in front of him. He could feel energy coursing into his arms down to his hands.

Double M stood unmoved though his grin grew broader until it was a shade short of being reasonably described psychotic.

'Kung Fu indeed. When I'm through with you, you'll be Kung Fool!'

'Yaaaaahhhh,' Fu Yoh screamed as he lept (Psychadelic Toad on Coke Jump) and dashed through the air, staff pointed resolutely at Double M's head, his feet running quickly on an ascending invisible stairs. Even as Fu Yoh rushed closer towards Double M, he made no move to deflect the blow. Suddenly, Fu Yoh felt worried even as he flew through the air. He could see the end of his staff almost touching Double M's head. Why was Double M not even moving? His gaze was fixed firmly on Fu Yoh's eyes and seemed to notice nothing else.

Suddenly his flight ended. Double M had caught the pointed end of his staff with his right palm and held it in place with Fu Yoh still clinging to the staff.

'It's time for you to meet the earth, little sparrow,' said Double M. When he flung the staff, Fu Yoh somersaulted on to the ground and struck the Tequila Grasshopper stance, both fists cackling with power. He rushed towards Double M and opened his attack with a wave of quick relentless punches known as the Thousand Kisses of Your Mother in Law an alternating it with a few Father In Law Loving Embrace long pull back punches. But Double M was not fazed; he met every blow with either a block or harmlessly redirected his punch.

Few could stand up to Fu Yoh's Parents in Law techniques, which usually brought a quick end to his fights. He learned it from his former wife's parents, who though were not trained showed remarkable natural ability. It was not his force that was deadly but his quickness. He could wear most opponent's down in several breaths because after a while they would not be able anticipate him. But Double M didn't even seem to break a sweat. And all the while his eyes were fixed on Fu Yoh's.

Then it happened. When Fu Yoh lost track of Double M's eyes and caught sight of his broad grin, it happened.

It was the blurred rushed haze. It was the feeling of an immovable object flying at great speed crashing into his chest and then another immovable object crashing into his right ribs so hard he heard a crack. It was him then flying through the air again on an entirely different trajectory not of his choosing. The grass below him rushed into a smooth uniform green. It was him landing from a great height on to the ground with another crack. It was him feeling something warm and wet spill out his mouth that was faced down on the ground. It was him reluctantly embracing the darkness he tried so hard to escape. It was the broad grin that he saw even when he could not open his eyes.

It was Double M.

The last words Fu Yoh heard in the distance before the darkness claimed him was:

'Kung Fool. Who's next?'

Kung Fu Fighting (Part 1)

A cool gentle breeze whispered through the large almost empty swaying field of long grass. A few white and light yellow petals occasionally floated by on invisible waves. Though not a cloud tarried in the deep blue sky, it was not hot as the sun was nowhere to be seen. A single large knotted trunk and densely leafed tree stood almost in the centre of the field, its twisted gnarled roots like tortured hands grasping something, anything, desperate for escape.

This is a good day to die, mumbled Double M.

He wore a simple robe that used to be light brown. It was less tattered and frayed around the edges with patched here and there. Double M sat on one of the thicker twist of root leaning against the deeply wrinkled trunk. His eyes were closed. His right hand held a tiny sharp blade which he scraped along a side of a thin though long slightly crooked branch.

He was about to break into a whistle of a distant melody when he suddenly heard three men treading very lightly at the edge of the field. They moved with purpose. They all wore cloth though one wore some metal armour. None carried swords, though another had a long wooden staff and another a short knife. From the sound they made, it was obvious that they took pains to conceal their presence. They had some skill in doing so too. Just not enough.

Though Double M heard the three men deliberately make their way to the tree, he made no effort to stir himself or open his eyes.

'Hail resting traveller!' called out the chocolate skinned man who wore singlet, dark green sarong and a light blue short sleeved shirt which lay open.

The little elusive smile that crept on to Double M's face at the greeting disappeared when he blinked his eyes open, like shadows in sunlight. He waved his right hand and returned the greeting. 'Where are you headed?' he asked.

'Over there,' he said as he pointed past the large tree into the forests in the distance.

'Ah, you still have some way to go then! Why don't you rest a bit?' said Double M breaking into a smile.

'Thank you for your kind offer traveler. I'm afraid we are on an urgent errand. Our quarry moves fast and so must we. Perhaps you could help us with our errand.'

