http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:OlafBrouwer&section=today deviantART RSS for by:OlafBrouwer en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Fri, 04 Dec 2009 10:11:39 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/18818721/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/18818721/ Fri, 13 Jun 2008 11:00:48 PDT
]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/17584120/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/17584120/ Sun, 30 Mar 2008 05:17:59 PDT
Yeah, that's it. I have 3000 Pageviews now, and I am forced to thank you all from the bottom o' the North Sea. You have shown to be goodly people, and not potato-smellin' traitors á la Squirkybeard the Obnoxious, or some other foul villain from unknown fiction phrases. Really, thanks, all. It didn't enlighten my day in any way or sort, but at least it's better than being slapped in the face with a concrete dildo. Was that hypocritical arrogance I did smell there from my very own mouth? Yeah. You suck, foolz. I am teh bezt becuz I have 3000 pgviewzz! And things like that. Am I serious? Yes. On the other hand, maybe not. I really like you guys 'n gals. I can't say I love you, but I appreciate your appearance and this noble gesture of keeping in touch and all that crap. Man, it's hard to give a serious and nice answer these dark days. Yeah, doom is near. My classmates are starting to hate me, too, I'm afraid, and I like it. Wonder why? Well, I'm a cynical bastard, if that's what you mean. I think this is enough writings for this month.

Cheerio
Who Knows.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/17162292/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/17162292/ Mon, 03 Mar 2008 10:11:08 PST
Lalala, life's good, etc.
Cheerio !

I want to get back on normal drawing soon, but yet again the homework teases me like a tiny bird.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16798158/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16798158/ Sat, 09 Feb 2008 10:03:09 PST
Vomitorz,
Olaf Brouwer.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16578290/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16578290/ Sat, 26 Jan 2008 08:48:49 PST

Slowly but surely drowning
Hardly regretting the rain
You glance at me with your eyebrows frowning
Recognizing eachothers pain.

Sorrow and grief we did to ourselves
Denying the fact that we die
Ignoring the products on top of the shelves
And not only in our beds we lie.

Truth is that I still love you
But whenever we meet
I always need to use the loo
And flee to the toilet seat.

On the toilet I wonder how could it reach this point
We are both torn asunder in a dreadful joint
We ignore the option for a toiletpaper to share
Even if we both have plenty and both want a spare.

Now I drink from your toilet and you drool in mine
Now we can love and all will be fine.

(Love is a toilet that you need to flush
If there's too much trouble, haste and hush.
Take the time and harvest your winnings
Start new stories and finish beginnings.)


By Olaf Brouwer.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16469400/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16469400/ Sat, 19 Jan 2008 04:17:00 PST Anyways. It was a hell of a good night, and around 0.00 (with 12 degrees above zero) I was home again -- I had a terrible headache then already, and was tired -- and sweat was pouring on the floor like a sweat-river. Ever seen a sweat-river? I did. It stinks.
I went to bed and immediately fell into sleep. The next mornin', I ripped open the curtains, ate something, and started writing.

So, I now need to do even more for school (I didn't learn anything for my Geografy-test on purpose, because I didn't want to, so I now have another bad mark, and so I now have to learn even harder).
I don't think I'll be doin' much for school this month, though, how hard I even try. I just don't have the powerz for it.

Then I'll stick to drawing. However, maybe I can't even get round to that! All I can think of now is food. Oh well.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16401262/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16401262/ Tue, 15 Jan 2008 05:34:36 PST Anyways, I suggest you people to get an account on Freewebs too, as your homebase. From there, you travel to Deviantart and Conceptart, and the regions of .. whatever. I can then add you to my group, the Order of the Daft Kingdoms. Also, you can join my army - more information is on my Forums. It's a lousy Forum, though, where people shouldn't hang out too much. Without Firefox, you can only post 2,000 characters a post. With Firefox though, there is no limit. And I have Internet Explorer.. <_<
Anyways, have fun! I heard there were some problems about the site concerning redirecting things, and I need to investigate that.

Enough chit-chat. Enter my domain!


[link]


Cheerio
Morty.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16327490/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/16327490/ Wed, 09 Jan 2008 09:42:58 PST I have been so foolish.
How could I have let the old man being killed, how could I have let the murderer escape? If I'd catch him, I'd get so much praise my head would be spinning. In the end, I always choose the bad path, the path of the wicked, the easiest path. The path to infinite greed and eternal nonsense, looking at me with those yellow ochre eyes.
I have been such an ass.
Why didn't I run after the old man when I woke up? Why'd he thought he could handle the job? He couldn't! He was dying, he had a heart condition, it was worthless and hopeless, as if he tried to seize air.
Seize air. I can't breathe at this moment, as I feel the dead under me stir, their faces all bug-eyes and covered with soot, their mouths opening to rend my flesh to ribbons..
Oh well, I think it is time to run away again, then. The feds have died in the fire, except for me. The zombies killed the survivors, the runners, the civilians like me. I see those dead feds trying to get me now, their guts in their hands, their necks in a weird position. I laugh, and get up again. Oh, the bitter times. I feel dizzy. I feel dazed. All the madness creeping to me now is startling, flinching for a new rising terror, a bigger shadow, the shadow of the sun. I feel nauseous, lean on my shotgun, and limp away, away from that damned hill of dead people and the bench on top of it.
With a scarred face of agony I search on for proof that my girlfriend is not one of them, not dead.
No, I'm sorry, I didn't tell you - I - sorry, I must search on. My stomach is sick, and I feel more and more that the haze in the sky is a haze in my head. Holy haze, a haze of tinkering heat, distorting every numb feeling, making them a reflex, a twitching spasm of emotions, and everything but soulless and powerless and -
Not dead. I mustn't die, she ain't dead. She may not be dead! Please, it's only - if there's only one thing I'd ask - oh, please don't let her be dead!
Endless rows of hands, the refreshed promises of pain reach me now. New wounds on old wounds, doing much more pain than the old ones did, because the new ones open the old ones too..
I cry louder and louder, I feel as if I'm a pussy, but I have to, I can't find her, where is she, I have to find her. Oh, she just cannot be dead! I grate my hands on the concrete ground, and the lesser I want to see it, the more of it there is. I slam with my fist on the ground, and leave my shotgun in a puddle of mud. My muscles move terribly slow, even slower than the zombies surround me, one by one by one by one. Oh, the bitter irony. We search together. I look if she's alive, and they want to look if I'm dead. They want me dead. What if she's already one of them? What if she's looking for me right now?
While searching further for her, the guilt reaches me too. I should be searching for the murderer, so the city will be safe again - not for the greed - not for the sorrow -
But that will just have to wait, just untill tomorrow.
I grab my shotgun again, and check if it has any shotgunshells in it. It has not. Oh, how funny, how fucking bloody funny. I stand up, using last of my bits of strength, and slam a nearby zombie against the head. You don't know how good that feels. The anger, the pure hate against those soulless, flawed dead people, makes my wheels go in motion again, makes the wind stoke up, makes me want to break all of their sad arms, just with my shotgun.
I slam them all down, again and again and again, but after a while even my blind fury cannot stop them from dragging me down into their hands, and I feel dizzy and empty inside, and I touch the reflections of my limbs visible in the pool beneath me. As long as they drag me down, I keep slamming them with my gun, and they fall over eachother, biting eachother, not knowing it isn't me. I bellow now from the deepest of my inside, and I feast on their entrails in this mad, mad place. Without love or care, without any feeling at all, I march on against the wind, with my shotgun against my thigh. My boots splash the pools, my cape shudders in the strong wind, blowing the haze away.
I am going to find that murderer, and I will break his goddamn neck. Now or never. And when I have the time, God knows when, I will find my girlfriend, I will find her and we... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15983379/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15983379/ Tue, 18 Dec 2007 07:43:56 PST
Confused: Aren't we all?

Ah, there you are. Is there anything new to tell? I am afraid so. Haven't done so much drawings lately, mostly writings and other stuff. I'm working on a story called 'The Facility' now, not sure what it is yet. I predict that it is a new story about a city near Wander City though, just like in the story 'Dimensions'. This time it will be an icy story, since it's winter in the city, slowly drowning. Don't you just love winter? If you grab a warm coat, It will be tremendously enjoyable. Just look at the snow falling on the stretching white lands, look at the christmastrees near or in every house, the pretty lights at evenings, and the cosiness of every town as you go through them. The snow makes me happy, but however, we almost never have snow in the Netherlands anymore. Every year, I keep hoping that it will be a white christmas. This christmas must be spectacular, or I'll die in dieness. And for some heck of a reason, I don't want that.
As it's getting colder, and as the streetlights are on as I cycle to school since the dark stays longer in the early morning of 6:40 AM, I think about the summer again, and notice I like that, too. The hot sweltering nothingness, the silence and the time in which everything is green and growing. I like that time, it makes me happy now already. But we do not talk about that now, since is spoils our Winter-feeling. Our christmas-feeling. I don't care much about the Jezus-side or the Santa-side of christmas, more about the snow falling eternally and the cosiness, the warmth inside our homes, and the inspiration for long stories with a cup of chocolate in your hands.
What's happening in the world right now? Since it's my first edition of the first Brewer's Times, I tell you I honestly do not know. Or maybe I do, and it only comes forth in my stories. Oh well, who knows. The Brewer of stories may not think about things like that, only about snow, snow, lots of snow. Yeah, I'm better at drawing than writing, so maybe I'm the Brewer of Inspiration, or Drawing, Art, or whatever. For me, it will be the Brewer of Confusion. Because that's what I am, besides creative and lazy. Dazed and confused.
Who cares that my name means Brewer in English? It's a very common name in Friesland, so indeed, no one cares. I love languages and the correpsonding with other languages, so I can tell you: Friesland means Land of Frost, or Freezing Land. However, it's misspelt, since it actually must be vriesland. But Frisians do not seem to care. For those who do not know what I'm talkin' about, Friesland lays in the Netherlands. The low lands. Did you know those low lands I live in are quite a lot metres below sea level? We just put dikes and such around our lands, and there we are. Tough, strong folks. And greedy. And confused. But aren't we all.


Stories of snow-white Winter-landscapes

As the morning sun touches the remains of the moon, I think about the writings I did last night. Because, if you do not know, the most of the time I make my art at night. I hope I do not sound desperate at getting mysterious, now. That's not what I want along with dying in dieness, oh no.
I hope you people can all write some fantastic stories, make some incredible photos, create some phenomenal drawings and do other good things with art these days of snowy winter. Snowy writings I want to see, and snowy photos, and snowy drawings. Art, covered under a thick layer of snow and ice. Ice to skate on. The Dutch like it, iceskating. Hope you know the Elfstedentocht of Friesland, which means literally Trip of the Eleven Cities. What's in a name. However, the name says it all. If I remember correctly, they'll start in the city of my birth every time they go skating. Leeuwarden, in Frisian Ljouwert. Come there sometimes, but not all that often. I like city Groningen more, in the province of Groningen. It has it's own atmospehere, and believe it or not, art is in the air there. Really, you can sense it everywhere.
Want to visit the Louvre in Paris someday, too, talkin' about great cities of art. Yep, travelling seems fun, especially in winter-wonderlands. Don't travel that much now, since my father and mother don't want to spend all their money on that. However, we'll be goin' to Italy next summer, and it's going to be a hell of a trip. It was my call, so I'm happy. Our main target will be Florence, where art flows rich through the rivers. Besides travelling, I'm a great fanatic about films, too. If you say 'Sin City', 'Se7en', 'Goodfellas', 'The French Connection', ' Pulp Fiction', 'Memento', 'Reservoir Dogs', then my ears explode. I like those films a lot. Others disgust them, but oh well. I can't stop saying 'oh well'. Who notices.
Besides travelling and films, music is another passion of mine. Not that I make music, nope, I... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15846401/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15846401/ Sat, 08 Dec 2007 10:15:10 PST
Again, I thank the Revisioners.



Edit: Let me revision this journal. Those assholes didn't do a thing! I still can't see my own drawings, but I can show it to others! What the hell is this about? Why can I not see my own nudity-drawings?
They will get paid for this.. arrogant, evil, wicked..

Edit: I see now that I have to click something to see the drawing myself. I won't change my opinion, this is still stupid. This means war.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15645105/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15645105/ Sat, 24 Nov 2007 05:33:22 PST
]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15388291/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15388291/ Sun, 11 Nov 2007 05:13:50 PST
CHAPTER FOUR: THE END

1. The Package


" To have peace with this peculiar life; to accept what we do not understand; to wait calmly for what awaits us, you have to be wiser than I am"
" At moments of great enthusiasm it seems to me that no one in the world has ever made something this beautiful and important"

Both quotes of MC. Escher




As the haze grows even thicker, as the lightening rages above the summit of danger, as the epicenter of this darkness reaches it's peak, I walk alone in a gray, gray room, not knowing what to do now.
What should I do and why? I feel ill, but I have to proceed. I feel ill, but I have to go on and finish this forever. I have to finish it, as it is the last tiny little piece of the puzzle to fit. And what if it does not fit?
But that does not matter, since every mistake I made compensates for the unfitting pieces. If I, due to my mistakes, have a life full of shattered glass and unfitting pieces, all those little pieces still can fit. They fit, because they're all broken.
I walk around the gray room some more. Tulco lays pale and dying in his deathbed.


