My grip slips. With a cry, I fall backwards. My arms scrabble for a hold but find nothing. Arms windmilling, I tumble through the sky, towards the river.

“No!” I shout. I come back to myself. I am still clutching the cliff’s edge. For now, I am safe. But my grip is slipping.

A shadow falls on me. It is my friend, standing above me at the top of the cliff. I would reach out my hand to him, but if I let go, I will most certainly fall.

“Help me!” I beg.

“Hurry!” I plead.

“Do something!” I demand.

“You’re going to have to let go,” he says.

“You’re crazy,” I say.

“There’s no way,” I tell him.

“It’s really quite safe,” he says. “I’ve done it myself. It’s the only way out of this mess that you’re in.”

I shake my head. “No,” I say. “You’ve got to help me.”

He sighs. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll help you.”

“Ouch!” I yell. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you,” he says. He steps on my fingers again. “I figure that this is the only way to get you to let go.” He starts jumping up and down.

My grip is slipping.

I yell for him to stop. I curse him.

My grip is slipping.

I scream in pain as he starts hammering on my hands with a rock. “I thought you were my friend,” I yell.

“I am,” he says, and then it is over.

My grip slips. With a cry, I fall backwards. My arms scrabble for a hold but find nothing. Arms windmilling, I tumble through the sky, towards the river.

I hit the water. It is very cold.

Then, suddenly, all is light.

“I guess that wasn’t so bad after all,” I say, massaging my sore hands.

“See?” says the friend. “It would have been easier if you had believed me sooner.”

I nod slowly. “I guess you’re right,” I say. “I guess you’re right.”

After class, the students would gather at the professor’s apartment. They loved to hear him talk about these amazing ideas of his. After all, he had written all those books, and to be able to be that close to him, to hear him speak, was always a highlight of the week.

“It’s all about the mind! The flesh is nothing.” he was saying. “Develop your mind, transcend the body, and you will succeed at whatever you do.” The students all smiled and nudged each other, enthralled.

The professor paused. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have to use the bathroom.” He stepped out of the room.

“Isn’t he the best?” one of the students whispered to another.

My wife told me this story about something that happened to her today. So, I thought that I’d share it with all of you. And, because I’m in a good mood, I’m going to do it with style.

The time: 4:50 p.m.

Crystal hurries from the Save-A-Lot in Peoria Heights. Panicked, she glanced at the clock. She still needs to get to the bank. Time is short, and there’s a long way to go. She starts up the van and prepares to turn out of the parking lot into the afternoon rush hour traffic.

The time: 4:56 p.m.

It’s not working. Crystal has made poor time up Prospect Road. Now, as she approaches Knoxville Avenue, she prays, “God, I need to get to the bank. Please let me get to the bank on time.”

Like most of us, she doesn’t really believe that anything will happen.

Indeed, the situation gets worse. As Crystal accelerates down Knoxville, she finds herself stuck behind an elderly woman, noodling along at 20 mph in a 45 mph zone. As Crystal changes lanes to pass, she also changes lanes, cutting off Crystal and getting into the turn lane ahead of her. Crystal had wanted to get through the intersection quickly before the light changed. But now she is stuck behind this other woman, who is leisurely negotiating the turn. “Come on!” Crystal thinks. “Hurry!”

Somehow, Crystal squeezes through the intersection before the light turns red. Surely this other driver will continue down the road, she thinks, allowing me to make my left-hand turn into the Bank Plus parking lot.

But it is not to be. As Crystal signals her turn, she sees that the woman in front of her is also turning!

But the worst is yet to come.

Rather than going into the parking lot, the woman is trying pull a U-turn on Pioneer Parkway! In rush hour traffic!

Crystal’s frustration turns into panic and fear. She is sure that this woman will be hit by oncoming traffic. In addition, this woman’s car is now blocking the driveway. Crystal is stuck, waiting to make her turn.

The woman doesn’t even make the full U-turn. She doesn’t turn tightly enough, and now she is backing up, trying to get straightened out. And now she stops.

On the road.

In rush hour traffic.

Her car isn’t moving. She is just sitting there. But she’s not blocking the driveway anymore. In desperation, Crystal guns the engine, hurling herself across Pioneer Parkway and into the bank driveway. Looking behind her, she sees the other driver slowly pull away from the curb and begin noodling down the road again.

But that is no longer of concern to Crystal. The bank awaits.

The time: 5:05 p.m.

Crystal lurches to a halt in front of the bank. Not even bothering to shut off the van, she leaps out and runs to the bank door.

It is open!

“Arianna!” she calls. “Hurry!”

They hustle into the bank. “Are you still open?” she asks the teller.

The teller glances up at the clock on the wall. 4:56 p.m. “Yes, we’re still open,” she says.

Crystal blinks. Her clock says 5:05 p.m. but she’s not complaining. So she does her business.