'I'm always happy to help those in need, good sir! But in our haste, we must not forget our manners. Courtesy demands that we introduce ourselves first. I am Double M, traveller.'

A look of momentary surprise flashed on all three men's faces. To his right, the light yellow skinned man dressed in a simple deep scarlet shirt and pants slowly planted his tall wooden staff to the ground. To his left, the bald ebony skinned man swathed in white cloth to his left grew more still. The expression of the brown skinned man who stood in the middle gradually grew more blank.

'Greetings Double M. I apologise for my earlier lack of couth. I am Mat Pawer. To my right is Fu Yoh. To my left is Terror Lingam.' Both Fu Yoh and Terror Lingam bowed slightly at their introduction.

'Ah, the fearsome Technique of Three Heavens! I am honoured by your presence. Tell me, how can I help you fine gentlemen?'

'By your death, Double M,' replied Mat Pawer. 'Prepare yourself.'

At that, Double M's smile turned into a broad grin as he began to stand up.

World Changing Albums That Didn't Get Cut (Another Fantasy Bites The Dust)

The only album cover I ever designed in my short life.
Album would have been awesome if we did the demo properly.
Serious.

(Weeps quietly in a corner somewhere)

I'm sure there's still opportunity for groupie following, rock superstardom for over 30's.

(Weeps harder in a more quiet corner somewhere else).

(Cue Queen's bass line from Another One Bites the Dust)

The Foot Soldier (Reloaded)

When Qatar was young he wanted to be a soldier in King Urias' royal army. Those regal soldiers with their erect and firm bearing marching in their glistening shining armour and long swords in their intricately designed though much scarred scabbards he saw when he was four years old left a deep and smouldering passion for the military. Qatar, however, did not want to be just any ordinary foot soldier. And no, he did not want to be a specialist soldier either.
He felt his destiny when he was five. He knew that he wanted to be one of those robed and hooded men that had a soft, blue or green, gentle throbbing glow - a spellcaster. To Qatar, they did not just walk, they glided on a . Though they appeared frail or harmless, they wielded great power through their spellcasting and conjuring abilities. Often they made up the bulk of the King's personal platoon of elite combat troops.
But the army recruits spellcasters young, at the age of twelve. Natural spellcasters usually stumble upon their abilities earlier, as early as seven. If the army decides you are worthy and if you wish to pursue a career then you immediately join them. The most important requirement that the potential spellcaster should possess is magick intuition.
From that day he decided he would study spellcasters and learn as much as he could about magick. And so he did until his twelfth birthday when he presented himself at the Royal Academy of Magick Studies only to be turned away. He did not possess sufficient magick intuition. He was a good guesser and successful more often than not, but real spellcasters did not guess. Their intuition guided them through the intricacies of casting a spell with unerring accuracy. This was a necessary ingredient to powerful and higher plane spells. Those without intution would often lose their way amidst their casting. In more complicated spells, the consequences of failure was death or ending up a slave of demons. Qatar could cast a few spells because the less powerful the spell, the less precision was required.
Though he was bitterly disappointed, this did not put him off the army. When he was eighteen, Qatar enlisted in the army as a foot soldier. He had just completed his twelve month training when he heard that war had broken out between King Urias and some warrior king from a distant land. Apparently King Urias refused to have his little flat plained kingdom surrender to the unknown warrior. The battle was to take place at the southern plains of Whoonfey where he and other neighbouring kingdoms supplied their respective armies to fight off or defeat Tanoth there before he invaded their own kingdoms. The unit Qatar was in was one of the first sent out into the battlefield despite their lack of experience.
In the early morning on the day of battle before the sun had peeked over the horizon, Qatar was dressed in his full armour standing in line waiting for his turn to be blessed with physical ability enhancements and protective magical spells by the spellcasters in the highly raised platform before them. A crowd of murmurring spellcasters shimmered in their electric glow stood in a semi-circle, each within their own glowing glassy cocoon as different coloured bolts of lightning leaped from their hands and glow and into the soldiers below and cause the crowd to glow.
At the break of dawn, Qatar's unit marched on to the top of a gentle sloping ridge. On their march there they met many armies that joined them. It was a bright and early morning when the twelve regiment strong of the kingdoms' armies met Tanoth and his eight regiments at the Fields of Narah.
Qatar was at the head of his regiment so he had a view of the front. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew the horn would go soon because Tanoth's troops had already begun their charge up the gentle slope.
Then he heard it.