I feel ill, but I have to do what Dason told me. I have to, because of the mistakes I made before. While it rains outside, I feel the cold thing in my heart getting worse. I know that there must be something wrong with it - but I never had these aches before. It feels as if my heart beats twice as hard, as I watch Dason hold the syringe tight in his scarred hands.
'Hold him very tight' he says to me, and I can see this hurts him, too. He has done this before, but that does not mean he likes it.
'Wait' I say. 'Why not tell him what we are going to do, first?'
'He cannot hear us. The faster it's over, the better.'
I look at Tulco Teller's pale, sweaty face. His eyes move through the room slowly, as if he tries to see if his sight will get better.
'He doesn't recognize us' I say. 'It's bad.'
'You can't tell me right now what's right and wrong, Ackerman' Dason Smith says, as he holds the needle close to Tulco's heart. 'You should know that.'
And I know. I walk to Tulco, and hold him steadily. Even if he's paralysed, we need to hold him down. Reflexes, twitches or things like that.
'Ready?' Dason lifts the syringe, and I nod.
With a quick stab, he throngs deep into Tulco's heart with the syringe, and I am afraid for what will happen.
Tulco struggles hard, and I try to keep him down. I frisk around me, and find, by accident or by fate, a piece of wood - something I haven't thought of yet. I put it in his mouth, so he won't break his teeth or bite off his tongue.
Then, Dason gets out the revivycation-syringe again. Blood is in the syringe visible, and it's dead blood.
'Bad blood' Dason says. 'He would've turned into one of them if we didn't revive him now. Keep holding him as I get the saw.'
I push hard on Tulco's shoulder this time, and I am afraid for what is coming.
I look into his eyes, and all I see is bitter hate.

Tulco watched at the two vague men with terror in his eyes. Who were they? What did they want?
And as soon as they put the syringe in his chest, he knew he was going to die. Such incredible macabre pain, he never felt it before. It was both physically and mentally torturing him, and his paralysis did not prevent him from trying to get away.
But he could not get away. The man next to him held him so tight. He cried in himself, and his soul broke. He felt anger and fear and grief, and these feelings were bound by terrible, terrible pain. He felt his heart sink beneath all the stars, he felt his life light up to them and go down again, he felt his eyes no longer care about what there was to see --
And then the pain was over. He was to exhausted for relief. With tears in his eyes, he watched the two men. And then he suddenly saw clearer again. He still could barely hear, but his body felt less encumbered by darkness, and it was as if a great pressure was lifted from his shoulders and heart. The burden was gone.
But then he recognized the men, and he knew that this hit him more that the burden would've given pressure on his chest. He saw that they were Ackerman and Dason Smith. Dason Smith, the man who safed him from death. Ackerman, the murderer of his sister. He looked at Ackerman with pure, uncontrollable fury and rage in his eyes. What was happening? Why did Dason help him?
Was it betrayal?
Were they planning to murder him?
His thoughts were answered for him when he saw Dason walking to him with a saw in his hand.
It was all going to end now and here. He thought over his life while the saw made deep cuts in his arm.

'We have to do this quick,... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15244101/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15244101/ Tue, 06 Nov 2007 07:13:47 PST
The Deep Districts



1. The Purple Letter

It was midnight when Nadia and the Wallwalker struggled on through the snowy white streets of the infected city.
Why was this cold so much warmer? Why was this night so much different? They did not know why, but that night, they felt strangely connected in a city which was torn apart by death and destruction. As they went on, stars appeared in the clear sky, and the full moon came up in all its glory.
The hollow looks of the dead were terrifying, but the stragglers went on. The sharp knives of murderers could be in every corner, but the stragglers went on. The kidnapping pedophile pedestrians were watching them at that very moment, the blood-lusted whores were sharpening their daggers at that time, the corrupt politicians and cops were just walkin' around freely, but they did not notice nor care. The only thing they really cared about was that night. That wonderful night, in which they could foresee that the stars would not shine that long anymore in this dimension, if Cordungo's terror could not be stopped; That night, in which they talked about the past in their personal lives, that night was good. Good, ignoring the fact that screams were still heard in every street. Good, disregarding the fact that Fort Ackerman, the safest place, besides the Lure, had fallen. Good, not facing the face of blood and darkness, bound by the temptation of cowardness.
That night, even the threatening hands of the zombies looked different.
The Wall-walker and Nadia felt love for eachother those days, but they were both from another dimension, and their laws of physics were different.

And the following morning, when the sharp light was narrowing peoples eyes, there was too much trouble ahead to even think about love or anything like that. Zombies had surrounded the building they were in, and it was only loosely barricaded. In a few hours, they would be dead meat, litteraly.
They could either choose the hard way, or the kind of hard way. The kind of hard way meant, that they would go up the building and jump to another building; however, this meant that the Wall-walker and she had to split, since he could not jump on that building. The hard way was fighting themselves out of the building, through the streets, towards the Deep Districts.
They had chosen the hard way, and they were not going to like it.


I am outnumbered. Outgunned. But this alley is full of cracks and dents, I can sneak through the dark as a fish in the water. Now let's hope they won't catch me like a fish. Now let's hope they wont dissect me like a fish. Tulco lays dying in the dark dungeons of Fuller's feds, and I'm guilty. I stretched my fingers too far into Cordungo's foul ideas. I was foolish. Should not have done it.
I betrayed Tulco.
I have murdered Phoebe.
I am Seth's higher hand, and the Upper Gang have me in control. They want me to kill Fuller and Cordungo. I refused, and they locked me up for years. The cops burst in, set me up. Said I was a murderer and liar. I've led them straight to her. To Phoebe. Then I got free. They almost found her. They could not find the Purple Letter. They mustn't know about Cordungo's brother. If they would know about Cordungo's brother, they would know he was the one who.. that he was Phoebe and Tulco's father. Wise and foolish. And dead.
He was the one who wrote the letter. To himself. To inform Phoebe, the hooker from Little Brazil. She had to find the Package, go to the Lure. They would be safe there.
But not all had gone to plan. Thanks to the Upper Gang, who had blackmailed and threatened me, I had to kill her. So they would never know. They would never get the Package. At least, not now. Thanks to the goblin-like Seth, who kidnapped my best partner cop, Dason, I had to betray Tulco. I had to kill Fuller and Parker.
I could not do the job.
Dason would be dead, and it was all my fault.
Why, why did I kill Phoebe? I did not kill her in person, but I commanded Seth to do it, with pain in my heart. He dragged her to Fullers' Federal Police Department as a warning.
I betrayed Tulco because I had to. In this dark alley, I will die, and I know it.
I know it.
But first, I have to kill. Fuller. Cordungo Parker. I have to find Nadia and her mysterious lover, and convince them not to take it to the Lure. Otherwise I have to kill both of 'em, and take the Package to either Seth or the leader of the Upper Gang.

No, I can't. If I can kill old Parker, I can kill Seth and the leader of the Upper Gang. It may be the hard way, but I have to do it. For my own purposes, and to pay for my.. for all my mistakes. There's blood of whores on the ground. I wonder who Seth the hitman has killed now again. That yellow bastard. If I have the time, I'... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15212214/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15212214/ Sat, 27 Oct 2007 12:50:04 PDT
Arrangements





The Wall-walker opened his eyes, and felt bruises on his head. What happened. What was going on.
It was dark. It was cold.
He stood up, unsteadily grabbing the Sewerwall. Wait, it was not the Sewerwall. It was not cold and wet, it was dry and rough. He was touching the ground. He was outside, and a cold breeze rushed through the dark streets. He was standing on a low wall, riddled with bullet holes. Dead bodies lay on the ground above him. Constantly breathing in and out in tension, he sneaked further on the wall, while the piles of bodies above him were getting much higher by every step. After a few minutes, the piles blocked the way to the other side of the wall. He tried to drag them away, but it was almost impossible. He crawled on top of the bloody pile of dead bodies, at the moment they just started to get in their infected state of the undead. Their limps moved spastically, and as the Wall-walker ran as hard as he could, his black coat waving in the wind behind him, they stood up, groaning and walking like blind men.
'Stop.' A sharp voice spoke, and the Wall-walker had to look up to see the two feet of the woman he adored so much for unclear reasons. Nadia had her gun pointed at the Wall-walker. 'You are infected' she said.
'What?.. The hell I am not!' the Wallwalker answered, as he limped back, to see her better.
She sighed. 'Oh well, maybe you are not. I don't know.'
The Wall-walker felt inside his coat, and noted that his gun was gone.
'Where is my gun?' he said, firmly.
'The mobs have it.'
'Are you saying, that the gangs from the Deep Districts have my gun? I do not believe you.'
The woman looked angry, then her face softened again.
'Twenty days ago' she started, 'I hit you to the ground, to see what you were. Could not be one of them, nor one of the gangs. You are strange.'
'And why is that? Everything here is strange!'
'You are walking walls, how's that for starters?' the woman whispered fiercely. 'Heard stories about your kind. Dimensioneers, eh? Live in big caves up the Union, eh?'
'I'm sorry?' The Wall-walker could not really understand her anymore.
'The Deep Districts! You must have been there - must have been there the first, when it all started.'
'Have I been there? I don't know' the Wall-walker said. 'I cannot remember. I only remember my own world, and the first thing I remembered of this world, was that I stood up somewhere far away from here, much more to the south-east.'
'Don't you know what's going on?' There was some tension in her voice.
'No, actually - I don't know.'
'You're from another dimension. I guess you got that already, but still. I think there's a point where all 'dimensioneers', as they call the people who tumbled over here, come out of somewhere. It's the place we call the Caves. Those Caves are invested with big, big things no one ever heard about. Cordungo's striving for it to get there.'
'Cordungo, eh?' The Wall-walker grinned. 'The long pale guy with the binoculars? I escaped from him and went inside the Sewers.'
The woman looked astonished. 'You - you met him? You actually met him?'
'Well, what's a meeting?' the Wall-walker whispered. 'If he grabs you and tries to strangle you, tries to get you on your side? He wants something big, I think the Upper Gangs in the Deep Districts aren't enough for him. Now all is in chaos, he sees a way out. He thinks that when this is all over, wich I think will never happen, he can go further reigning and conquering all of the world. He has sources all over the world, I heard. He is seeking for something, that's for sure. A weapon against the dead ones, the good survivors, and his other enemies perhaps? Something wich can make this all go away?'
The woman, Nadia, looked at him and sighed again. 'Yes.. yes, you are completely right. He is looking for what I have.'
'I know' the Wall-walker said. 'He is looking for your Package. He walked further away from her to see her better, and asked, with sweat on his face: 'What is it?'



The clouds were darker as normal. It was night, a very cold night. Puddles of blood lay in the streets, and dark shadows stooped over it. They whispered that it was the blood of the dead, not the living. Uncoagulated.
The dark shadows were people of the Flare United Team. Wearing flak jackets, firefighter's jackets, carrying portable generators and fireaxes, they walked a long way; from the east of Central Little Brazil, to the Deep Districts.
'We are close' Daunt said. He was the leader. You could see it in his eyes. Fierce face, strong hands, great courage.
'Still, there is so much more to do.' He whispered as if he was being listened by spies, very close. 'Ackerman's Fort is under atta... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15123875/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/15123875/ Fri, 19 Oct 2007 02:45:12 PDT
]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/14424195/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/14424195/ Sat, 27 Oct 2007 12:45:50 PDT -M.C Escher


The concept of zombies isn't original. I've got it from horror films I liked and still like, and I like the terrible genius of it. You cannot trust anyone, not even your loved ones, because they can be killed by dead people at any times, and they will die, and then they will try to eat you alive also in a dreadful way. You will not be safe anywhere, you will not feel safe in a house at night, if you know that the dead are moving around it, groaning and moaning. Thinking only about your flesh and blood and bones.
-Me.


Death is only a miracle when you know it never was. It gives us plenty of hope that we get rest. It gives us everything but life, it takes from us nothing but life, it gives us only rest. We need rest, some day. But when hell is full, 'the dead will walk the surface of the earth'. When will this day come. When will the apocalypse come. When will the dark crows sing songs of blood and terror, rising? I think it is happening now. We are falling further and further into despair, while the people who conquer us try to blindfold us, and at night, they whisper lies in our ears. Lies, lies, all lies.
-Me.