Once she is done, the teller looks up at the clock again. Then she glances at her watch. “Oh my goodness!” she says. “It’s 5:10. We need to lock the doors!” Crystal looks up at the clock on the wall. 4:56 p.m. “The clock must have broken,” the teller says to a co-worker as they hurry to close up the bank.

But Crystal knows better. It had been 4:56 when she prayed. God had stopped the clock so that she could arrive at the bank while it was still open.

God had actually answered her prayer.

I can’t find a shovel, so I guess that this hoe will have to do. As I leave the garage, I feel a drop of rain. It’s been raining sporadically all day, and it’s about to start again. The weather fits my mood, which I find somewhat strange. I never liked Animal. But now he is dead, and that’s reason enough to be sad, I guess. And so, under the tree, I begin to scratch out his grave.

***

Saturday was a busy day. We had a birthday party to attend in the afternoon, and there were chores and errands to accomplish first. So our house was a bit chaotic. The children were outside, picking mulberries while I tried to feed Justice. Crystal remarked, “Saturdays are hard for you, aren’t they?” I thought about it, and she was right. “I have a hard time doing things with the children as a group,” I mused. “One on one works just fine, and I try to get to all of them. But as a group, I find it difficult sometimes.” This felt like a problem.

But then the phone rang. James wanted to borrow a game. No problem. Hopefully I can find it in the stacks of boxes that fill our library. We are moving, after all. But, if I can find it, you’re welcome to it.

No problem at all.

***

There are too many tree roots in the ground here, but this is where we have buried all the different pets that have died while living at this house. I know that there is a hamster grave around here somewhere, and I still remember burying Arianna’s bird. Plus, this part of the yard will probably remain undisturbed by playing children. So I persevere. Soon there is a narrow trench prepared to receive its victim. As I look up, I see Crystal coming out of the house, followed by forlorn children. In her hands, she bears a makeshift bier.

Animal.

***

The library is a wreck. We’re getting ready to move, and this room was the first to be packed. So, I poked around, trying to locate the game. My search took me near the guinea pig cage, which needed to be cleaned. As I wrinkled my nose, I saw that Animal wasn’t moving around in his cage. “Uh oh,” I thought. I knew that Animal’s health had been iffy recently, and I feared the worst. So, I found something and poked him. No movement.

I sighed. I didn’t have the time for this. “Crystal,” I called. “Animal is dead.”

Already a debate was raging in my head. We had been working on giving away these guinea pigs. If we didn’t tell the children, then there wouldn’t be a scene. There wouldn’t be the flood of emotion as we faced Death again. Just a quiet cover-up, and it would all be over.

But no. I knew better than that. I remembered a conversation with my daughter. “We are Ben-Ezras,” I had said. “That means that we are honest with each other.” At the time, I had especially meant being honest about death. Trying to slip Animal out of the house would make a hypocrite of me.

“We have to tell the children,” I said. Crystal nodded.

So we went outside, and we told them.

***

Crystal asks Isaac, “Do you want to put Animal in his grave?”

He shakes his head. “You do it.”

She lays the bier in the grave.

I start to bury him, then I pause. “Isaac, do you want to bury him?”

He shakes his head. “You do it.”

I look down at Animal. He lies underneath a blanket of tissue. He looks like he is asleep. In my mind, for just a second, I see all the graves that I have stood by. They flash through my mind in a swirling rush of pain.

Then I push the dirt over him.

***

Animal had belonged to Isaac, so I probably should have expected him to be upset. But I didn’t. I thought that he had already put Animal out of his mind. The guinea pigs weren’t really interesting to him anymore, and he had been easily persuaded to give Animal away. But when we told the children that Animal was dead, he was probably hurt the most.

He tried to hide in his work. There were still mulberries to pick, and so he turned back to the tree. When Crystal called to him, he said, “We still have to pick berries.” But I could see the tears in his eyes. So we called him back. Crystal held him. I held him. He didn’t cry, but his pain was all over his face.

“Why did Animal have to die?” he asked.

“Because God decided it was time for him to die.”

He paused to think.

“Why didn’t the other guinea pig die, too?” he asked.

Why me?

The only answer is to trust God. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

***

Crystal picks a rose for Isaac to put on the grave. Arianna gathers up some special stones to scatter around the grave. And we sit in the rain and I tell them the gospel.

This is death, I say. When we sin, this is what we are choosing. The Bible says that the wages of sin are death. I don’t think that we really believe this. Every day, we choose to walk away from God, and all we are doing is embracing this: a hole in the ground and a hole in our hearts.

I decide to take a dangerous step. One day, I say, all of us will be standing around another grave, but that time, they’ll be putting one of us into it. I don’t know who, but it will happen.

The rain falls.

Then I tell them about Jesus. God come as a man. I tell them that He died, just like Animal. And, just like Animal, they put him in a grave, closed it up, and walked away. But then, He came back alive, resurrected, free forever from death. And He promises that, one day, He will do the same for us. When the Bible speaks of a Christian dying, it calls it “falling asleep”. As one pastor remarked, “Christians don’t die; they nap.” One day, I say to them, we will all sleep, but then Jesus will come and wake us up. The grave is not the end of our story. So we pray and thank Jesus for the resurrection.