Right after that he heard the loud whisper of arrows whipped into the air. He saw some soldiers fall in the distance. Then suddenly he saw this fast moving abnormally large shape rushing through the army. Another whisper of arrows. More men fell, but the shape grew larger and larger in its relentless approach, ignoring the arrows as he easily deflected them.

Qatar heard the order to charge.
This was it. This was what he wanted was it not? His hands trembled as his legs did. Everybody around him shouted charge so he did too. But his skin began to crawl. His hair was on edge. This was death, he thought to himself. He blinked his eyes hard.
Everybody whipped out their swords. Automatically, he did too. Then they charged. The large shape now grew larger and larger as Qatar ran towards it and finally saw that it was a large man - more than eight feel tall on a huge powerful black horse that looked his equal.
He heard somebody cry, oh Lord Mala help us. It's Tanoth.
In his right outstretched arm was a large and long serrated sword. He glowed a deep maroon as he galloped towards them, the ground seemingly trembling at its hoof falls.
Tanoth quickly drew close to Qatar's unit. He raised his sword to strike.
Everybody around him were shouting and screaming. Qatar could not hear them. He was completely focused on Tanoth. This was it. He wanted so much to kill him. He wanted so much to unleash all the hurt, the shame and hatred he suffered as a result of his early disappointment on him. Maybe this time, for once he would be a a hero. For once he would be appreciated. People would look up to him for a change. Maybe then Yuna would think more favourably of him. Allow him to call on her at least. If only.
But the last thing Qatar ever saw were Tanoth's eyes; his pupils - which were a deep, dark, burning red, as was the colour of the white of his eyes.
Eyes which burned with rage and hatred.
And then his world fell into darkness.

(This story is related to the Final Battle.)

The Final Battle

The fire cackled and burst sending up little fireflies that barely managed to escape the flaming tongues that darted and flicked lasciviously. Five men sat cross legged around and stared at it. They sat on rattan mats made soft and smooth from prolonged wear.

'They said he can take down entire armies,' said the man in velvet blue robes, His face was hidden by the hood. Little slivers of electric occasionally emerged from one part of his body only to leap to an area nearby.

'They said he does not bleed,' said the man with dark brown leather armour. He had a bow on his back. His sword lay sleeping beside him. 'I know a man who saw the whole length of a sword plunged into his chest. He said Tanoth didn't even flinch. After he had killed the man who stabbed him, he pulled out the sword out with his right arm and went on fighting.'

'He is no man,' declared the oldest looking man amongst them. He was dressed in robes of liquid that gave the impression it was shifting about even as he sat unmoved. He turned slowly toward the young unassuming man dressed in almost plain brown clothes and spoke to him. '
'And that is why Greshen. You are our last hope.

Greshen kept on staring intensely into the fire.

'May I not fail all of you,' he finally said wearily.

'Are you sure Greshen is up to this? He is but a boy who has not seen battle,' asked the man dressed in light chain mail. "And Tanoth is a Lord of War. He has been in the thick of many great battles, if not single handedly brought them to an end himself.'

'What choice do we have Marlock? You have seen from afar how Tanoth has levelled whole armies in a day. If we save Greshen, are you his equal?'
Marlock turned his eyes away from the fire to the night, as if to cool them. The cackling seemed louder all of a sudden. A gentle breeze danced with the fire, swaying it this way and that.
'But neither is Greshen,' he said resigned.
'But the prophecies...' began the blue robed man before he was cut off.
'Damn the prophecies!' Marlock suddenly swore. 'Almost none of them came true. You see how we lost in Minath and Kilonth? You see how painfully and miserably we lost those cities? Nobody could imagine those cities falling to Tanoth. The only prophecy that came true was that of Tanoth.'
'Tanoth was the first of the prophecies,' retorted the old man.
'So it will be the only true one?'
'No, but perhaps Greshen's prophecy is the last and it too will be true.'
'Perhaps. Perhaps. I've had enough of your perhaps, Ti. I have...' raged Marlock before he was interrupted.
'Enough!' shouted the man with the leather armour. 'It is enough that Greshen has to face him tomorrow with our aid. Do we now need to ruin his spirit and ours the night before, Marlock? You think we do not think as you do Marlock? You do not think we have been so disappointed and let down by the failure of the prophecies? But what choice do we have? What other means do we have? Our armies are exhausted. There is no magic or weapon that we possess to defeat him. So do not blame Ti. He has helped guide Greshen this far. And though this is a great gamble. It is the only chance we have. The prophecies he may cling to may be wrong but his heart just like ours is true to our cause. If this be the only topic of conversation tonight, I suggest we all catch what little sleep we can. We leave at the first break of dawn.'