DIMENSIONS



CHAPTER ONE
The Sewers

Sky was gray, but heart was red. They drank blood as it was tray, left in a bin, they walked slow and stumbled unsteadily. They groaned and moaned; they left nothing but devastation. Dead bodies walking; dark streets in the morning. This is a short story about the districts of a dark city. Cannibalistic infected dead men have taken over the city, but that is not what this is about. It is, again, a love story. Is that a cliche? Maybe, or maybe a cliche that will never be boring if you wrap it up in a refreshing new coat. It is a dark story, though, so buggle up and see! While the terror of the dead is spreading, the city is cut in three parts; the parts of the survivors and dead hunters, the part of the gangs and hordes of men killing both men and dead corpses, and the part of the dead corpses, walking, eating the survivors. The part of the survivors is the smallest part. This is the part where Nadia lives.
On this moment, she is running for her life, with terror in both her beautiful eyes. Through ruined streets in ashes she runs, harder and harder, and she is most likely being followed. Blood is on her cheek, and her long black hair is dancing behind her while she runs. But she can't keep running all along, no, she can't. At one moment, she trips over something and falls, hard, on the smudged floor of corpses and broken bones. Is her knee broken? It looks most like it. Is her foot stuck in the pile of bones? Yes, it is. Is the thing she carried along with her intact? She looks at it. It is. But she isn't satisfied at all. She is crying, and warm tears fall in tears on the dark ground. She hears hissing sounds behind her. As quick as she can, she stands up and raises her hand, wich is holding what we know as a Glock. Glock's are good guns, we can be proud of mr. Glock, who invented it. But the gun ain't gonna help her this time. She is stuck, and her knee is bruised and broken. But then she sees the followers aren't the dead. They look like mortal-hunters from the Deep Districts. However, she cannot tell, as everyone mortal looks the same now. 'Who are you? And what do you want?' she cries. 'Your death!' the smallest and most goblin-like one of them says, as he raises his gun and shoots. But at that moment, hell breaks loose; shatters of the building behind the gang start falling, and they fall on four of them - the others can duck away. We are standing closer to Nadia now, and she is pale and shivering. The gun's bullet seems to have thronged itself deep inside her flesh. She is pushing on the place on her leg where it hit her -- blood is dripping between her hands on the place where her tears just had dried, on the filthy ground. 'Capture the woman! Capture the woman!' the goblin-like man screams. Nadia doesn't hear them as she raises her Glock, coldly. She doesn't hear them as she fires the weapon with an immense sound, and she only hears them when they all fall on the ground, one by one, dead. She must get out of here now, or the living dead will come and look for the corpses to feed themselves with. She is still stuck between the hard and white bones of the ribcage of a man. She uses all her force to get it out of it, and then she stumbles away. A shadow is hiding in the dark, high above her, holding his hand in a strange position. The way Nadia walks looks like the way a dead woman would walk. The s... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13694756/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13694756/ Wed, 01 Aug 2007 10:06:12 PDT Requests on request!


Welcome to my storage/listing of requests to draw characters from my 'tale'-things. The fun part of it is that there is no limit on all of them, and when you feel the urge to draw, and have time left [and don't have other requests on your list, or lots of work], you can just pick a request out of this list [wich I am still working on, there are currently only a few requests], draw it, and send it to me - I then will put the finished drawing under the request's-story. Hm, maybe I can make some requests that you can only make when you have finished a number of requests! Eh, no, I'm hyperfentilating. Just pick one out of the list if you want, whenever you feel like drawing, and have fun. It's still under construction of course, as you can see, as you have noticed, as you.. whatever.
----
Let's start off with the dark-minded characters, because I find them the most interesting, and they also are the most important in my world. If you need background information about my silly fantasyworld, just go read this: [link] wich is a bit out of date, because I wrote the tales after writing that 'explaination'. Also note that my characters and tales aren't finished yet; whole stories and names can change, because I'm only beginning and 'experimenting' the writing, and I don't fully control the English language yet, because I am from the Netherlands -- However, let's stop whining about that stuff and start.



Request I. Sméngûl, the Old Dragon

The character Sméngûl is a dragon, the Old Dragon of Cáscárond (The Wide World). However, you must forget the normal view on a dragon, when you think about Sméngûl, and give your own style to it. The Old Dragon is kind of mysterious. He used to live for decades in his dwellingplace near the Floor of the Dead, in a mountain, standing in the middle the swamps and forests of Valdung. Information about Smengul may be found here: [link] and also in some other small stories, like the Beginning of the Tale of the Wise Old Man from the Woods, where I am working on. The Old Dragon is protected by his own "Tovenary", as he calls it. This is the magic of the dragon, and the powers to bring others in his magical trance. The Dragon's appearance is always black, but he shines like silver and even gold when he moves. His face has strong features; it is hard, a bit firmly, and his eyes look wise into the darkness. His teeth are sharp, but not terrible and fierce, like the dark soldiers of Morthrong. If you look at him, you know he is dangerous, you know he is much wiser than you or any creature is, and you do not know if he is bad or good. He can be a great help, but also a tricky snake. The Old Dragon has a dark crown on his head, like he is a king. No one can tell if it is a real crown, or if it grows out of his head, like vile horns. The Old Dragon has long, black wings, and I must ask you to put your thoughts on those. Both wings have silver claws, and stretch long into the darkness. As I said, the whole appearance of the Old Dragon is black, with claws of steel, and a long, very long tail, ending in a sting that looks like that of a scorpion. However, it is a golden sting. Here's a part of a story about him I wrote:

"Now he reached the deepest hall, and he was in the dungeon and lair of the Old Dragon. He grabbed his sword Gibthir, and walked upon the Dragon, wich was 'sleeping' on a big rock, guarding the darkness.
'I am here to ask the Question', Servant of Mórthrông said. The Dragon suddenly 'awoke', and arose, up into the darkness, and his body was impressively dark and, sometimes it was like silver and gold. His crown of Worthsilver was pointing at the Ceiling of the Dungeon, and his eyes were bright and sharp.
He looked at the Servant, and answered: 'Then ask it now, you took a long time to get here.'
'He From Far asks the Oldest and most wise Dragon Smengûl, to be the leader of his Army of Freedom and Crowlings. He asks to join him and make Càscárond and the other places into a better staying to be, and to kill the tirant Uthínn Umvathar, who shelters in his regions, and who gives the Folk a Lesser Being, and who only wants the pride and jewellery for himself.'
The Old Dragon Smengûl thought over this, and then grabbed a huge rock, where he crushed the body of the Servant with, holding it with his magical power between the ground and the rock.
'The Lord of the heavenly lands, he has done nothing wrong at all' the Dragon said. 'What's in for me? Things are quiet and simple down here, and killing the innocent for lust, and finding secrets into the deep philosophical darkness, is good enough for me. Why would I join the 'Crowking' if I am happy to be here?'<... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13497637/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13497637/ Tue, 26 Jun 2007 11:10:11 PDT I still see a new morning coming, and look! The birds fly away from us. The threat is here. It stands right next to us. Grab your weapons, shields, and wait! Then they come! Then, they strike, together! We become in chaos, and we kill eachother before the enemy did. When the last hour has broken through, we break eachothers bones, our greed and arrogance and hate binds us - we flee or steal, or we will just wipe this place clean. Our time is tick, tick ticking away, while we don't even see it coming. We MUST gather! We MUST persist against this dark future! Just to life! Just to hold on, just to believe in the fiery worlds of the unkind. Art is resistance, rebellance, expression, creativity, inspiration, definition, explaination, but most of all, exploration. We explore and we win land; we artists see things others do not - we touched the brew from the kettle of the Witch from the Woods - we became viewers of the world. Together, we are explorers of these woods, becoming thicker and thicker. What if we die? What if we become chastised? What if they find us, what if they torture us? What if the lightening strikes us, on this final hour? Then, I say, it happens! We will die, that is sure - but not in a normal way, on an average day - we will become chastised, it is as sure as our deaths. They will find us, they will torture us, the lightening will strike us, on this final hour! It will happen, don't you see! What difference does it make - the cold mountains are now laying shattered, and I do not see the sea; because the shadow of the sun is right here, to burn us! To freeze us! To enlighten us! You know, do you want to become an unkind? Do you want to have the only thing in common, that is, that you also die? That you will also be found? I guess you won't - and if you will, no human shall call you human. No human shall let you live - because of the hypocrisy and arrogance of yourselve, that makes you other than the rest.
The new morning is becoming noon. A normal day, average deaths. No replies, no attacks, only far away from us. Then why is my throat so sore? Why does my head hurt from inside, like the clouds are becoming so thick and dark above my head, that they infect my brains? Why? The word that is spoken from mouth to mouth, face to face, a lot these days. What is happening. And why. How, and by who. Where. Here.
Step on the train before it is too late. You will sink in the mud of hell, if you don't.... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13365007/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13365007/ Sat, 16 Jun 2007 05:43:25 PDT

The moon was a shadow, and the clouds were grey. The sinister shapes of the army of the Wise Old Man from the Woods came nearer and nearer, towards the city of Vervelgond. They passed many villages and houses, and the people who saw them, shouted aloud to their familymembers: "The Lost King is coming! He is finally coming to save us!" The older members who first didn't believe it, and then came to watch it, quickly told them to be quiet. If they wanted to be free, they had to be silent. The Chamos Elendios still had some things to do.
When the Chamos Elendios were in fully view of Vervelgond, they showed their torches, and lit the arrows. "Archers on the front!" Lurd said, and the bowmen of the Chamos went forward. They grabbed their long silver arrows, and set them on fire. Then, they casted it towards the city. After a few strikes, the city was buring. The Wise Old Man from the Woods wasn't afraid of burning his own folks alive, because Vervelgond was now one huge army-camp of the Awen. Everything in that city was ruined, and the folks would fogive them and give them their blessing when it was destroyed - to much dark memories. To much terrifying nightmares.
Far, far behind the gates of Vervelgond, the horns sounds were low. They heard drums, fast, faster. The feet of millions of unarmoured Awen. The Chamos Elendios had their dark helmets on, and big round shields and thin but strong swords. They rode on horses, with the Wise Old Man on Taila at the front. He raised Rostar. He screamed. Then the Awen came, with thousands at a time, and the Chamos Elendios ran towards them - crushed their bones - and left. The Awen had no chance; they had no armour, and some of them didn't even have weapons, and didn't know where they were going - they just weren't told - they weren't ready yet. They thought it was a drill, but it was not. It was the Wise Old Man from the Woods, with his worthsilv'ren cuirass, and his Vaitalonic boots. He laughed. He was victorious. He had freed Thogard; his greatest wish had come true.

In those days, where the Wise Old Man was a king again, a nameless king, he made the folks happy, and made peace with the Awen and surrounding lands. He heavily guarded the barriers of Thogard, and explored lands in the far east and west; made friends with other countries, and traded with them. Happy days, but then the Wise Old Man stepped forward to Lurd, and said to him he would be the new King. And when Lurd asked why, the Wise Old Man answered: "Because I do not belong here; I belong in the forest with Taila. But mostly because you deserved it." Then, he said he would go to find the Witch of Mistilangr. "She must die, that will make my fate fullfilled" he said. "But I will go alone, with Taila."
But Lurd said: "Then at least take the ten Angry Men with you - and I will go with you, also. I will never let you go alone to that land, or I will allways feel guilt if you may die." And the Wise Old Man accepted. They packed their bags, grabbed their spears, and left. In those days, the folks were ruled by one man named Tinman; and he was trustable. He said to the people they wouldn't have to fear; their lost king would return, and protect them from out of Lindolerne. He would be their Avatar of New Vervelgond, and Lurd would protect the city from out of the city. "Don't be saddened" he also said. "Don't be saddened he will leave you now allready. Because he does not. He is allways with us, in our hearts."
And then, the Ten Angry Men, plus Lurd and the Wise Old Man on Taila, went to the Cold Mountains again. The shadows grew thicker and thicker.

The trip was hard and heavy; and one man pretended he was sick, and said the Angry Men had to go on. They did, and left him on the feet of the Cold Mountains. He was way to scared - he couldn't lie anymore. He lied for years and years, didn't tell to Lurd nor the Wise Old Man he had betrayed them. He worked together with Anthor Cayen and Tyrone [Oldann's "angry uncle"], for years and years. For years of betrayal, he served the dark lord Morthrong, and he became more and more bound to the darkness. "I cannot live on" he said now, sighing on the feet of the Cold Mountains. "Why did I even become a traitor? Why did the darkness allways attract me?" And then, a voice came out of the ground, and it said: "Because the darkness is your deepest desire, and because the desire is your worst fear. You fear and desire, you desire and fear - but you never love and hope, for the folk, for the fatherland, and for the Wise Old Man from the woods." It was the voice of Uminn, and the man was terribly afraid, and directly confessed his foul deeds. "I did it, I admit I did it!" And then, the voice said: "You did not admit, you confessed."
And then, the ground felt softer and soft... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13353080/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13353080/ Sat, 16 Jun 2007 06:34:05 PDT
Note: Note that this is only "for fun" or sort. If you have time and a bit of talent, you can react on this with a drawing, if you want. It's only to see how others would interpretate my works. I must say I'm quite interested in that..