And the rain falls from heaven as we weep beneath the tree, by a guinea pig grave.

***

They don’t tell you that death is inconvenient. They don’t tell you about how it disrupts your schedule, and how it means that your projects won’t get done. For some reason, these are generally considered to be petty issues in the face of death. But it’s true. Saturday’s plans were thrown completely awry. We had to do a chore triage, discarding some of them as being no longer workable. But somehow, we got the important things done.

Like sitting on the bench in the family room, holding my crying children. This was not in my plans for this day. I didn’t even like the guinea pigs. But somehow that doesn’t seem important now. Death has passed through my home, and lesser things must fall by the wayside.

And, look, I ended up doing something with all of my children. I guess that’s something.

I wrote this story with the help of my son, Isaac, who was three at the time. I asked him questions about the story, he told me how he wanted it to go, and then I wrote it down. As I recall, almost all the details were of his devising. Yes, that includes the bit about the bones.

I happened to be going through my file of writings and saw this, so I thought that I would share.

Samuel and the Battle of Monster Castle

By Seth and Isaac Ben-Ezra

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived the people of Block City. Now, Block City was a very sad city, because a hideous monster was terrorizing them. It would fly in the middle of the night and stomp on their homes and burn their gardens with fire from its mouth. And, worst of all, it would eat their children. The army tried to fight the monster, but it was no good. Swords would just bounce off its metal skin, and it would grab the soldiers with its thousand tentacles and fly away with them to its castle far away in the middle of Deadman’s Swamp. And so the people were very scared and sad, and they prayed that someone would come rescue them.

One day, after the monster had attacked them, a boy named Samuel spoke up. “I will go fight the monster.� But the people tried to stop him. “Oh no, Samuel, you are much too little.� But Samuel said, “God is taking care of me, so I will fight the monster.� So Samuel got his sword, the sword that his father had given him, and he left the city to find the monster’s house.

But first, he had to cross Deadman’s Swamp. Now, Samuel knew that Deadman’s Swamp was filled with evil skeleton monsters that would eat him if they caught him. But he was very brave and prayed to Jesus before entering the dark swamp.

It was very smelly. Gas bubbles would pop, making the swamp stink. Samuel could hear the skeleton monsters laughing at him from the darkness around him. So he drew his sword, which glowed dimly in the darkness. (After all, aren’t all swords magical swords?) Samuel could barely see the shadows of the skeleton monsters, moving all around him. He was very scared, but he knew that Jesus was taking care of him.

Suddenly, disaster struck. Samuel tripped over a tree root and fell face-first into the stinky mud. In a flash, the skeleton monsters were on him. Bony fingers clutched at him as he tried to get up. He tried to draw his sword but the skeleton monsters held him fast. Cackling, they flew through the air, gripping Samuel tightly.

“Put me down!� Samuel begged. But the skeleton monster only laughed at him. “We will never let you go,� they whispered through bony jaws.

“Where are you taking me?� asked Samuel, now very afraid.

“We are taking you to our master, the ruler of Monster Castle,� hissed one of the skeleton monsters. “When we get you there, our master will eat you.�

Soon, Samuel could see something glowing red in the darkness ahead of them. It was a huge castle, lit by a moat of lava that surrounded it. Its gate was formed from the open jaws of a long-dead monster, gaping wide. Two lighted windows stared at them as they approached. The skeleton monsters flew through the gate, and the jaws slammed shut behind them. Samuel was trapped.

The skeleton monsters dropped Samuel on the floor of a huge room. One of them cackled with glee. “Now, our master will eat you up!� They flew away, rattling and clattering through the dark night sky.

Samuel looked around but could not see anything because the room was so dark. The skeleton monsters had forgotten to take his sword, so he drew it carefully. When the sword began to glow, he gasped. The floor was covered with the bones of the children that the monster had eaten.

Suddenly, Samuel heard the sound of mighty wings flapping in the darkness and heavy breathing. The monster had come to eat him! Samuel turned around and around, trying to see the monster, but he couldn’t. All he could see were all of the bones. And still he could hear the beating of the monster’s huge wings.

Then, he heard the monster say, “Now, children, it is time for dinner!� Something flew out of the darkness at Samuel. As Samuel dodged out of the way, he saw that it was a smaller monster. The evil monster had children, too!

Another little monster flew into sight and dove at Samuel, breathing fire. Samuel rolled to the side, barely avoiding being burned alive. The bones on the floor caught on fire. Now Samuel could see.