************************

The morning sun shone upon the battlefield that was littered with endless corpses and bloodied body parts that lay between the light green grass and shrubs. The five men gathered atop a little hill beside the battlefield. Below them three large regiments were marching into the battle field with their flags flapping excitedly in the strong wind that blew.
'Commander Ullok will lead the initial attack. We hope to weaken him somewhat or at best distract him before we commence our own attack. He will give the signal for us to attack.'
Greshen watched the three large regiments grew thinner and smaller until they finally looked like little bumps on the horizon. Moments later he heard a brassy horn being blown which indicated the battle had begun. Soon after, Ti directed the party to commence their descent and journey to the heart of the battle. As they got closer to the battle, Greshen could feel a warm sadness filling the air. The screams of sheer agony filled his ears. His feet splashed into puddles of blood. Then in the distance he saw swaths of men falling down just after a large sword flashed in the sun before descending to the crowd of screams and limbs.
Suddenly Greshen could hear his heart beating in his ear. His legs grew weaker and weaker the closer he got. The thin short dagger at his side grew cumbersome and almost loathsome. He tripped over a cleanly severed arm and stained his brown clothes with blood.
He felt a soft touch on his right shoulder.
'Are you ready Greshen?' asked Ti gently.
'I don't know if I'll ever be,' replied Greshen.
'You will truly ever know when it is over.'
'Perhaps it is best that way.'
Then a low mournful horn blew.
'It is time,' said Ti.
The mob of soldiers in front of them slowly parted until Greshen could have a clear uninterrupted line of sight to Tanoth. His other four companions stood beside him on both sides, their weapons drawn and with their murmurs afoot to cast the defensive and offensive magick. Tanoth was tall and large even at a distance. When he disposed of the soliders before him, he saw Greshen and they locked eyes. Tanoth was a massive eight and half feet tall clad in what looked like enchanted leather armour. His black and damp shoulder length hair clung to his deep red face. He had red eye pupils that trembled with rage and hatred.
He lifted his massive serrated sword and pointed it at Greshen, his arm perfectly straight, without effort.
Greshen could now feel his heart beating wildly as his chest swelled. He felt a small bead of perspiration slide down the right side of his face. His eyes suddenly stung and he wanted to cry. He was paralyzed with fear.
It was then that Greshen very carefully drew his dagger.

Fantasy No. 302231-D

I become Prime Minister of Malaysia in sometime in 2017 creating history by winning an election with a land slide with my newly formed party which campaigned on the back of only three issues as follows won the election beating the entire BN front by a landslide victory: (1) A three and a half day work week (2) declaring open season on kapchai motorcyclists and licensing their hides (3) Allowance of porn into the country. Within 5 years, I will consolidate my power (by sacking almost all the politicians and government servants and rehiring everybody anew, and becoming a virtual king in Malaysia, because all citizens are just trembling with fervency to do my bidding. Most bumiputera contractors are sacked from most government projects and a majority of the Singaporean governmental staff will be lured away to basically recreate what they did down there over here. After creating a heaven on earth in Malaysia, I will then adopt the name of Kinky Khan and conquer the world on horseback leading shock troop of well muscled men skilled in battle and will try to conquer the world by sword, tiny capes and many disposal leopard skin printed underwear. I will then die a glorious death which will be glorified in a 3 minute pop song by the latest pop boy group of the year. The song about me will rule the charts for 10 weeks consecutively and rule the charts before fading forever into the abyss of time.

Okin of the Twilight Kingdom (Part 3)

when darkness thunders

seek the lightning
behind the clouds

Obayamaashi
Na el harikansintum
Irukianguncharp

(The language of anh used here is a very potent language where one syllable speaks many things. This paragraph can only be translated into our language as follows: Obayamaashi, the great king that came through the needle of an eye that performed feats of gods, built for us the dam, irrigated our lands and introduced farming to our kingdom; who heals the sick and poor; who stands for justice and peace; who raised an army of soldiers from the dead and defeated the evil and hated Inirath; and thus brought peace to our land.)