So, anyone who wants can and may draw for me, the character Sméngûl. It's one of my favourite characters, and, I have to say it, all of my characters are actually rough sketches of them I had in mind. The names of my characters can still change, and their features also. However, the character Sméngûl is a dragon, the Old Dragon of Cáscárond (The Wide World). However, you must forget the normal view on a dragon, when you think about Sméngûl, and give your own style to it. The Old Dragon is kind of mysterious. He used to live for decades in his dwellingplace near the Floor of the Dead, in a mountain, standing in the middle the swamps and forests of Valdung. Information about Smengul may be found here: [link] and also in some other small stories, like the Beginning of the Tale of the Wise Old Man from the Woods, where I am working on. The Old Dragon is protected by his own "Tovenary", as he calls it. This is the magic of the dragon, and the powers to bring others in his magical trance. The Dragon's appearance is always black, but he shines like silver and even gold when he moves. His face has strong features; it is hard, a bit firmly, and his eyes look wise into the darkness. His teeth are sharp, but not terrible and fierce, like the dark soldiers of Morthrong. If you look at him, you know he is dangerous, you know he is much wiser than you or any creature is, and you do not know if he is bad or good. He can be a great help, but also a tricky snake. The Old Dragon has a dark crown on his head, like he is a king. No one can tell if it is a real crown, or if it grows out of his head, like vile horns. The Old Dragon has long, black wings, and I must ask you to put your thoughts on those. Both wings have silver claws, and stretch long into the darkness. As I said, the whole appearance of the Old Dragon is black, with claws of steel, and a long, very long tail, ending in a sting that looks like that of a scorpion. However, it is a golden sting. Here's a part of a story about him I wrote:

"Now he reached the deepest hall, and he was in the dungeon and lair of the Old Dragon. He grabbed his sword Gibthir, and walked upon the Dragon, wich was 'sleeping' on a big rock, guarding the darkness.
'I am here to ask the Question', Servant of Mórthrông said. The Dragon suddenly 'awoke', and arose, up into the darkness, and his body was impressively dark and, sometimes it was like silver and gold. His crown of Worthsilver was pointing at the Ceiling of the Dungeon, and his eyes were bright and sharp.
He looked at the Servant, and answered: 'Then ask it now, you took a long time to get here.'
'He From Far asks the Oldest and most wise Dragon Smengûl, to be the leader of his Army of Freedom and Crowlings. He asks to join him and make Càscárond and the other places into a better staying to be, and to kill the tirant Uthínn Umvathar, who shelters in his regions, and who gives the Folk a Lesser Being, and who only wants the pride and jewellery for himself.'
The Old Dragon Smengûl thought over this, and then grabbed a huge rock, where he crushed the body of the Servant with, holding it with his magical power between the ground and the rock.
'The Lord of the heavenly lands, he has done nothing wrong at all' the Dragon said. 'What's in for me? Things are quiet and simple down here, and killing the innocent for lust, and finding secrets into the deep philosophical darkness, is good enough for me. Why would I join the 'Crowking' if I am happy to be here?'
And the Servant of Mórthrông was bleeding and weeping in the darkness, and cried: 'I don't know! He only wants to rule the lands and bring the Folk's a better life to live!'
'He doesn't want that, because the Wise Old Man from the Woods stole his Good Will in trade for secrets, did you know?'
'I don't know!' the Servant repeated crying, dying. 'I just want to live! Please, let me live!'"

As you now know, the Old Dragon can be cruel and foul, but only to those who enter his realms, attack him, or who are fullfilled with darkness, like Morthrong Eterige. The Old Dragon lives from the scavengers, that live in campements around his mountain. They stay there, because the land there is fertile. Vulcanical gasses reach up high in the sky. So, that is the Old Dragon Sméngûl for now. Remember that he doesn't really look like a dragon we see in fantasyfilms, and he certainly doesn't look like a dragon like the one from Eragon. He is still a snake-type of being, though. What does he really look like, then? It's for you to decide.


If a dragon-type of cha... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13328499/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13328499/ Wed, 13 Jun 2007 11:06:47 PDT

Art Vivendi - a new club, designed by me and my friends from [link] rises! Pack your bags, get your wandering stick, and wander all the way down, through the isles of Artartica, through the dark depths of the ES Artistry Thread, through the fantasy minds of teenagers and older people, through the distant lands of inspiration and expression. Art Vivendi is a group of people who try to be creative in some sort of unique kind of way. They learn, practice and gain new information about drawing, writing, and all kinds of art, and they show it all off, on the Deviantart-account of ArtVivendi. Art Vivendi litteraly means "Art of Life", and it comes from the Latin "Ars Vivendi." The group of artists that work for Art Vivendi work together and still apart; they live in the Netherlands, Germany, well, they can actually live everywhere! They all have their own DA Accounts, and their own unique fantasyworlds. Dark and gloomy, energetic and fiery, calm and quiet, or fast and flashy.
Now their very unique works, where they have studied on all those days and weeks, are presented in this shared Artvivendi account. You can see it as an online exhibition, and a trip through lands you will never forget. Walk through the worlds and keep your eyes open.

Note: Joining this club may be possible in later times, and it is also possible now, but we are very strict in it, you'll have to post your works for a month in the ES Artistry Thread, and fullfill a few themes for the Artartica Thread in the Community Discussion of the Elder Scrolls Forums. Still, we can reject you then, because you may be to 'wanting' to join, or because we want to keep the originals in Art Vivendi. You may now say :"Forget it, I'm not spending my time on those things", but I can say it's worth it, to have your own works along the works of the others, and have your fantasyworld to collide with ours. When that happens, we'll slowly make a supercontinent of art, the eternal galleries of fantasies!

ARTVIVENDI is an idea of the ES Artistry Thread in The Elder Scrolls Forums (Section: Community Discussion).


---
The Galleries of Artvivendi will be opened in a few weeks - it is still under construction.
---

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13083282/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13083282/ Fri, 15 Jun 2007 10:26:41 PDT "A Hymn of Bloody Spears"

Written by Olaf Brouwer



---
A long story awaits. It starts yet again with a man. Really, that man is desperate. You should see the look on his face right now. He walks from village to village, from town to town, from province to province. He is a wanderer, a dead being. He is yet again just someone who lost his mind while forgetting to keep his eyes open.
Let's look what he does.
He walks. He stands still again. He smells and breathes in the air, and walks like a zombie. He used to be succesfull. He used to be a high person, with lots of gold and jewels and ruby's, and other things. Now, he is just.. nothing. A shadow of what he was.
No one likes him. No one thinks about him, and they all pass him.
This man is a pathethic man. He is too tired to have pity with himself or the rest of the world. He is too tired to think. To act normal. To stop Telling. And yes, that is what he does. He Tells. He tells stories to himself, he whispers long lost words that sound mysterious.
And see, no one minds his stories, no one listens to him. Untill now.
---


The Old Man was allways old, some people said. The Old Man never was born, but just raised by nature's mysterious hands. In fact, that is not true. The Wise Old Man from the Woods was just a normal human, like you and me, and his wisdom came from out of his deep unfathomable heart. He was born long ago, very long ago, and he has seen much of the world - he has seen things that no other human being would ever see.
That is not very special though. We humans see things that no other human being would ever see, every day. That makes us unique, and still combined with eachother. The Wise Old Man now, he was born as Oldannhyl, and he was the son of Perseus Damien Athlachas the third and Garlahild Fillaind.
His father Perseus was an important man for the land of Thogard, and he was the leader of the [in]famous army of Vervelgond. This army was so powerful that the folk was afraid of them and would go and kill themselves if they told them to. This army was settled in the far east of Cascarond, and they fought against the western lands - those lands were allways in conflict. Now it was so that Oldan became in love with the daughter of the leader of the Awen, Geirhild, and the Awen were , by coincedence or by fate, the famous armies from the west. And this was the day that Perseus had a meeting with the men who should admire and kneel before him, but hated him in the darkness. Perseus knew this, he knew this but didn't want to see it. He wanted to be loved by everyone, and he enjoyed the gold and attention. His greed was unfathomable, his victories great. So now he went to talk about more victories against the West, he wanted to talk about conquering the river Thirvund. "He has gone too far" the slaves said. "He has gone too far" the servants said. "He has gone too far" the soldiers and the captains, even the warlords said. And in secret rooms, they plotted a murder. A murder on the great victorious Perseus, in the house of the Evendim.

Perseus was cruel, never had any grief for or mercy with his enemies. His sword was long and made out of the worthsilver from out of the deepest caves of the Old Dragon. Yes, the Old Dragon lived before the Wise Old Man from the Woods. If that man is old, then how old is the dragon? He must be ancient now, still lurking in the night, the keeper of the moon.
But that's not what this story is about. It's about blood on the floor of the House of the Evendim. It's about an old man weak, but strong. Phisically weak because of the torture and burden of fire, mentally strong because of this fire burning inside him like a flaming torch. And you know that sometimes this fire gets higher and higher, and hotter and hotter, untill no human hand can beare the burden and hold the flame, or his hand will smelt. But the old man beared it, the burden. He held it, the flaming torch.
I will now tell how the wise Old Man from the Woods his father Perseus got murdered by the cruel, while no one did a thing.
"A tirant he is, we must be freed" the slaves said. "A dark minded man he is, ruling us and making us decadent" the servants said. "A capturer of wolves he is, he must be judged" the soldiers and the captains and even the warlords said, but very softly, so the great Perseus couldn't hear them whispering.

Perseus was wearing his white robe, and his hands were full of papers and books from the Evendim. He walked slowly, and the books were heavy. Sweat was visible on his noble head, and his blue eyes searched the halls. No one was there.
But still, he knew the captains and senators an... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13035191/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/13035191/ Mon, 21 May 2007 07:45:51 PDT
Ah, and it seems I've been tagged. By Aiylah. So that means I have to .. fill in a long list of questions about myself! Also, it's allready the 78th journal! In such a short time..
Allrighty, let's get started.


01) First name: Olaf

02) Your nickname in dA: OlafBrouwer

03) Birthday: 22-10-1992

04) Horoscope sign: Libra, the scales

05) Birth town: Leeuwarden

06) Religion: None. Well, not really.

07) Nationality: Dutch, or actually Friesian.

08) Parents: Yes.

09) Do you love them: Eh.

10) Brothers or sisters: One sister.

11) Do you like the place where you live: Yes and no. My youth-kinda part of me says: it's too boring here! And another, more adult part says it's really nice here.

12) Where would you move to live forever?: 4-evah? Totally no idea. But I'll find out some day.

13) Color of your eyes: Blue

14) Height: I dunno anything about English metres, but here, I am 1.73

15) Weight: ... Totally no idea. 45? maybe a lot higher now.

16) What school/grade are you going to: Blahblahblah.

17) What marks do you have: Ain't gonna tell.

18) How many piercings do you have, and where are they?: Where is the 'I have no piercings' option?

19) What do you want to be in your life: Artist, writer, maybe actor [?!] or something totally different.

20) Your life: goes on.

21) Personal quote(s): "hyukdnajknkkd.."

22) Lucky number: 4

23) What are you interested in: Art, Northern Mythology, music, ..

24) Good side of your character: ...Never thought about that one.

25) Bad side of it: When I'm angry, I can't express it - I actually do the opposite of what my father does. Maybe some day all the anger will pop out.

26) Is your life happy: Well, I am happy. Quite.

27) Do you think that you are crazy?: Who isn't? When I think I aren't, I am lying.

28) What is the time: 16:02.

29) What is the date: May 21st.

30) What’s the weather like: Lots of wind, sometimes rain and stuff, but now it's quite sunny. Can change in a sec, though.

31) Favorite day in a week: ...Tuesday? Otherwise of course saturday.

32) Favorite music: Metal, rock, sometimes I even listen to the modern music they play on the radio. Just for fun.

33) Singer: No, I am not.

34) Band: ...I hate having a favourite this and a favourite that..

35) Song: See above.

36) Best concert you have been: Ancient Rites, the only I've been yet.

37) Actress: Don't want to be one. But I like Liv Tyler.

38) Manga: No! Never!

39) Film: I was thinking about making a huge list, with all my favourite films. I am really a film freak, you know, there almost isn't a movie I haven't seen yet, at least twice. I like LotR, that's for sure.

40) TV serial: ...Errr. Used to follow Seinfeld, then Little Britain, Lost, Rome, Green Wing, Prison Break.. Rome's second season is now put on a really dumb time, like 0.00 at wednesdays, so I can't watch it anymore. And Prison Break is actually really bad.

41) Theatre play: Pfff. I saw LotR's musical-kind of thingy once. It wasn't really a musical, but a telling with an orchestry. It was meant for children [wich you could tell by the way they raped the whole Lotr-story], but the music was amazing. I have a CD of it, still.

42) Film director: Tarantino, and a lot of others... but I forgot their names.

43) Do you want to be famous: Have been thinking about this question for months. I think I indeed want to be a little.. known.

44) Do you want to be an actor/actress: No. First I said I could be, but now I know I don't want to.

45) Do you want to be a singer: Nah.

49) Colors: Black-darkred, Black-darkblue, black.

48) Flower: Tullips?! I must find a better flower.

49) Food: Macaroni, some Dutch meals, and .. well, a long list.

50) Drink: Water.

51) Sweet: liquorice

52) Fruit: A random apple. Or grapes.

53) The worst food: McDonald's. It's actually quite tasteful, but I hate the place. Terrible, terrible.

54) The worst Drink: Those modern "energy drinks" are pure toxic. Like Red-Bull.

55) Favorite singer: [...]

56) The worst Band: Still have to meet them.

57) The worst Actor: ....There are really bad actors, but I ignored their names.