Leaping to his feet, he swung his sword at the nearest monster. The sharp blade cut through the monster’s wings, knocking it to the ground. It whimpered and scurried away. But then the second monster rammed into Samuel from behind. He fell on his face, cutting his chin. The monster was grabbing him with its tentacles and trying to eat him. Samuel was very scared, but he knew that Jesus was taking care of him. So he took his sword and, reaching over his shoulder, stabbed to the monster in the mouth. It screamed and let Samuel go. It flopped about on the ground in pain and finally died.

The fire has spread, and so Samuel could see the huge monster on the other side of the room. Its single good eye glistened red in the light of the raging fire. With a bellow, it charged at Samuel. Reaching down, Samuel tried to pull his sword free, but it was stuck in the body of the child monster. With a mighty roar, the monster scooped up Samuel in his tentacles and swallowed him with one giant gulp.

Samuel was very, very scared. But he knew that Jesus was taking care of him.

All of a sudden, the monster didn’t feel very good. The mud that covered Samuel was making it sick to its stomach. Then, with a mighty heave, the monster threw up. Samuel flew out of his mouth, covered in nasty monster vomit.

Slowly, Samuel dragged himself to his feet and wiped the dripping nastiness from his eyes. On the other side of the room, he could see the huge monster stagger to its feet. The fire had burned out in the middle of the room, and the two of them were surrounded in a ring of flame. Samuel called out to the monster, “Come and fight me, you evil monster. You may be strong and fast. You may be covered in metal and breathe fire. But Jesus is with me, and I will kill you.�

The monster roared in defiance and breathed fire at the brave boy. But Samuel threw himself to the side, avoiding the fiery blast. Then he was up on his feet and running toward the monster. Reaching down, he scooped up a blackened bone from the floor of the room. Tentacles reached toward him, but he slipped past them. The monster howled in frustration and bent down its head to bite at Samuel with its mouth. Samuel leaped onto the monster’s nose and, with a scream of fury, stabbed the bone into the monster’s one remaining eye.

The monster screamed, jerking its head back. Samuel fell to the ash-covered floor and scurried away from the thrashing monster. His leg hurt and so he could not get up. Crawling as quickly as he could, he made his way toward his sword, which was still stuck in the child monster. He grasped the hilt and pulled. Slowly he drew the sword free. The monster was in agony on the other side of the room, bellowing and screaming. Blood was running from its eye and falling like black tears onto the floor of the room. The flames were burning even higher now, and Samuel could see everything clearly.

Then Samuel saw a chunk of rock falling from the ceiling. The monster was doing so much damage to the room that it was beginning to collapse. Larger pieces began raining down. Samuel tried to limp towards the door, but his injured leg gave out and he fell. Turning, he saw a huge piece of ceiling fall onto the monster’s head, crushing it. So the monster died.

But Samuel did not see how he could escape, either. The ceiling was collapsing far too quickly, and he knew that he would not be able to crawl to the door before it was too late. So he curled into a ball and prayed to Jesus that He would come take him quickly. A single tear fell from his eye as he thought of all the life that he would miss, but he knew that, even now, Jesus was taking care of him.

Suddenly, he felt something grab his ankle and pull. He was dragged from the room just as the ceiling finally collapsed. He was alive! He croaked, “Thank you, Jesus.� Then he opened his eyes and gasped in alarm.

Before him was another monster, covered in metal, with a thousand tentacles. Samuel tried to raise his sword.

“Oh no,� said the monster. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. That evil monster that you just killed was keeping me a prisoner. You have rescued me! Thank you very much, mighty hero.�

Samuel was confused. “You are not evil?�

“Oh, most definitely not!� the monster said. “I only eat grass. It was that evil monster out there that ate children. And he kept me locked up here because I tried to stop him once. So now I am free!�

Samuel was happy, but he was very tired. “Can you help me?� he asked.

“Of course I can,� the monster said. “What do you need?�

Just then, Samuel heard the clatter of bones coming from the corridor outside the room. It was the skeleton monsters! “Can you take me home?� he asked.

The monster picked him up gently with two of its tentacles. “I will fly you all the way home.� With a leap it was in the air. Soon it was soaring out of Monster Castle. As Samuel looked back, he could see the sun rising over the horizon. As the first light of day touched the castle, it gave a mighty lurch. Then, it began to crumble and collapse, falling into the lava moat that surrounded it. Soon, there was nothing left of the castle but a smoldering ruin.

And Samuel smiled, because through it all, he knew that Jesus had been taking care of him.

And now, children, you can be assured that Samuel returned safely to Block City, and that he and the good monster had many adventures together, but those are stories for another night. So for now, children, rest your eyes, and remember that, no matter what you face, Jesus is taking care of you.

In a recent announcement, Blogger has revealed its source for the words that it uses for word verification.

“It seemed best to us to use a Slavic language,” said Mary Webster, public relations director for the blogging website. “And what better way to raise humanitarian awareness than to use the language of the former Yugoslavia?”

Various civil rights groups are already objecting. “It’s simply un-American to exclude other oppressed races,” argued Chinese-American activist John Lu. “We demand that Blogger.com begin to include kanji-based verification to represent our people’s suffering.” When it was mentioned that most Western keyboards are unable to produce kanji, Lu noted that this was more evidence of discrimination.

