Craig von Dull

Walking through the woods, you come across a small path that you never noticed before. Turning you walk down it, thinking that a new path would obviously be a road to new adventures. The bright light of the sun shines through the leaves of the trees that tower high above you. Shafts of light filter though openings in the branches, illuminating clearings of wildflowers. The scent of those flowers floats on the breeze, filling the air in the woods with a fragrance that makes you sigh wistfully. Walking through the beautiful forest, known as the Elfwood, you suddenly know that it seems less light out. Just a second ago it was early afternoon, and suddenly it seems to be late dusk. Shadows stretch from the trees and flowers that just a moment ago looked innocent and harmless. The air seems cooler, your breath steaming from your lips. Walking faster, you hope to reach the edge of the forest, before nightfall, because everyone knows things most unsavory prowl the woods at night. As you walk, you begin to notice things. It gets darker for one, and the trees that towered above you, with straight tall healthy trunks now look hunched, bent, and tortured. Their bark gray and silky, few leaves sway in the cold air. Dead leaves crunch under your feet where once there was a plain dirt path. Walking faster, a mist begins to creep from the trees and underbrush around you, and clings to the path, swirling around your ankles. Suddenly you hear sticks crackling and crunching leaves from feet other than your own. Gasping, you spin around and catch a glimpse of something shining, almost glowing, a crimson color. Now breaking into a jog, fear beginning sink its claws into your mind, you hear the continued sounds meaning pursuit. Looking back again, you see a all manner of small shapes, no bigger than squirrels and chipmunks, all following you with glowing red eyes. Breaking into a run you, a snarl like that of a bear or large cat explodes behind you. Glancing around for a place to hide, or escape, you see what seems to be a candle in a window. Where there’s a window, there’s usually a house or something. You run toward it, hearing the creatures behind you, snap and growl. Upon reaching the candlelit window, you see that it is in fact the window of a small tumbledown hut. Built into a small hill, it is nothing impressive, however it would be shelter from the creatures. You approach the door, banging on it furiously. Nothing happens, and no one answers. You spin around, placing your back against the door, watching the tiny beasts barrel straight for you. Suddenly the door opens and you pitch backwards, falling flat on your back, the sound of the slamming door ringing in your ears. Looking up you see nothing but blackness. Pulling yourself into a sitting position, you look around, only to find yourself in what seems to be the library of a great castle of some type. The ceiling towers so far above you that it is lost in the darkness. Candles burn on the walls, and on various floor candelabras. A short way directly across from you, there is a fireplace surrounded by chairs of inestimable comfort, and a couch or three. Those however are not the main furnishings of the room. Bookshelves taller than any you have ever seen, span the length of the room, which is of course lost to your vision, much as the ceiling. Books of all sizes, colors, and bindings litter the shelves and tables around you. Suddenly you hear footsteps and, spinning around, you see a young man, about 19. Wild brown hair frames a face that is marked by hardship and tribulation. His hazel eyes surrounded by silver frames of spectacles, sparkle with an intelligence as well as boundless mystery. He stands at a medium height, wearing a black robe. Silver runes decorate the trim of that robe, runes that shimmer and seem to move in the light. “Hello,” he says, taking a step closer to you, and putting his arm around you. Wherever his fingers touch you, it leaves your skin freezing and a faint tingling feeling as well. “Don’t mind my cute little non-descript very unsuspicious forest creature denizens, they’re simply for keeping out unwanted guests. Not that I would keep that many people from my library anyway.” He leads you to one of the chairs and gently pushes you down into it, ignoring your protests. “Can I get you anything to drink? Tea perhaps, or maybe something stronger?” he says with a slight smile. Beside you appears a table upon which sits a bottle of deep red wine, as well as a steaming silver teapot filled with a minty smelling tea, and a mug. Smiling, the boy turns to a chair opposite you, and sits down. In front of him springs a table containing a large blank book, an inkwell, and a quill. Picking up the quill he dips it into the ink and begins to write, the scratching of the quill on the page filling the air. Looking down once more at the table with the drinks, you notice a book. Blue, with swirling silver designs. As well as a title in the same silver, but in a flowing script. The title catches your interest and you pick it up, and are instantly trapped by the words on the page..... *~* Well, here I am once again. Life seems to be slowly movng in the direction of better, but I don't really want to push the issue. Time and I seem to be having a disagreement presently, and I'm being stubborn and not letting Time win. Other things...lets see...I've been writing a great deal of poetry as of late. Most of which has actually been quite good, which is surprizing given my former attitude towards poetry. *sigh* What else....I'm learning Biblical Greek, which is extrememly interesting, and insanely time consuming and tedious. Oh, the plethora of personal problems seems to be dwindling for me, but for everyone else, not so much dwindling going on. I think in the last two days I've been called someone's hero about 4 different times, which is new for me. But things are better in the life department. Quote of the day -- 'One cannot write nor understand poetry unless one has truly experienced love' ~MeAs for links Here they are Emily McDurman Who's life seems to be only somewhat crazier than mine, just a little bit Vic Alfieri A very quiet writer with wonderful stories that just seem to sweep you away into a world of fantasy that...Oh sorry Vic I'm babbling again... Alice Raven A wonderful writer and poet with the power to melt even the coldest hearts simply with the powers of her words Miffy's Page! This is Miffy's page, i think that it speaks for itself Updates!!! Alright, well I realize that things are going kinda slow right now. I was talking to a friend of mine, and realized that I havent written anything good, or added to my book in about a year. So, I'll be doing that and updating at some point.

The Path of Magic

This actually is my novel that I'm writing. It is a midieval tale about six children who are inadvertently pulled into a war that will have more to do with them than they realize.

Dawn of Darkness

See Prologue

Dawn of Darkness Prologue part II

see other

Vampiric Truths

Just my take on vampires. Some elements are from other versions and such, but this is what i came up with.

Vampiric Truths II

See part 1

The Path of Magic part II

See The Path of Magic Chapter 1

Dawn of Darkness part II


Dawn of Darkness Prologue

This is a story about a group of four teens who are called on to fight the denizens of hell when they threaten to take over the globe.

The Path of Magic part III