58) The worst Actress: Hillary Duff... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12909362/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12909362/ Thu, 10 May 2007 09:39:06 PDT He doesn't know.
We follow him. He looks satified. His smile is fullfilled with satisfaction, his jeans are named content. His eyes are satiated, his whole appearance is sehr zufrieden.
We let him walk, and follow him - we keep pace, and watch him walk into a building. There, on the ground, lays a man - the satisfied man ignores him and walks on.
We keep following.
The satisfied man walks downstairs, opens a door. He walks through a hall, passes another door, and then stops.
A few minutes we wait.
Then the man walks on again. His feet seem to be hurting; every now and then, he limps a little. But still, he doesn't seem to care, and walks on. Then the next door is locked; there seems to be a barrier between him and his target. The man sits and waits, then cries. His satisfaction is gone. He looks older.
We wait with him.
The man now, he stands up again, and tries to solve the problem - it doesn't work. He takes another road, and heads on. He then finds another way into the room he wants to enter. There, there lays a bed. He crawls in, exhausted from his long journey. His feet still hurt. His head is empty.
But he is satisfied.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12826275/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12826275/ Thu, 03 May 2007 10:01:13 PDT
Why would we care? We like the darkness, don't we?
I agree, forget the light.
Forget the path.
The darkness is OK.

..But still. Don't we want to know - how it would be like?

-No, I don't want to get involved,
in the whole.. 'enlightment'-thing. I don't want to know.

..Maybe you are scared.

-Maybe I am; what does it matter?

..Then why are you afraid?

- (...) Why not?



We will find out. Follow me, and keep pace; follow the path we walk on. Step by step, you will see, along with me, that it isn't that scary. There is, actually, nothing to be afraid for. The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself.

-That is an old one, I heard that long ago. But that doesn't make me feel more secure. Being so long in the darkness makes me not wanting to think about the light. Forget it, I will not go with you; my life is fine as how it is. The darkness is not bad, you know; you only don't see that much.

That is what I am trying to explain; you must open your eyes for once in your life! I will take you to the light; you are not-knowing. In the light, everything will be better, you will see.

-Nonsense! I am happy with my staying here, and I do not believe it will be better on the other side. Why bother me with those things? Your light is for yourself, why would you share it? To be nice? To save the world from the darkness? Then, I say, fuck off! Go to your home, shag your wife, the stupid whore, and hang yourself in your misery! Leave me alone, pathethic little man, and get out of my eyes before I stab yours!

You are afraid, I see - afraid to be enlightened. But there is nothing to be afraid of. It is just, something else. A little change; variation. Do those words sound threatening? I think yours do. With threats, we won't get a pace further.

-Do I look like I want variation?! Do I look like I want something else? I AM happy, don't you see? You are blind, little man, blind, and maybe lame, also! A blind lame priest can do nothing but bugging others with his misery; do I look like I want another man's misery? If you think I am someone who needs to be converted to the light, then I say: 'Why would you care?' I reject it, right now, I do not want to hear about it again, ever again. Go away, I say! Do I want to get a pace further? Then, I say: 'There are no paces left to be set!' If you say a single word now, I will kill you, and seperate your head from your torso! You can think and believe what you want about me or your light, but you cannot change me, and take my freedom or happiness.


Who is right?

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12826125/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12826125/ Thu, 03 May 2007 09:44:22 PDT
]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12826060/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12826060/ Thu, 03 May 2007 09:38:19 PDT And how to listen to it.
And how to react.
Do you know. Do you hear. Do you see; what I am explaining.
Do you leave,
the other room
while not being there?

We are, we are all poisoned.
Poisoned and weak; and we cannot defend.
The wind distracts us; it makes the sounds
we do not wish to hear.
It curses us, it blames us, it never trusts us.

And what to do about it.
And how to listen to it.
And how to react.
Did you know. Did you hear. Did you see; what I was explaining.

A dark nightfall, it covers us
With its dark prescence.
Esteemed night, with no sight, I still
see you! Sweeping your hate against us,
thinking you are unseen,
and tearing our walls down.
But you are not unseen; you are visible, and we
are not.

Still against the pain;
I am the one you see
Through fire, through steel with stain;
Wherever I may be.

And what to do about it.
And how to listen to it.
And how to react.
Did we know. Did we hear. Did we see; what I just explained.




I hate this. I will never be good in poetry.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12811118/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12811118/ Wed, 02 May 2007 03:05:16 PDT

(...)
hell, wich broke through his gates.
A dark fog came now, and took all of the lands of Cáscárond; it was too late, far, far too late.

Mórthrông and Smengûl kept fighting and fighting in the destruction, revolving around them, and stories tell it was the most terrible and tragic fight that ever existed; and the blood and the flesh filled the Antorcine with grief, once again. The dark shadow of the king of crows was annulating; his eyes were flaming, and he spreaded his wings. He now grabbed his sword once again, and for the last time, he ran forward, flew up, and stabbed the wise old dragon in the chest with all his power. After that, he changed himself into a crow, and flew up, up, up into the dark sky, shattered and sad.
And there, Gamilenë went to the dragon, and cried for him; and then she put her hand on the cold, cold chest of the gigantic beast, and without thinking of it, she grabbed the potion of the Lady, and shattered it on the floor. 'That will not help anymore, dear Gamilenë' the dragon said, and he seemed to be crying. Small, cold tears flew from out of the corners of his eyes, and they landed on the shattered glass. Gamilenë's tears now, they fell down, down, down to the dark floor of hell, and in that tear, all feelings for and about the dragon, and for and about herself, they flew together in one, dreary, tragic, and sad moment; and that dramatic scene was an important scene, and the dragon coughed blood, and he said, softly: 'Do not weep for me, dear Gamilenë; your tears are healing my wounds, but my wounds are making new tears. I must go now; a new land awaits me. Remember, dear Gamilenë,in this peaceful moment; that all good things come to an end. But do also keep in mind, that the moment that is good and peaceful, you must remember and nourish that moment; and you must not forget it. Do not feel ashamed for that moment; do know that there are bad moments, but keep nourishing the good. Keep that in mind, my dear, my lovely dear Gamilenë, and I will rest happily ever after. And now, Gamilenë, I must go; whisper sweet little words into the ear of your brother; tell him that is all over now. I weep when I see your lovely face; it looks so clean, and evanescent; I can almost not say it goodbye. I see you look like your mother Eostar now, and your spirit will live on in everything of nature. May Yoa be proud of you, may the Lady embrace you when it is all over.' And then he went, the old, great, and friendly dragon from the western shores. And Gamilenë left her tears there, on the floor of Rágnárond. 'Eternal was his spirit' she whispered now. 'And it will rest on in the things that were long lost and forgotten.'
Then she went, the white princess of the far, far golden coast of Avallhemë, and she never returned again.

In the mean time, Winged-Tyrvål, he changed himself into a falcon, and flew, as hard as he could, through the destruction that the crowking left. 'Mórthrông!' the falcon screamed. 'Mórthrông! Why are you fleeing? Are you afraid for the fire of the dragon, tearing you down?'
And then, Crow-Mórthrông came, and answered: 'Follow me, Tyrvål Teanmer! Follow me, and see what you have done now!' And then, Tyrvål followed the dark crow, and the dark crow flew through the portal of Rágnárond, and showed Cáscárond as it was; dark, rotting and forgotten, like Rágnárond's realms. 'I am too late' Tyrvål whispered, and his hope shattered. And then he heard the last scream of the dragon, and he thought about Uminn, and Beregil, and his adventures with the trows, and about the Worthsilver, the Ruises and the New Lands; about Salumo Servantum's betrayal, about the Vaitalone and about Namaria's Curse. He thought about Minvar Holvertsson's deeds, and all other heroes. He thought about his own life, and the life of earth. 'It is worth nothing, Tyrvål' the crow said. 'It is only worth this.' And the last pieces of hope fell apart.
But then, the old fire in Tyrvål's soul awakened, and he said: 'After every death, there is life; a new end is a new beginning; an old end is an old start. The ancient endings and beginnings are turning the tide.'
And then he pecked Crow-Mórthrông in his eyes, and the two birds kept fighting in the shattered sky, over the damned lands.
Under those birds, the lightening came; thunderstorms gathered, and the Ruises were led by the Daemoner of the Ragnàurékar. The Gvorthar came, and they growled. White wolves howled, and the ghosts and wraths from hell screamed; under that sky, the armies of Rágnárond now finally approached the white citadel of Solmasalim, and the city fell down, down in the overpowering Depth.

And in that hour, Arthar was tested by Mauroth, the most dark servant of Mórthrông Eterech.
'Show me your wisdom, dear Nolmic ranger' Mauroth whispered. '... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12677527/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12677527/ Sun, 29 Apr 2007 11:23:46 PDT
The Vaitalone was dead, and Namaria was cursed. The lands of Cascarond were full of rumors and darkness; there was something going on.
The sky was all dark now, on the middle of the day, and all daylight was gone, gone, hidden under a dark shadow.
All forests and fields were now distracted from reality, and strange, white wolves attacked the people. The Nolms suspected the Ruises to have done something; they must have eaten the sun, or at least moved it.
This would bring Cascarond to an end.

Mórthrông was not happy to hear this; if Cascarond would vanish, the Folk would die, and so he could not rule them. He became desperate, and he said to his servant Mauróth: 'Take me to the far west to see the treason of Uminn. I want to speak the son of Umvatar, and then ask him a favour. If he does not agree, I curse him and his family coming, and I will turn out the light forever, and take the Folk all into Ragnarond.'
Mauróth said: 'Why do you want to help the Folk if you actually hate them? They are all liars after all, and nobody did anything great or good out there - except the Gûthalves, they executed Salumo.'
'You horrid little fetcher! Do never say that Salumo's death was a good death! I wanted to have him here, the Gûthalves kidnapped him and took him away. They are no alves nor are they Daemoner. They are a lesser breed, and I sacrifice a lot of things to save the Folk; it was my quest from Illusárion, and I am still following him.'
'Illusárion is nothing more than Uminn's creator, and the creator of a lot of trouble. He listens to Venv, the morbid hound of Smengûl. He cuts the threads he had us in control with; he says we are free as birds. Being free can never be good, this means that everyone can kill us without having to be locked in dark prisons. Illusárion is a tirant.'
'Illusárion is the gift-giver. I want to be the gift-giver, along with my servants.'
'In later times, we can rule Cáscárond how we must rule it; the Nolms made us like this; all dark and twisted up in our minds. Now I take you to Solmásalim.'

And so it went. When the night-day went on, Mórthrông Eterech travelled through the seven seas, and he met Arthar, the son of Umínn Umvátar, near the great palace Solmásalim.
Mórthrông said: 'What it with the alves? What is it with the Nolms? There is a lot of trouble going on in Cáscárond, and I know how to stop it.'
Arthar said: 'How dare you come here with bare feet and a dark mind, after all things you've done against us? You are a trouble bringer and a war-singer. You are the keeper of lies, and brought Caeleth to life. She is the whore of the streets, and you know it. You raped her where I stood next to, and I saw the tears in her foul eyes falling on the ground of grim. You've brought many more tears here in Solmásalim, in Avallhemë, and you are tearing down our hope. How can I trust you?'
'Hope and trust are for the weak, like you' Mórthrông answered. 'Now be, for once in your miserable life, a real man and stand up without grief and feminine tears. Sacrifice your sons to the Ruises on Midvintrnagt, and Cáscárond will live.'
'How dare you!' Arthar shouted, and he grabbed his long, white sword. His bright eyes now looked at Mórthrông with hate.
'How dare you blame and insult the race of Umvatar, while you are allways sitting on your dusty throne in your dark tower in Ragnarond, only bringing more dust and dispare? Do not come here ever again, your advice I do not need! I will go to the Ruises myself, and find the Sun back. Now go to hell back with you! I hope you will taste the dead meat of your own sons one day, and you will be one of the unblessed by then; you will see that everything you are doing is madness, and that everybody disgusts of you; they only fear you because you are crazy, you mad, mad, old man!'
Mórthrông said nothing, but only grabbed Arthar by his clothes, and looked him deep in his eyes, while inhalating with the breath of a beserker. He then pushed Arthar on the ground, and walked away, like one of the most angry clouds in the Wholëall.
And the Folk of Cáscárond saw Arthar rejecting the Advice of Mórthrông.