Bow thy head on bended knee
Offer up thy prayer
of thanks and Love

Guide Him
With thy Life

'You are a very perceptive man, Elder Ti,' said Memnoch before he broke into a smile as he carefully rolled the scroll up, 'to wring so much from so little.'
'My Lord is generous. But this is not true at all. I have memorized the poem and recited it both by mind and mouth thousands of times, before young and old, fair and hideous. In fairness, it was completely obvious as it should have been.' Memnoch's smile widened. He started to feel at ease and comfortable in the village especially in Elder Ti's company. He was meticulously humble and modest. Always ready to deflect or politely decline even a flicker of praise. Elder Ti was the sort of man who felt that if he accepted the praise, he would have the duty and obligation to live up to it and so assiduously declined all praise.
'I trust my Lord's quarters are agreeable?'
'Yes, these humble surroundings are a welcome change from the luxury that I have unfortunately grown accustomed to.' His smile broke into a contemplative mood.
'I humbly apologize for the spartan accommodation for one such as yourself, my Lord.'
'Think nothing of it, Elder Ti. And please, call me Memnoch. I am no king here.'
'Ah, It would please me as nothing else would. But knowing what I know, it would not be possible. My Lord.'
'You claim me as your king yet you disobey my command?'
Elder Ti stood motionless.
'Well, you are at liberty to anyway,' said Memnoch with a smile just touching the edges of his mouth. 'Tell me, what is it like here in Jula, or Haleon, if you can.'
'It has not been good. My Lord's last presence here was so long ago that most of our lands have forgotten you. It pains me to tell my Lord that this village is the last surviving village that believes in your prophecy. And even then, many amongst them have discarded their traditions. Fairytales they call our sacred texts that have come down through countless generations. I just may be the last person that truly knows and would be able to preserve our literature. My only student is still too young and lacking in experience and learning. I just hope that he learns enough before I die. What is more, many have left for the many large cities far away. Some used to take the trouble to come home. But now, it's a rare event. So life here is quiet and far away from everything and everyone else. I should think some of them might think us very primitive, living the way we do.'
'Ah. Not at all. It is honest here, there are no trappings of excess. So there is little contact with the outside world here?'
'None whatsoever.'
'How many are there in the village?'
'Almost a hundred, divided into only a handful of households. As Elder of the village, I have the largest household with twenty three. Thankfully, one of my assistants attends to the routine matters.'
'I see.' Memnoch went quiet and seemed to be pondering over something. A cool gentle breeze whispered through the room. 'Tell me, Elder Ti, Was Magick used here by the previous Obayamaashi?'
'Magick? Well, I have suspected something like that. The texts are not explicit about it, but it is strongly implicit. It would explain many things.'
'That is interesting and comforting to know.'
'But do people in your lands practise Magick?'
'No. The Magick that we know of here are only those tricks of sleight of hand.'
'Hmmm.'
Before Memnoch could continue, a huge black crow flapped itself down noisily on to the window frame. The crow blocked out most of the sunlight that before came unhindered into the room. Its silhouette threw itself across the room and loomed largely on the wall opposite the window. It's huge glassy black eyes turned to Elder Ti for a moment and then to Memnoch. It then paced the window sill back and forth whilst eyeing them warily. Elder Ti seemed calm but there was a tight tenseness to his face when the bird was in the room. He stood rooted watching the bird and furtively murmuring something under his breath.
Memnoch studied the big jet black crow that didn't walk but strode from end to end, as if impatient for something to happen. Its feathers were so perfectly black that they all looked like one smooth slick mass of black. Its beak was a steely determined grey. Its eyes seemed to be searching the room, its pupils darting around the edges.
Memnoch was jarred out of his study by a loud thud. It was the old man striking the floor with his stick three times. The crow emitted a loud ear splitting screech and in a scratchy though malicious sounding screeched, 'Welcome back, Obayamaashi. I have awaited your return for a long, long time. You shall not escape this time!' And with that the huge crow alighted into the sky, gradually fading away into a clear blue sky. Elder Ti's and Memnoch's eyes followed it into the distance, as if keeping the crow under close scrutiny would deter it from returning.
Elder Ti turned to Memnoch and in a grave voice said, 'My Lord, we have to leave.'
'Yes,' replied Memnoch.