In stoic silence the oak tree stood its post. For years it had watched over the sleepers in their tombs faithfully. It had been many years since it had been a sapling, and those years had not been easy. During the summer its glorious foliage disguised its age, but the winter had come, stripping it of its leaves and leaving it cold and barren. Now, its twisted, gnarled branches spread out like arthritic limbs raised in benediction over the quiet family beneath it. How quietly they slept! How peacefully!

With staggering footsteps the old woman struggled through the cemetery. The recent snow lay in drifts, too deep for her to navigate. Slowly she picked her way between the tombstones, working her way towards the old oak tree. The bitter wind blew across the cemetery, singing the mournful song of winter. The oak tree watched her halting trek until she finally arrived beneath its spreading limbs. The snow had drifted over the gravestones, half-obscuring them. Slowly, the old woman lowered herself to her knees. Gently, ever so gently, she brushed away the snow from the middle gravestone.

“Merry Christmas, dear. It’s been another year.� She smiled, although her eyes were wet with tears. “The grandchildren visited today. They are all growing up so fast. And the new baby. Oh, you would have loved to see her.� A single tear trickled down her cheek. Words failed her. Wordlessly she reached out her hand and traced his name engraved on the cold granite. “I miss you so much,� she whispered. Her hand passed to the other side of the stone. There her own name was engraved. It seemed so strange to see her name etched in stone, awaiting the day that she, too, would come here to sleep. Her final bed was prepared for her. The tears came freely now.

“I’m so alone. The family does what they can, but then they leave and the house is so empty, so empty. Sometimes I imagine that I hear you in the next room, and I think that maybe—just maybe—you’re there, but you’re not. I’m so alone, so alone, so alone.� Sobs welled up from within her. The uncaring wind blew more strongly now, bringing with it a few flakes of snow. She stared up into the gray threatening sky. “Oh God, is this all that is left to me? The winter of my life spent losing all that I love? Why do I need to suffer like this? Oh why oh why?�

The cold wind bore with it a fragment of song. Somewhere carolers were singing. Their voices were borne to her on the wind. “O come, O come, Emmanuel….� The tears began anew. That was his favorite song, his special Christmas carol. But as the tears came, the words rolled around in her mind. “O come, thou Dayspring from on high/And cheer us by Thy drawing nigh/Disperse the gloomy clouds of night/And death’s dark shadow put to flight.�

Desperately she clung to the words. It was so true. Her life felt as if it were overshadowed with the gloomy clouds of an eternal winter, a winter ending only in the sleep of death. Everything around her withered. Friends grew old and passed on. The bonds of love in marriage, shattered by death. Her own body, worn and weary. Her life had entered its winter, and there seemed to be no escape. All that was left to her was an empty wasteland of ice and cold, through which she must wander until her death. It was a harsh pill to swallow, especially on Christmas Day.

The thought percolated through her head. Today was Christmas. She looked around at the gnarled oak, the somber sky, the gravestones. Today was Christmas. And the thought was glorious. It seemed so appropriate that Christmas be in the middle of winter, in the middle of this. In the midst of the death and pain, a glorious hope was given. In the frozen wasteland of life, an oasis was given. Our Lord came down to join us in our pain. He bore our suffering with us. He suffered the loss of friends and family. He wept by the tomb of one beloved to him. He joined us in the sorrow of this life and then He set us free.

She could almost here Him speaking now. “Patience, my child. Patience.â€? And she knew, as she looked over the empty frozen wastes of the winter of her life, that her precious Lord stood beside her in the snow. Soon, He would call her away to the beautiful Summer Kingdom of His love, and the snow would melt away from her forever. She began to sing quietly to herself. “O come O come, Emmanuel/And ransom captive Israel.” She laid a single snowdrop on the grave. “Good night, my love. Sleep tight.â€? She struggled to her feet. Pausing, she laid her hand on the tree. “Farewell, oak,â€? she said, “and guard the ones that I love.â€? Turning, she made her painful way from the cemetery. The oak tree’s branches were lifted, as if to wave good-bye.

Slowly snow drifted from the sky, blanketing the cemetery in white, covering the gravestones. Sleep soundly, dear ones. Sleep until the summer comes forever.

(written December 2001)

CONFLICT IN MASSACHUSETTS

April 20, 1775

Boston (AP)–Government forces sustained heavy casualties today in a series of armed clashes with insurgent forces throughout the Massachusetts countryside.

According to an army spokesman, a force of 700 soldiers under General Gage’s command were deployed to secure an arms depot and terrorist leaders Sam Adams and John Hancock of the “Sons of Liberty”. A resistance group calling itself the “Lexington Minutemen”, alerted by signals from a nearby church, engaged Gage’s soldiers on Lexington Green but was quickly dispersed. The arms cache was secured, but the whereabouts of Adams and Hancock are still unknown.