After that day, the ground started shaking, and the darkness became even deeper. A red gloom came upon the lands, tearing all castles and mountains down; big clouds became thunderstorms, and thunder came upon Solmasalim. The white palace now fell into the edge of the Antorcinë, and all rivers, including the Thirvund, fled and bled dry near the seas.
The earth ripped open and there the blood came up; the hot steam came out of it, and burned the Folk alive.
Uminn looked at this with tears in his eyes, and he knew all was lost. Then a guardsman started shouting really hard and terrifying. The fright, the anxiety and fear was everywhere, and mostly in Uminn's heart when he heard this... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12677083/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12677083/ Fri, 25 May 2007 06:43:21 PDT
Who will walk it. Who will see it, and say: 'We must proceed.'
Who will feel the dark dust laying on it, who will smell the sense of air lingering and lurking around, the long lost prescence of life?
I don't know.
What I do know, is that the path heads on, then turns left, into the deep woods of Namaria. Silent and pale-faced alves look at you there, while you don't notice them. Their arrows are fast, and their spears tear men down in a second. Also, they are very wise.
Their wisdom is like the bodom of the sea; unfathomable. Their horns make the sound of this sea, and their hands are keen with tools. They build beautiful things, but also mysterious and dangerous things. Things that could nullify all the lifes of the unkind, and those around them. Things that are bound by light, combined, compact.
The dark path heads on. Through the old villages of men, through the seven deserts of Chalemr. Through the lands of swamps, ruled by the dragon Smengul. Through the lands of hills, ruled by the southern Gonbaddrim. Through Gondbad, through Thogard, through Avallheme, through the evening lands of Sirena, and Through and Brough; Upperbrough and Netherbrough.
Long lost valleys are seen again; new land is regained by lost powers. The sharp steelen swords of the unkind now shine, harder and less lurid. The path heads on, through the lands of the alves; Immerlicht and Dimmerlicht, Nimmerlicht and Sayaratoch. Through the dwarven cities, like Dvarvasol, and through the heavenly palaces, like Solmasalim. Through the forests, through the grasslands, through the dark mountains of Mistilangr, and through the neverending realms of Ragnarond.
Over land and sea; it carries its only thought with itsself; you and me.
Behind borders and boundaries; it keeps pace and fights with no one.
Under the evening dim of the unkind; it settles itself in the deep roots of earth, and the roots stretch out into the deep Wholeall. Through the lands of the Evendim, and the Eldalves' fiery worlds, it keeps thinking about other paths, related, connected, all the same.
All leading to somewhere; and they carry a big burden. Not only the burden of human feet, but also the burden of leading them to a destination, a priority, without being lead. The paths rule us, in these lands of mists. The paths combine us, in these lands of haze. The paths connect us, in these lands of fog.

Connect. Combine. Conquer.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12630576/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12630576/ Tue, 17 Apr 2007 10:22:47 PDT and tried to convert the people of Namaria, who were farmers, just normal farmers, brewers and bakers. The Guthalves were known as cruel when they wanted to convert whole lands; they burned the folks alive who did not let themselves be converted. Morthrong hated the Guthalves, he was disgusted by them. Uminn didn't like them either, because the Guthalves converted the folks to a new, dangerous threat, with just one to be worshipped, and mixed up lies, wich sounded nice, but were not.
So Uminn came to the dark gate of Morthrong in Ragnarond, and he asked to enter. And Morthrong did let him enter Morthlong-Dum. There, Uminn and he talked about the serious threat of the Guthalves, now converting the simple folks and heathens of Namaria, wich they liked. If the Guthalves had the Namarians, they could also go more to the colder parts of Cascarond, where the Nolms lived, and the folks of the Nolms. The Guthalves would destroy the Nolmic religion, and the Alves would be banished. All of the worlds of Cascarond would collapse.
So, Uminn and Morthrong cursed the lands of Namaria, when the Guthalves converted all of them in ten days.
However, there were a few families and tribes still protesting, and they were high heathens and worshippers of the Nolms. They wanted to keep their own lands, and hated the people who suddenly came to convert their people, and take their lands. The tribes had the names of the last name of the family, and the protesting tribes were [translated], 'From the Fields', 'Baker', 'Timsson', 'Brewer', 'Thinger' and 'From the Mill'. The Thingers, or 'Teanmers', were the strongest and wisest tribes, and they were known as good traders and fighters - and they possesed the northern lands of Namaria. They now fought against the people of the under-parts of Namaria, wich were the Tailon, and the Tailon became as cruel as the Guthalves, and they became proud, selfish and foolish.
Tyrvål Teanmer now, he was the Nolmic god of the sea and rocks, and he could change himself into a falcon. He was a Frost, a person from the upper parts of Namaria, still full of heathens, where the name of those united provinces was 'The land of Frost', or 'Freezing Land'. Tyrvål Teanmer, we allready know him from the story of the Worthsilver, and other tales. He is known as brave and furious in battle, and he is the leader of all tribes.

So then the battle came. the Frosts against the Tailon, and the Guthalves against the Frosts. Tyrvål Teanmer was in full armour, made of the most beautiful Worthsilver. His helmet though, was rough, and it was a warrior's helmet. He grabbed his axe and shield, and the Frosts did the same. The Fielders, Bakers, Timmsonns, Brewers, Thingers, and Millers, they all followed the great and high Nolm. Those warriors were led in unstructured lines, and they screamed like beasts, to fear the Tailon, who did like they were high and rich [they were rich, yes], and more civilized. The Tailon feared the Frosts, but they had far more weaponry, and armour. The Tailon had many horses, and there they came, upon the armies of Tyrvål, and they all died. The Frosts grabbed their longswords at the good time, and cut them all in pieces.
Then the next legions of Tailon came. Now the Frosts started running, but they had too less men, and a lot of them were dead allready. They were unarmoured, and the Tailon had full armour, golden and silver swords, and high helmets. And they rode on terevar, the most powerful horses from the Wide World.
The battle dured a week, and in that week, the Tailon pulled back, into the city of Old Brightum. The Frosts were exhausted, and had no supplies. Most of them died at the gates of Old Brightum. However, no one will forget that last battle of the Frosts, when they rode upon the great, stone city of Old Brightum, upon their doom. There, the only survivors were two tribes; the Teanmer and the Brewers. They both met on the dark road of Crossing, and they never met again - however, they did split as friends.
In later times, the old tribes started living in the Frostlands again. However, they would never stop hating the Guthalves or Tailon again.

Tyrvål Teanmer himself, he died many years later, but you allready heard of that in another tale. I must tell you how he rejoined the Nolms again, though, but that is for later.

The Nolms and Uminn now, they were very angry, and they cursed whole Namaria again. The lands started shaking and slowly sinking, and the Tailon started building their own lands and dikes, to prevend the lands from going under the water. Most of the great mills sunk there in the Northern and Mudflatsea [Waddensea], with the people in it. The Tailon thought they were great, they got to many gold, and they were bad people. They lived now in the western lands, and they looked to the sea with fear. When would be... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12591367/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12591367/ Sun, 15 Apr 2007 05:22:50 PDT
After times of travelling, after journeys of dusts, you are here. Well, I think I am here to dissapoint you a little. Your real journey just starts, if you want. Be aware, it could change a lot in your life, only if you keep your mind open for the things passing by.
The journey I am speaking of is not a journey that is meant to make your life better; no, it must give you new experiences, new visions, views and perspectives - you see and feel things differently after this journey. But to travel with words, you need your imagination. You cannot just read, and then walk on with an empty mind like it is nothing, no, not at all.
You have to be prepared.
So, I will call you when you are ready for it.

Just wait, be prepared. Take the useful stuff with you. Go sit in a room on your own, in full meditation. Enjoy the silence now it is still here.









I think I'm ready now to start.
Listen.


No, just listen, this isn't a test. Listen, and write down what you hear.
Now we can start.
What did you think before starting this journey? Did you take what you had to take?
Did you ever think about your life, or 'the' life, the whole 'being alive?' Did you ever feel unreal, not being in the real world, did it ever feel like but a dream? Did you felt dizzy or confused, realizing it all, or realizing something odd? Ever had feelings where you thought about that no one else had them, just in one moment?

A new journey lays before you now. Be careful is what I have to say. Experience the unexperienced, see the unseen, but do not allways do, sometimes you just have to think, then do it. Or do, then think, and see what happens. That 'happening' is your experience. With experiences, we start to know ourselves, our unknown inner layers, [wich some people don't want to see], and we start to realise life. When you realise life, you can get happy, in some sort of way. And isn't it so that we all want to be happy? To get happy, you have to think positive, most of the time. Being negative is not bad at all, but what's the meaning of life if you only keep hating all the time, without getting tired of it? I think that must be very hard, even if you don't notice it. So, start the journey, and look what happens. But, actually, I still don't think you are ready yet. Just putting some spaces between words doesn't make you ready, and me neither. I must put a lot of myself in this journey, and if you walk over that, you first must experience more of life.
So, I will get back. Will it be in a day, in two days? In a week, maybe in a few years? I do not know. Choosing time now, is just random choosing. The average number, the normal count, the absolute mark.

Or maybe it is just all made up. Could it be like that? Could it all be nonsense? I don't know. Just do it. What? You do not understand a word I am saying? Then try to. Or I can also just talk in a strange language, dan wordt het allemaal nog meer en meer verwarrender. Probeer de zinnen te begrijpen, dan lukt het - tenminste, als je het echt wil.
Maybe all is clear now. All skies are clear, with no cloud to rule it. Or are more and more questions coming up with every sentence? It is for you to decide.
It is a hot day today. I am making a film of my life, at least, of my youth, how it must have looked like. I do this, so I can watch it when I am an eldery person, and then I remember again how it was like; so I can have a new experience. You know, memories are our greatest gift. It's only for you to decide who is the gift-giver, if there actually is a gift-giver. Maybe you just got the gifts from your parents, and your grand-parents. Yes, you can honour them, if you want. They are actually the ones who gave you the life to live now. It must be terrible to have a bad companionship with them. Maybe, someday, we can all be clean, in the water, where all problems are washed away.
It's quite odd, that everyone lives their own life, here and now. Ever thought about it? In the end, we don't - we just live, even if we don't want to live without thinking, and realising it all. We know that we are alive, and we never seem to really wonder how it is all possible. If I look at people, I see that they are different, and they do things and say things I would never do or say. Is it the people who raised them? Is it the whole 'being unique'-ness in them? Or something else? Something hidden in dark and deep waters, with the light and bright sky above it?
Did you ever wonder how it would be to be someone else? Technically this is impossible, because, if you would be someone else, you wouldn't notice it. You would 'be' the person, but you allways were 'him' [or 'her']. Or 'it'.

Some things in life keep you busy, or make you feel good. A nice feeling it is, some kind of... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12495344/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12495344/ Sat, 14 Apr 2007 09:42:43 PDT
When the Vaitalone was dead, rest was in the lands.
But not for long; long lost empires stood up again, they arose like a once withered flower, and made several dangerous decisions.
The Tribes and Marks got faded away, and old rivers, and whole civilisations dissapeared in the deep forests. The lands were now empty and like a hollow log of wood; there was nothing, but still a prescence, a lost prescence, roaming along the inner layers of the Depth Kingdom, the Dreary Regions. Also, the Dreary Regions had no king yet, and with a king for those regions, all regions could communicate again, and peace would fill everyone with joy.
There was a man named Holvert Thorsteinsson, and he was the son of the man Thorstein Grimursvald. Holvert was the man of Isa Einling, and the owner of the lands of Medvert.
Holvert was a smelter, and his only fear was that his work would not be ready at the right moment. His father taught him to wield a weapon, and to make it. Along the years, the village of Medvert got more and more into the modern way of living; old traditions were lost, and Holvert didn't felt home again, and that was a sad thought.
So Holvert started travelling.


He met wolves, he met berserkers, he met the villains and pirates from all over the world, and he defeated them all.
Now that he was older, he got tired, went home, and his fury in his eyes was now a vague gloom, in the far, far depths of the forgetfulness.
But then, one day, a few of the Marauders of the Eastern Regions came, led by Rainár Rainársson, and they were seeking for long lost revenge, and vengeance was in their blood, in their eyes and in their footsteps. They took axes and hammers, they took knives and chains, and they raped and murdered the women in Medvert, and they tortured the children and animals and men, and then they threw them all in the river. They burned the houses, they cut the holy trees, and put it all in ashes and dusts.
Only ten men, the strongest men, escaped from their fury. People say they were cowards, but I will tell later that they were not.
Now, the Marauders walked upon the house of Holvert, but they couldn't find him. They got scared, and ran away. They ran miles and miles in the midwinternight, and most of the Marauders of the Eastern Regions were allready dead, when they only were on the half part of the journey.
They camped near Thavall, a small river near Thirvund.

In the night, Holvert Thorsteinsson came, and murdered all of the marauders. He hanged them in a circle, but couldn't find Rainár anymore, wich had fled.
And then he went into the woods, and people say he never returned. His fury in his eyes burned on ten years more, they said, and then it got faded away, he got tired and old, and he died there in the woods.
But it wasn't so. In the woods, he met the lady Gest, wich reminded him of his dead wife, Isa. Gest and he became in love, and lived happily for a time. But one day, an old woman came upon their camp, and she knocked on their door. The woman said: 'One day you will get a child, that is what I see. The child needs to be raised well, or he will turn against the Wide World, and he will kill the ones who raised him, and those who fight the evil sources. He is chosen to be ruling the Dreary Regions, and he will be a powerful king all his life.'
Holvert said she shouldn't tell lies, and he threw his plate at her. People say the plate didn't break, but the Sorceress did; she fell in pieces, and never returned.
And Holvert and Gest got a child. This child was named Minvar Holvertsson, and after his birth, Gest and Holvert died, because of a pack of wolves, invading their camp on a foggy night.
Oddly though, the wolves did not eat Minvar. They took him away, deeper into the forest, and raised him as he was their child. After a few years, they gave him to the bears, wich raised him untill he was an adult. All animals knew him now, and the nature was his friend. Minvar named himself Beorc, the Bearraised, or the Berserker.
Minvar had the fury of his father, and sometimes he got very, very angry, and the animals fled for him on those days. He didn't knew why he got so angry, but he then got in a trance, and could feel no pain. He was incredible strong, and one day, he said to the bears in the Bear-language: 'Now I will go to the Wide World, because I want to see what is it where the eagles speak of.'