Okin of the Twilight Kingdom (Part 2)

Before Memnoch even opened his sleep laden eyes, he felt cocooned in a gentle and pleasant warmth. He could hear murmurs of running water nearby and hushed whispers of sweet feminine voices swirling around a quiet rustle of clothes. As he struggled to open his eyes he could hear the volume of the voices around him rise. When he grasped his vision again, he saw that he was lying on a comfortable mattress with large soft white pillows on a worn wooden bed. Before him were many plainly dressed men and women who possessed a curious feature. They resembled him in features except that they all had rather brown or pinkish fair skin which a stark contrast to his very light blue skin. Even though they seemed harmless, he instantly tried to cast protective spells on himself but found that his murmurs dissipating quietly into the warm dry air. Memnoch felt the dryness on his skin.

Suddenly everybody's head in the crowd bowed slightly and shuffled apart to reveal a thin old man swathed in brown robes hunched over a staff which looked like an elegantly thin branch hewn from the trunk of a formidable oak tree. Despite his seeming frailty he exuded a sense of formidability and deliberate determination, as if he could will each cell of blood to his bidding if he wanted to. His face, once squarely handsome, now took on an ancient and wiser look with deep wrinkled troughs that lined his face and eyes that were so severely squinted that to others they looked closed. The old man stood alone at the foot of Memnoch's single wooden bed and seemed to look at him though Memnoch couldn't tell.

After a pregnant silence, the old man spoke.
'Peace to thee, stranger. Welcome to the village of Jula. I am Ti and the Elder of Jula. I trust you are in improved state?'

His voice was surprisingly firm and deep despite the tenativeness with which he spoke. Memnoch was more surprised that he could understand his language. Then he remembered that not long ago cast upon himself the Tongue of Wa'tu. This was an extremely difficult spell for two reasons. The first was because he had to obtain the Wa'tu. This was the tongue of organic gold of a triple horned beast that had the hide of steel and the bloodlust of an amok warrior. Almost the entirety of Memnoch's second platoon of thirty elite soldiers were wiped out in assisting Memnoch to slay the beast. The second was because it was a twenty one day spell cast that not only demanded one's entire focus and concentration to cast but was extremely physically demanding as well. Memnoch could perform only the other essential functions such as eating, drinking, sleeping, shitting, bathing besides casting under very strict and regimented schedule. The ritual had to be followed strictly for one mistake would negate the entire casting. Once cast, the spell was permanent for it changed certain parts of the biological, neurological and physical structure of Memnoch's ears, tongue and brain over a period of thirty days. Sometimes the pain of the physical change was so great that those of a lower threshold killed themsleves to block out the pain. Many managed to carry out the ritual to fail at the final hurdle. Memnoch was only the third of the Twilight Kingdom to possess the Tongue of Wa'tu.

'Yes, thank you great Elder Ti for your hospitality and generosity. I am indebted to you and your village's magnanimity. I only hope I have not drawn too much upon your reserves in doing so. I am Memnoch,' said Memnoch with such fluency and accuracy of intonation that the crowd behind the old man instantly buzzed with hushed whispers of astonishment. If the old man flinched with surprise, Memnoch could not have told. He stood like a rock unperturbed waiting for the calamity behind him to settle before continuing his conversation. The crowd sensed this and quickly fell quiet.
'Where do you hail from Memnoch?'
'I hail from the Twilight Kingdom. Our king is Tanath Ki'nath. Do you know of it?'
The old man did not answer immediately but kept quiet for a moment.
'No. We have never heard of such a kingdom or such a king, Memnoch. Perhaps your lands are too far away form our little humble village.'
'You may be right, Elder Ti. Might I inquire as to the kingdom within which Jula dwells?'
'Jula is part of the Commonwealth of Haleon. There are three other commonwealths aside from Haleon. Those are Uon, Aanakth and Suissen. Together they form the Republic of Ankh. Jula is merely one of the smaller villages of Haleon.'
'I see. And do all these commonwealths share similar weather, warmth and sunlight?'
'There are little variations between them - some are a little colder, some a little warmer, some more humid, some drier. Jula sits some twenty leagues the border of Haleon and as you would have noticed, the air here is dry.'
'I have noticed that too. And are all the denizens of the Republic of similar colour?'
'Yes. Truth be told Memnoch, we have not seen any of your kind here before.'
'I had sensed that too. There are none of your colour in my lands as well. In the Twilight Kingdom, our skins are light blue except for a few rare denizens whose skin are a luminous white.'
They both looked at each other for a while as if unsure where to take the conversation.
'Are you too king in the Twilight Kingdom, Memnoch?' asked Elder Ti.
Memnoch flinched in surprise at the question though Elder Ti remained still and unchanged.
'How did you know this?' demanded Memnoch, a little too aggressively he felt. It was one of those rare moments when Memnoch felt slightly apprehensive.
'One need not be told of it to know or understand something.'
'I accept that.'
'Do they call Obayamaashi in the Twilight Kingdom, Memnoch?'