In his daily briefing, General Gage said that he was pleased with the outcome of today’s operations and expressed his opinion that further armed conflict would be minimal.

It’s this bloody heat. It’s making it hard to think straight. I just want to tell someone what happened to me tonight so that I won’t forget it, but it’s getting hard. Keep getting dizzy. I already threw up once. Hope no one got splattered as I leaned out the window. It’s a long way to the ground from up here in the Web.

I guess it all started last night when I was getting ready for the job. I had been casing this minor official’s house, figuring that there would be all sorts of loot inside. Took several days, but I finally figured out how to get in and nab a share of the wealth. Keepers say that generosity is a virtue, and I figure that I’m just sharing the blessing of Pheric upon them that ain’t got no generosity. Just doing my religious duty, you might say.

Anyways, I was waiting for the Devil’s Hour to get started. Ain’t no heist that I’d pull any other time. Besides, this official got them divine lights scattered all over his manor, which would have made the job extra hard. He must burn his entire ration of power on them lights, but I got to say that it is well spent. No thief worth his salt would dream of raiding him with them lights. That’s why my plan was so brilliant. Wait for the Devil’s Hour when the city shuts down and then slip in. Sure, you hear stories about demons roaming the night during the Devil’s Hour, but that’s just superstitious nonsense. Least, that’s what I thought until tonight.

Blast! My arm started twitching again. Hurts like the devil too. Bandage bled through again. Have to change it again.

Okay. That’s better. So, like I was saying, I was getting my equipment together when I glanced out the window and saw the Weeping Moon rising over the city. Now, I ain’t no superstitious man, but I got to say that it gave me chills to see it. A man of less sense than myself might have even called it an omen. For a moment, I thought about staying in and letting the heist pass, do it another night. But then I got my sense back. Ain’t no bloody moon going to get between me and my loot. Course, I was sweating up a storm by then, because of this heat, but I hoisted my pack and headed out towards my target.

My timing was perfect, as normal. Just as I rounded the corner and spotted the manor, the Devil’s Hour struck. The clock stopped. The machinery stopped. All the lights went out. No wonder folks get so scared. You get used to the noise and the light. When it all goes away, it’s scary. The silence could get to a man less hardened than myself. Why, I have even heard of folks going mad during the Devil’s Hour and throwing themselves off of buildings and stuff.

So anyway, my mark was in front of me, lit up now only by some torches and the red light of the Weeping Moon. It was time for me to start hustling. I hopped the wall easily and slipped through an open window. At least this heat is good for something. I wiped my face and looked around. I was in a bedroom of some kind. I knew that the money room was somewhere in the basement, so I eased open the door and took a look around. No one was coming, so I started sneaking down the hall, looking for the basement stairs. Good thing for me, they were at the end of the hall. Just as I started down them, though, I heard the noise.

It’s getting hard to see in this light. Everything looks so red. The Weeping Moon is shining through my window again. It’s giving me chills.

Or am I getting sick? A bit of heatstroke, maybe? I don’t feel so good.

When I heard the moan from back down the hall, I ducked down as far as I could and try to walk quietly down the stairs. Course, with my rotten luck, don’t you know that a step creaked. Footsteps came down the hall toward me. I pressed myself flat up against the wall and prayed to Pheric that I wouldn’t get seen. That’s when the thing came to the top of the stairs. I think that it was human once, but it ain’t been human for a while. It was like a body that got up and started walking. It was bleeding all over and staggered a bit as it walked. I didn’t dare even to move. Then it turned and saw me. With a howl it charged down the stairs at me. I tried to get out of the way but there just wasn’t the room. It plowed into me and we both fell down the stairs. It was kicking and punching and clawing and biting even as we tumbled down the stairs. That’s why I’m so cut up. Its blood smeared all over my clothes as I tried to get away. I managed to push it off of me and then kick it in the head. Its head snapped back with a crack and it fell on the floor. I was stunned. I hadn’t meant to kill it, although there ain’t no way I was losing sleep over it neither. It tried to get me and got its just deserts. Ain’t no skin off my back.

So, I started listening real good and didn’t hear no other noise. Still I figured that I ain’t got much time, right? So I decided that I’d best grab some loot and run. As I went to open the door going into the basement, though, I almost slipped in a puddle. Looking down, I saw more blood oozing out from under the door. This seemed strange to me, so I opened the door carefully so that I could peer inside.

It was just awful. The entire basement was covered in blood. It covered the floor. It dripped from the ceiling. It ran down the walls. Sure, there was some loot in the room but it was also covered in blood. I was trying to decide how badly I wanted the money when I felt something creeping up my leg.

Now I got the shakes. I’m almost done and then I’ll rest. Yes, rest.

The Weeping Moon is looking at me. It’s laughing. I know it is. Curse you, moon! I know what you’re thinking. You want me to jump! I’m not going to do it. I’m not a lunatic. I’m going to stay here and finish talking to my friend!