And so, Minvar, or Beorc, walked the path out of the dark forest, and his skin was pale, and he got a long beard and long hair. His arms were hairy, also, and he walked naked. However, when he got in a lost campsite, with only lost corpses of animals, and fire sites, he found a few bear pelts. He was angry at those who killed the bears only for the pelts, but he found it now as a gift, because it was terrible... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12495050/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12495050/ Sat, 07 Apr 2007 10:37:48 PDT
Boos als ik ben, vertrap en vernietig ik alles op mijn weg,
verschrikkingen en afschuwelijkheden oproepend,
mijzelf wederziend in mijzelf,
de nederlaag vernederend, en het waarzilver bewarend.

Kwaad als ik lach, verscheur en verdoem ik het eeuwige,
dat altijd voor mij ligt,
in de duisternis die ik niet kan zien
aan de andere kant van de tweede ingeving
die ik nog niet gekregen heb.

Inspiratie en frustratie gaan niet samen
en hebben nooit samen gegaan
Misschien beminnen zij elkander gewoon niet.

Woedend als ik word, verdoem ik alles op mijn weg, en uiteindelijk mijzelf. Ik ben de roepende heraut, het brekende glas onder mijn voeten, de traan die de weg terug niet vindt.

De wedersverwachting is gunstig voor morgen.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12441484/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12441484/ Tue, 03 Apr 2007 08:03:20 PDT Weder - Weer - Weather
Veder - Veer - Feather
Leder - Leer - Leather
Nader - [?] - Near[er]
Neder - Neer - Nether, down, under, low

Just to show how I love the language. It is nice to see difference in culture and language, and the connection between words. Also, it never gets boring, there are allways newer things to discover. I am quite the word-wizard. When I hear a word, I immediately start to look if I can do something with it; If it can become a pun; and if I meet a strange word, I must find it, find what it means, and then I can go further with my story again. [Further - verder Father-Vader,vaar]

There are two Dutch translations you see above. The first ones are not used often again, only sometimes in some words [Wedervraag, or Nederland instaid of Neerland], but I tend to use them, because I like them more, and I like things more that are old and forgotten. I really like the Dutch language, [I like to call it Netherlandic, Lowlandic] and it's history. English language is important also, and that language is more compact, and easier to learn and use. People who do not speak proper [proper is also a Dutch word!] English, I don't like them very much. Children from my class really can't speak English very well, and that's sad. They will learn later, I guess. But I am allready better in English than they are now, and also in other languages, except for German, wich is odd, because German has a lot of connections to the Dutch language. Maybe it is because it is the last language I got after French, where I am appearently good at, English, even Friesian, etc. Or maybe I just don't 'get' the language. My father [vader, vaar - Vaar will not be used ever, only in some expressions ['Aardje naar zijn vaardje'] and old names ['Ooievaar', litteraly 'Ewefather, father of ewes', it is the Dutch translation of white stork]] likes the German language much, because it sometimes sounds so agressive or sort, he says. I like the German language, as long as it is not spoken nor written. No, just kidding, German language is nice, but I am not good at it. However, it seems I am better in French, wich is odd, because I am more the Scandinavian-type, the northern type, who is interested in the northern things [But of course also in the Romanian languages and history], and the French language comes from Latin. It seems that I now also know more words in Latin and Greek than other children in my class know, and I am 14. However, other things I am really bad at, like sports and maths [I have discalculy, but I am better in creative things, and languages [wich is also somekind of art]].
The second row of words you see are more often used in the Dutch soceity, the first row is from the older Dutch, wich I more like and prefer - I also like old Friesian, but the new sounds terrible in my ears. I like the connections between Friesian, German, Danish language, and English though [Wich is again connected with the Latin languages]. Cheese in Dutch is Kaas, in German Käse [I think], in Friesian Tsjiis [Or sort, I think wrong spelling], wich looks again more like 'Cheese'. The Swedish word 'Dim', as far as I can remember, I think it means 'Mist'. In Dutch, we allways say 'Mistig', wich means 'Foggy'. But we used to use also the word 'Dimstig, nevelig'. As far as I know there is no English word related to 'nevelig' in English, so that also says that the Dutch can more understand the northern languages, because it has a lot of connections with their, and Germanic languages. Also, when, in English, the light is 'dimmed', [Dutch: gedimd], it is not almost dark, but not totally. 'Schemerig', actually. Schemer: the twilight, the gloam, the dusk, the dim, the semidarkness. See the connection?
I don't. Well, not right now. Godenschemering: Dim of the Gods, Twilight of the Gods, the God's Dusk. In German: Götterdämmerung, wich sounds to me like the God's doom, or the 'damning'[verdoemenis, Godenverdoemenis, Godendoem]. Doem, dim, doom..
Also, the Twilight of the Gods is, actually Ragnarök, the northern view on the end of the world, the Apocalyps, the 'Wereldondergang '[Vräld=world in Swedish], or 'Weltuntergang'.

Wederkeer - Terugkeer - Return, literally 'Turning again, again turning, weatherturn. Weather is the weather of course, but I like to create my own kind of English, with more connections between Dutch and English. The 'normal' or 'usually' word for 'Weder' [Wich means 'again' or 'weather'], is weer. Weer is also the word for weather.
Onweer means literally Unweather, but we, Dutch people, use it for the English word 'thunderstorm'. In German, 'onweer' [I call it 'Onweder'] is: 'das Gewitter, das Donnerwetter, das Donnern', where I can see 'Het gewater, het donderwater, het donderen' in [The watering, the thunderwater, the thundering'].

Vlamish people, I like them, because they often use old Dutch words... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12441095/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12441095/ Tue, 03 Apr 2007 07:17:34 PDT In every night, there are winds, and they are flowing towards you like razorblades on a mirror, reflecting all things unknown and known to the world we see everyday. In every night, there are stars, shining so bright that we can see the light on the other side, shining so full that it is hard not to pull, to pull the rope of the day, keep it on your side, so the day will stay away. In every night, there is the moon, sometimes brighter than the other - but allways magical. Feel it's touch on your skin, remember that you and she are kin. You are both the same, both in balance, like no other.
In every night, there is the atmosphere. Every night and day is different, but at night, everything is different, and strange - like there can be things that cannot be at day, like there are things at daylight that cannot be at night. The darkness is strong, and keeps you in an odd trance, and it will stay like that. Tired? No way. Not yet. You just walk on and on in the night, with the touch of the moon and the eyes of the stars on your skin, and it feels like home, walking all alone.

Every night, there is another, strange light, wich seems to capture all of us, one by one. And the strange thing of it is, that we don't seem to care, like it is but a dream.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12428969/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12428969/ Mon, 02 Apr 2007 10:16:20 PDT The Vaitalone was a big, horrid, dark beast, from far out the sea of Antorcine. There, this beast roamed many years and years, holding the bodom of the sea as a guard. On the bodom of the Antorcine was also a lost passage, one of the many, to Ragnarond, so, the Beast was guarding it. Only, it has to feed in every million Yhera's, and now was the time.
In the little time that the Beast left the Bodom, many Daemons left the passage, and they were invading the eastern Heavenly Lands, near Aming, the Tomb of Ragnarond. The Nolms held fast, but now they were wondering who had to be the one to defeat the Vaitalone [The Terrible Snake]. Tailamarinón could not, because he had to defend the Palace Dvarvasol and the King. However, there was this prince under the Guthalves, and he was of the Greater Family of Guthalves. His name was Sailon Tullek, and he said he could defeat this Beast.
Now, Sailon Tullek walked on the dark lands, and then he saw the most feared creature of whole western Cascarond. The Vaitalone was big, black, with steel teeth, and white, watching eyes. His horns and jaws were pushing in the ground, and he was making big, dark hills, where poison grew.
Sailon Tullek now, grabbed his spear Eisanhil, and walked slowly towards the gigantic Vaitalone, wich was just eating some of the citizens of Brém. He called up the Nolmic powers, and he said: 'Dark, cursed demon! Dark, twisted soul! Go, thy spirit! Go, thy wraith! Go, thy ghost, go to the Bodom again, to death!'
And the dark Snake said: 'Why would I leave if there is no one to stop me but a small spider? I can crush him with my body, if I want, and then I shall move on to the Dvarvasol, where I will eat the King. Let me eat him, then I will go to the Bodom again for a million Yhera's.'
It was hard to understand his foul speaking, but Sailon understood, and answered: I am the spider, crossing your path, and it still has got a sting to sting with. No life you will take, you have had enough!'
And then the Vaitalone crushed his body, and Sailon Tullek pushed his spear Eisanhil, covered with the darkest poison in the world, coming from the Vaitalone's own entoxicated, Venom Hills, right through the steel of the Vaitalone. Sailon died, but the Vaitalone moved on, and the Vaitalone was dying. But still, he went on, on towards the King of Dwarfs. However, the Army of the Dverige attacked the Beast now, with no fear in their bright eyes. But they couldn't get through the steel as Sailon did, and the only thing they had to do was put the dark poison on their swords, axes, hammers and spears.
But they did not know. The Vaitalone crushed them all, and then he crushed the whole beautiful palace of Dvarvasol, by pushing his dark body over it, and over the mountain he went.
Far over, far far over. Now he was up in the sky, and he was still dying. However, he could not find the King of Dwarfs.

But then he saw him; he was 'safe', high in the mountains, guarded by a few Dverige and Tailamarinón.
The Vaitalone now, he laughed, and he crushed the whole mountain, and he crushed the bodies of the Dverige, and he nearly crushed the King and Tailamarinón.
The King and he wept and wept about the lost Palace and mountains, and about their fellow companions. They were all dead and cold, and their bodies deep in the Edge.
Tailamarinón said: 'Have you not had enough? Can you not stop this right now, go to the Bodom, to heal again? Please, I beg you; the Daemons are invading, and they will kill you later on, also!'
But these words were of no value to the Vaitalone, and he attacked Tailamarinón, wich held up his shield. His body got crushed, and fell down into the Edge.
The King now, he was alone, and he cried there in the morning. 'Why do you kill all the people I adore? Why do you murder and rape these lands, wich are mine?'
The King grabbed his axe, and whacked him into the big wound of the Vaitalone.
The Beast screamed very loud, and his sound became the Echo. He fled the lands of Brém, and never returned.
By coincedence, his body fell on the Entrance of Ragnarond, wich was now sealed. The Nolms defeated the Daemons, and the sun shined bright on the eternal lands.

In the little time that they were known, Sailon Tullek, Tailamarinón, the King of Dverige and his folk were famous and known as heroes.
Sadly though, only the King was left over.

And another Nolm was dead, just like Morthrong wanted.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12400386/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12400386/ Sat, 31 Mar 2007 10:06:05 PDT The Wise Old Man from the Woods

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12385644/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12385644/ Fri, 30 Mar 2007 07:20:05 PDT
Fox: Why are you entering the domains of the Eldery Fox, I ask you? If you take one pace more, I will kill you in a heartbeat.
Tyrvål: I have never met a fox so human like this; this is not your domain, but the domain of all the animals living here. I can easily cut you and your dear eldery friends in half, if you want.
Fox: You are still thinking you are the strongest now, but your squeek will be in quite a different tone when I have bitten you. And that bite will be full of poison. Will you dare that risk? I am the king of this forest here, and no wolf nor tailon will be the reason of my death.
Tyrvål: Then, I ask you, why don't you let an innocent one pass? Is it to protect your terrotory, do you have something else to hide, or is it just because you do not like the Nolms? I say to you, I am not afraid of you when it comes up to battle. You have poison in your teeth, but you are still a fox. But now, I have haste, because the Plantlady is sick. Without the Plantlady, no plants nor nature. Without plants and nature, no rabbits - and you know what that means. No rabbits, is no food. No food is no you - no you, is not good, if you know what I mean. Your eldery brother Tavalith will then take your place, and you have allways hated him. Now step aside, and let me pass - I need to save the Plantlady's life.
Fox: No one will pass without my permission, so no. No Plantlady no nature? You must be fooling me; I know someone wich rules the nature and that is certainly not the Plantlady of the Venerend Nolms. You will never pass, unless you dare to fight.