For the first time in his life Memnoch felt a nervous sense of fear seize him. Obayamasshi was the ancient title of Okin. That title was so ancient that even Tanath Ki'nath knew not of it. Memnoch himself only learned of the old title because of his deep, thorough and meticulous study of all the ancient texts in the Royal Library. That title was last used more than four thousand years ago. How then did an old man in another world perhaps know of his heritage?
'Yes,' Memnoch answered. The crowd behind the old man was intensely quiet holding out for every word uttered from each man.

'Now that I have told you of my origin, I implore you to tell me how you know of me, Elder Ti.'
'I have long known of you Obayamaashi of the Twilight Kingdom though I do not know you. We, not just I, have all been waiting for you. We have been waiting for so many generations that we have even forgotten our grandfathers, our forefathers and all those who came before us. But they have made each later generation promise that we never forget you, Obayamaashi of the Twilight Kingdom, to honour your memory and to watch for your coming. Our parents from the ancient beyond have demanded that we preserve the only record of you saved but above all we must never forget you. We may forget everything, our name, our family, our lands, but we must never forget your coming, Obayamaashi of the Twilight Kingdom. And I am the last of that tradition. So it is fortunate that you came when you did.'

With that a warm smile of relief broke on the old man's face as he sank gratefully to his knees with great difficulty even as he held his staff up before him. The crowd behind him fell similarly to the floor, heads bowed in quiet reverence.

Okin of the Twilight Kingdom (Part One)

There once lived a man name Memnoch in the Kingdom of Twilight. He was a living legend. From a skinny fifteen year old that could barely hold a sword above his waist, he quickly became one of the Twilight Kingdom's greatest legend. When he was thirty five years of age, so many fell to his sword, shield and bow that even the king's most accurate scribes had given up counting his kills. There was perhaps one thing sharper than Memnoch's sword and that was his relentlessly and formidably curious mind. Kalketh Karoth, the king's wizard, dreaded by even the mightiest knights of the king, deferred to Memnoch when arguments inevitably came to an end. Though many in the kingdom wondered what would happen if there was a battle of wizardy between the two, equally as many believed Memnoch would triumph. There was rumour that even Kalketh feared him though no one dared utter this beneath the brooding murmuring sky.

Memnoch was given a special title because of his abilities and achievement: Okin, which meant 'The One of the King'. This title was so rare because both king and kingdom has to agree to the candidate who was then tasked with stealing a scale from a Black Eustrach, a huge and heavily scaled beast that resided in the Eastern Mist Mountains. Memnoch brought back its heart. An Okin was equal to the king in terms of authority. He could exercise all and any functions of the king and all his actions would be valid. As for Memnoch, as the first Okin of the Twilight King in two thousand years and its most powerful he was a virtual god. The people adored him, the king loved him as a favourite son, he had three beautiful beloved wives with seven children between them all who grew up happy and wanting for nothing.

One day, a farmer from Thurak, the colder and darker northern eastern parts of the twilight kingdom, reported a strange sighting to his Majesty's office after puzzling about it for several days. At the far end of his field stood a strange thin bright glowing line that rose from the ground up to about thirteen feet high. He was brave enough to attempt to touch the line several times but reported no ill effect to himself although there was a warm feeling when his hand passed through the line. After almost a year of being passed by word of mouth, word finally arrived to Memnoch. Immediately upon being told of the phenomena, he set forth for Thurak.

After two months of travelling under strongly adverse weather conditions, he had found the strange glowing line, kept it for himself within a massive white sturdy tent with several compartments for him and his retinue to study. His week turned to months which turned to years. In his sixth year of trying to understand and engage the mysterious line he made a breakthrough, although it was unintended. Out of a lark and also frustration, he cast several of his deadliest spells upon the line which seemed to affect the line because suddenly it flashed several colours in rapid succession. Instead of standing back, Memnoch stepped closer to the line and reached out to it. This time his hand passed through the line but did not come out the other side. He felt a gentle tug from within that warm that sliver of warmth and suddenly felt drowsy. As his eyes closed in a fit of slumber, he felt a gentle warmth envelope his entire body.