It’s still laughing.

Some of the blood was running up my leg. That’s right. It was crawling up my leg, like it was trying to cover me. My leg started burning. I screamed and bolted up the stairs. At the top I turned and looked. It was coming after me! The giant red flow was seeping up the stairs! Worse, I could hear it chuckling, laughing, calling my name in a thousand different voices. Slowly part of it formed into a face. My face….

I can’t talk no more. My arm hurts. I’m hot and sweaty. Now I’m starting to see things. My old bandages are starting to move over there in the corner. Everything is turning red. Even my sweat is red. The moon is playing tricks on me. Well, it won’t get the last laugh! You’ll see! You’ll see!

What am I saying? I must have heatstroke or something. Look, I’m going to go lie down now. I’m sure that I’ll feel better in the morning. It’s just this bloody heat that’s driving me crazy. This bloody, bloody heat.

Note: This is intro text for my roleplaying game, Legends of Alyria. I’m posting this for a couple of reasons. First, this way all of you will have a sense of what Alyria is. Second, I can get extra content on my blog without actually having to write anything new. Win-win situation!

Legend speaks of another world, far from the shores of Alyria. Perhaps it was another planet. Perhaps it was Heaven itself. There the Progenitors lived in peace and harmony. But it was not fated to last. For the Outsiders rose up against the Progenitors and cast them from their home in the vault of the sky. Here, the legends conflict—some of the stories claim that the Outsiders descended upon them from the vast emptiness of space, but darker legends claim that the Progenitors delved into forbidden lore and released the dark menace. Whatever the source of these terrifying beings, the Outsiders drove out the Progenitors, forcing them to flee across the vault of Heaven to hide from their enemy.

Some of the Progenitors found this world: the world of Alyria. When they arrived, Alyria was formless and void. The air was not breatheable, and the land was desolate. Yet the Progenitors were not dismayed, for they brought with them many instruments of power. The Progenitors delved deep into the earth and constructed machines of great might to shape the world to their desires. To control these machines they built a great computer named Pheric. Many of the Progenitors operated this computer, maintained it and supervised its terraforming activity.

Slowly the land was tamed. The atmosphere became breathable. The violent storms that battered the land were tamed, bringing life and rain instead of destruction. Soon forests and grassy plains spread across the land. Where once the newcomers clustered in massive concrete bunkers or arcologies, now they built villages and cities, exulting in the wonder of the world which they had built. Yes, the raw, unfiltered atmosphere remained poisonous to them, held only at bay by Pheric and its terraforming machines—yet within the sphere of Pheric’s control, all was calm and peaceful.

The Progenitors built a culture of life and peace. Knowledge increased as scholars gathered into schools and built universities. Beauty was honored, and the cities were filled with trees and blooming flowers. No war was fought, as each man cared for his neighbor. The Progenitor culture reached its height with the construction of Kryshana. Once this city had been a harsh, sealed environment dome, with functional architecture. Now Kryshana was transformed into a beautiful city. Shade trees lined its avenues, where the scholar could walk, lost in thought, and young, carefree lovers strolled. Golden buildings rose towards the sky, welcoming the sun with upraised heads. And overhead arched the crystalline dome of Kryshana. No longer necessary, the dome was retained as an object of beauty and a monument to the past. Many were the poems written of this glittering gem of the Progenitors. Of all their creations, surely Kryshana was their greatest. It was a city of light, of beauty, of justice, of goodness, of truth.

And it is for these reasons that it was shattered.

No one understands the true nature of the dragons. Some state that they were the oldest lifeform native to Alyria and that the coming of the Progenitors disturbed their slumber. Others claim that the dragons are the darkest traits of mankind given physical form. Still others mutter that the dragons are demons, released from Hell before the proper time. Perhaps they are all correct. For in those joyous days, the dragons awoke. From their dwelling place deep in the Sea of Mist on the planet’s true surface, they felt the arrival of the Progenitors and hated them. For the dragons do not feed on flesh and blood but on the hatred, fear, and pain of others. The gentle reign of the Progenitors did not provide sufficient sustenance for them. So they began to weave their dark schemes to bring about the downfall of the Progenitors. It was far too easy.

For no man can be truly good, and even in this time of light and joy, darkness yet gnawed at men’s hearts. Some sought more power than their station permitted. Some wished more riches or land and grumbled in discontent. Others, it must be said, simply reveled in the thought of bloodshed or pain caused to another. The dragons could sense the darkness in these men’s heart. Appearing to them in their dreams, the dragons promised to fulfill their dark desires. Power to the power-hungry. Wealth to the greedy. Pain to the sadistic. And so it was, as the Progenitors’ golden age spread over the land, a dark force arose to oppose it. The cancer of the dragon cultists spread throughout the land, and when the moment was right, they struck.

A thousand thousand pages of agony and woe would not suffice to tell the tale of those days. Across the continent, the dragon cultists launched one coordinated attack, knocking out communication stations, destroying electrical generators, disabling terraforming processors, and disrupting roads and transportation. Resistance was weak at best. During the long ages of peace, the Progenitors had largely forgotten the harsh arts of war. So the dragon cultists had their way. In Kryshana, a worse desecration was performed. Cultists discovered the biological weaponry of the ancients that had been sealed away and detonated a bomb filled with ripper plague in the streets of the city. The trees withered, and the people began to die, ravaged by the terrible disease. Winds spread the plague far and wide. And then the dragons themselves attacked. Thousands poured from the Sea of Mist, ravaging and slaughtering. It is said that the sky rained fire and blood in those days. Men killed their loved ones before killing themselves, trying to spare them the horror of the ripper plague. Cultists mad with blood lust, swarmed through the ruins, raping and slaughtering, destroying and desecrating while overhead the dragons themselves hurled fire and drank deep of the carnage. The forests burned. The cities convulsed. And in the shattered ruins of the dome of Kryshana, a few survivors prayed for death. Legend claims that the crystal rain of shattered glass in Kryshana sounded like weeping as the city mourned her lost children and her own death.

It was not a war. It was not a conquest. It was a rape. The Rape of Alyria.

In the mountains, the scientists that tended Pheric saw what was happening. They saw their world being destroyed around them. Yet they knew that if there was to be any chance of victory, any chance of rebuilding, Pheric must survive. They made their difficult choice. Gathering as many refugees as possible, they retreated to their subterranean strongholds and sealed the entrances with explosives.

Yet not all was lost. The Progenitors still maintained their military force, ever vigilant for an attack from the stars. The stunning surprise attack destroyed much of their ability to communicate, yet here and there small units of troops resisted. Many were overrun. Yet some were successful in pushing back the cultists hordes. Many soldiers rallied to Kryshana, where the five supreme commanders of the armed forces personally led the defense of the city. For three long days battle raged in the streets of Kryshana. Bodies smouldered in the streets as howling lunatics raved in the burning ruins of the parks, their minds shattered by what they had seen. One by one the defenders died. Slowly they were pushed back. Slowly they were slaughtered.

And then the Lord of Pain arrived to take personal charge of the fight. If any could be called the leader of the dragons, it would be him. His mere presence was overwhelming. Men fled screaming as he swooped upon them, tearing them apart. But one man did not run. One man did not flee. As the Lord of Pain bore down upon him, he held his ground, waiting. And as the huge dragon bit him in half at the waist, he released the fusion grenade that he held. The explosion shattered the Lord of Pain.

Without their leader, the dragons were disorganized and confused, bereft of will and focus. Screaming with rage, they retreated into the Sea of Mist. Without the dragons, the cultists faltered in their attack. The defenders were able to rally. The cultists were cut down in droves. Soon they were in mass retreat, seeking refuge in the forests and hills of the wilderness.

But what remained to the survivors? The colony was shattered. Communication between cities was severed. Kryshana lay in smoking ruins. The dragons had been driven off, but their goal seemed to have been achieved.

The five generals took charge. They knew that no one could be spared to discover the fate of the rest of the colony. They would have to survive on their own. The generals made some difficult decisions. Kryshana would remain under martial law for the duration of the emergency. All food and critical supplies would be under military jurisdiction. Hoarding would be punishable by death. Every man would be required to perform part-time military service. Anyone demonstrating symptoms of the ripper plague would be summarily executed to prevent the disease from spreading. One day, they hoped that these measures would not be necessary. One day, life would return to normal.

One thousand years have passed since the Rape. Under the rulership of the Five Noble Houses, the Citadel has risen from the ruins of Kryshana. Within its walls, men bow down to Pheric, the god of Iron and Thunder, and pay homage to the Keepers, priests of this fearful god. Where trees and gardens once grew, now there stand factories, clanking and hissing. In the streets, animated by Pheric’s divine power, the Restored dead walk again. Above the city hangs the Web, a city within a city, a refuge for the criminal, the outcast, the Misbegotten, the Blessed. Mistships once again sail on the Sea of Mist, seeking new lands and new discoveries. The Citadel once again puts forth its might.

But all is not well in the world of Alyria. Far to the east, another nation has arisen. Tales speak of the Ark, where all the people wear masks to hide their faces and have no names. Monsters roam the wilderness, ravaging isolated villages and destroying trade caravans. Dragon cultists still worship in dark and hidden places and infiltrate the halls of power, seeking to return their masters to the surface. A schism has torn apart the Keeper faith, turning brother against brother and threatening to reveal the true nature of their god. The world is balanced on a knife’s edge.

And one night as the Dragon Winds howled through the Citadel, a new moon rose above the horizon. A red moon. A blood moon. And as it passed through the sky, a rain like blood fell upon the land, and those that saw it wept. For the sign was clear. The ancient enemy from the stars had discovered them. The Outsiders had returned.

Welcome to the world of Alyria.