Tyrvål knew what to do, and changed himself into a falcon, the form he allways took. Then, he screamed: 'No wolf nor tailon will kill me, you have said? Then I dare you to fight the all mighty falcon!'
He flew around the fox and picked him, and kept picking him untill the fox got tired. 'Nothing can kill me, I've said!' the fox now shouted, and he did bite the falcon-Tyrvål in his neck, and then he watched him fall to the ground.
However, falcon-Tyrvål now, changed himself into his old form again, and he said: 'You say to be invincible, so then I dare you to fight the three worst enemies, and one of them is allready down. That was the Exhausting. You did not fall from exhaustion, so you have passed the first test. Now, you will battle the time.'
And while he said that, the things changed around them, and the fox got really, really frightened. He squeeked and screamed, and he watched himself getting older, he watched the world change, very fast, and he saw thousands of years passing by. He got older and older, and he changed into a pile of dust, laying in the midevening sun. However, then he suddenly arose again from his ashes like a phoenix. The fox was white now, and he laughed. Tyrvål now, turned back the time, and there they were again in the green, green forest.
Now that the fox did beat the time, Tyrvål said him to fight one of the worst enemies of mankind, named patience. Without patience, sense of time, peace with time and a good condition, the human spirit will break and shatter in a thousand pieces. Tyrvål now said him to wait a thousand years, and then he would turn back time again. this was riskful, because the Plantlady needed her Lainon Leaves.
However, he suspected the fox didn't have patience at all, and his thoughts were satisfied, because the fox stepped aside, and did let Tyrvål pass.
So, Tyrvål was able to cross the Wide River, and get the Lainon Leaves for the Plantlady.

However, Tyrvål himself died from his wounds from the Fox of the Valderon Woods.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12372463/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12372463/ Thu, 29 Mar 2007 07:29:52 PDT
I can feel it, it is beginning. The plants are raising up the sky, and the dripping drool comes out of it. It's a mess to see, but a wonder to be with. It's a lore to hear, but a sore throat to fear. Get these flowers, use them in important and dark days; to enlight the unlit, to engage the luggage. To steal the stick, to feed those who need to eat. To keep away your lies and bring back the truth, wich is a lie. To bring more flowers in the world, and make people watch and marble at the world her nature; tribute to the birds, tribute to the turtles, tribute to the rabbits, and tribute to those little unknown animals, living on the bottom of the sea. Ode to the animals! Ode to the nature. Ode to men's health, men's pride and strength, and tribute to his fear. Tribute to the women; to all of women kind. Tribute to her beauty, and her roaming prescence in these lands. Tribute to Friesland; tribute to all those idiotic people, farmers, hard workers, who speak vague but think clean; who only work and have not seen - the hard workers in other lands, nor the result of their hard work. That result is worse than here, and deserves more tributes than I have in my pocket, to lend, to give, to put in other people's empty pockets. Poetry and proze, letters and words, sentences and silence; all deserves a tribute, and so do the numberless thoughts of mankind; and so do the important or simple, less important things, in this world. Tribute to the lions, tribute to the pain. Ode to the low lands, but the word 'ode' is insane. Tribute to the unwanted, tribute to the fear, tribute to the trade.
Tribute to empty loneliness, tribute to the pover. Tribute to all dying, sick or dead people, who want or don't want to rest, and those who want to play in the garden, but cannot. For those who love the nature and all I have mentioned, for those who do not think of the universe and it's unbeing non-beginning non-ending, for those who are themselves in their own kind, and live their lives.
To much tales to tell, to less time to give. Gifts are to be given, and skills are to be used. Use the skills as a gift, and help other people by handing out gifts.
Or just ignore, and enjoy the nature of all beings, of all things.


What I wanted to say, was that I saw a beheaded cat this morning. Yes, I was cycling on the road, and there was an innocent kitten, with its intestines out of its body, and it's head was totally gone.
I blame the industry and technique, and the futuritive things, who use smoke and ashes as tools. Hate to the automobiles, hate to the industry.
However, the kitten is now dead, and all is lost.
I couldn't find its head anywhere.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12372353/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12372353/ Thu, 29 Mar 2007 07:16:24 PDT
Now, finally it starts. Happy with it? Shut your mouth. Open your eyes. Keep the sun in your heart, and close shut the doors of your beloved lands, because they were the promised lands, wich are now cancelled. Your flight to these lands, your one way ticket to the heavenly coasts, I stole it, and I used it to wipe my behind. Because; toiletpaper is the most important thing on this entire world.

Keep that in mind, next time you buy a new ticket.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12361246/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12361246/ Wed, 28 Mar 2007 10:50:54 PDT At the afternoon of thursday, March 29th, Salumo's armies got overrun, and they were outnumbered. The tower Ulùn-Dûm was taken by Mórthrông Ætterëch, and the dark-eyed Ervíl took their swords, side by side, and crushed the bones of all Gvorthar-armies that ruled the lands of Mordûng.
All of a sudden, Salumo was gone. Mórthrông could not find him anymore, and he seeked in every dark forest, on every dark hill, in every dark castle and fortress, only to punish him, and get the last secrets out of him that he knew. 'The treason of a Nolm is the worst treason' Mórthrông said, and he Descended the Crowlings Mauroth, Irelgost and Vainor, to find Salumo, and get him into the tower Ulùn-Dûm.
However, he did not seek in the good places. He only seeked in bad, dark, and evil places, because he was sure that Salumo Servantum would never get back to the light side again. However, Salumo was in the heavenly lands, captured by the Aqualondë, and now, he was brought to Umínn Umvatar, in the white palace, in the circle of Minora.
There, all earthgods and Nolmer and Aqualondë, looked at him with anger and grief in their eyes. And Tyrvål and Arthar and Vailond, and all of the other Nolmer there, looked at him, and found him disgusting. However, they would never want his death, for he was a Nolm, and every Nolm who kill another Nolm, is a bad person, and has to be kicked from his throne or other seet.
And there was Umínn Umvatar, father of Arthar and Gamilenë Lusalla Nahíl Umvatar. He looked at Salumo one time, and then said: 'Let now Sullemnon Servantum, brother of Salumo, punish this cur, this hound, this foul dog of Mórthrông Ætterëch.'
And so it was; Sullemnon, Salumo's brother, had to make up the right punishment for him. And Sullemnon looked at his brother with dissapointment and hate, and said: 'Hang the man, for he will be known as the Hangman of Ragnarond. His quick death will be forgotten soon, and we won't speak of it again. Let no Nolmer kill this man, but let the Lesser Alblings do it. Let the Guthalves do it - we are related, but we do not share the same blood anymore. Let the Dverige and Alvallmë, both families and Gray Alves, kill this beast! And I will be there to watch my brother, wich is not my brother anymore, die.'

And so, the Dverige and Alvallmë had to hang Salumo Servantum. They took him to an open spot in the middle of the Venald-forest, and there, they took him up a rock. The gallows were put around his neck by his brother. 'Brother..' Salumo begged. 'Please do not kill me, I wanted to show what I was worth, what I was capable to do.. Please, I want to go back to your side again.. please, brother, have mercy..'
And so he begged and prayed on, but Sullemnon said, weeping: 'You are not my brother. I never had a brother.'
And now Sullemnon left the open spot in tears of anger, and the Dverige and Alvallmë started shouting foul words at the traitor. 'Hang him! Hang him! Hang the killer, the murderer of a thousand lives! Cuathailin ambur! Eneregios! Suvulat!' And then they shouted 'Sullemnon! Sullemnon!' the name of his brother. 'In the name of Sullemnon, for he wants him dead!' And Salumo asked, laughing and crying at the same moment, with a voice of pain: 'Sullemnon?' and the people said: 'Foul dog! Foul dog!' Salumo answered: 'Is this how you show your bravery as men? Is this the courage of a Guthalf?'
But the people kept shouting 'Sullemnon! Sullemnon!' and then, Salumo started praying, praying and he said: 'Illusarion is the only Enlighter, and I am his prophecy, I was his prophecy. Illusarion is -'
And then the Guthalves hanged him. His dead body kept on weeping, and his tears filled the Antorcine with sadness.

Sullemnon wandered through the woods, wondering why his brother gave up on the good side. Then he realised that he allways was unloved and the 'black sheep' of the family, and that he never got any chance to do anything for the sake of the people. He got confused, wandered to much alone, and then committed betrayal. Now, Sullemnon thought, the end was near. The Nolms had sinned for the rest of their lives, and they had started a war that would never end. The Crowking had to be satisfied, he thought there.
But no, Mórthrông Ætterëch was far from satisfied. The Nolms had executed his prisoner, and he would never know the secrets he kept away from him. His anger was huge, and his armies now marched on the fields of Cascarond. For the rest of the Yhera's, they guarded the lands there, and they stayed there, untill the world's end. The Nolms though, didn't go too far to the eastern Cascarond anymore, and only travelled in lands like Immerlicht and Charas. Mórthrông Ætterëch though, waited for the Catastrophe, in his dark tower in Ragnarond, where the Daemoner were.

Now it is time to tell the less important, but still important tales, about the Nolms and what adventures the... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12357935/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12357935/ Wed, 28 Mar 2007 02:33:57 PDT About the Servant of Mórthrông, asking the Old Dragon for
Mórthrông's army

|||44 Uamletérech
At the night of March the 28th, Salumo betrayed Mórthrông, and started a war that would never end. This would make Mórthrông more twisted and confused about what to do, that he started to raise the deadliest and most evil race of Ragnaurékar, the Ervíl. These creatures could kill a human by being near him, or thinking of him. These creatures knew much secrets and had wisdom that was unknown to the Nolms - but they used it in a dark and agressive way.
These Ervíl took over whole northern Mordûng, and they were unstoppable.
Salumo Servantum, in his tower Ulún-Dûm, did not know what to do. He wanted to crush Mórthrông to take his place, and then crush Umínn, to take his place, and then rule whole Càscárond. However, Mórthrông Ætterëch was way to strong, and had way to many companions [Like the Hùdùr-folk, the Ruises, the Daemoner..].
So Salumo started working on a new plan.
A darker plan.
He seeked for Smengûl, the Old Dragon.

But while Salumo was seeking for Him, Mórthrông was doing the same.
And Mórthrông was the first who found Smengûl, in his old lair in the mountains, near the great swamps of Valdung. A dark servant of Ætterëch was allready travelling through these lands, and suddenly he heard the Voice of the Dragon.

Smengûl: I can feel the prescence of a youngh lad, a shadowthinker, a man with dust in his mind. Who is this man, I think of? Who is this shadow, I can feel?

Servant of Mórthrông: It is the Servant of the Crowking, Mórthrông Ætterëch, here at your service. It was a long journey to here, but now I have found You. Or, actually, Your Voice.

Smengûl: Then why, If I may ask, doesn't Mórthrông, alias He From Far, appear here? Is he afraid to meet me, because I tricked him before? Or has he changed so much that he is to high to meet a lesser, less clever creature than him?

Servant of Mórthrông: Mórthrông's purposes are unknown to me, and his reasons to send me, are also mysterious. However, I am here to ask you a question. I ask humbly, may I ask this question?

Smengûl: You may ask this 'Question', If you like. But be aware that the risk of dying here in these swamps, is very high. Standing still here is not clever, Servant of Mórthrông. Now ask your 'Question', before I get impatient.

But the Servant of Mórthrông was very afraid now, and also, he was in the trance of the ancient magic that Smengûl had. His steed, the wolf Venv though, said: 'If I may suggest, my lord, I would ask the Question in the lair of the Dragon, and not here. The Dragon did say a riddle to you; staying here would be your death. He wants you to go to his lair.'
And so the Servant did. He went up the Mountain, and found the dark cave, leading into the darkest darkness. Haste kept him on the path, and he found dead bodies and dead corpses, and everywhere was the smell of death.
Now, Venv looked around and suddenly he shouted that he could not go further. The Servant was shocked, and thought it was a trap of the Dragon. However, when he stepped off his steed, he could walk through. His wolf Venv though, could not go further, because of an invisible barrier, prevending him from walking the path.
'Now I go back, my lord' the wolf said. 'I have more things to do, and those things are important for the Folk's sake.'
'No!' the Servant of Mórthrông said, angry as he was. 'Come back here! You will stay in this place, untill I return! May I die, still stay, it is your duty to guard this Entrance.'
But the wolf Venv laughed, and said: 'I will not listen to the Pray of the Dragon, while he is still on the prowl. Now cry in the darkness, I will go back into the wilderness.'
And the Wolf ran away, back up the mountainside. The Servant now, cried many tears, and wept many fears away. However, he could not go back now, because of the invisible barrier; it now affected him, also.
Accepting his fate with fear, he walked down the many halls and caves, into the darkest darkness.

Now he reached the deepest hall, and he was now in the dungeon and lair of the Old Dragon. He grabbed his sword Gibthir, and walked upon the Dragon, wich was 'sleeping' on a big rock, guarding the darkness.
'I am here to ask the Question', Servant of Mórthrông said. The Dragon suddenly 'awoke', and arose, up into the darkness, and his body was impressively dark and, sometimes it was like silver and gold. His crown of Worthsilver was pointing at the Ceiling of the Dungeon, and his eyes were bright and sharp.
He looked at the Servant, and answered: 'Then ask it now, you took a long time to get here.'
'He From Far asks the Oldest and most wise Dragon Smengûl, to be the leader of his Army of Fr... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12347979/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12347979/ Tue, 27 Mar 2007 09:53:57 PDT



That is what counts. That is what fullfills myself with joy and relief. However, this grim ending does make me also feel ashamed. Ashamed, not only for those who did it, but also for those who kept this secret. I do not like nor trust these folks anymore; and I never really trusted them. Those who keep away the truth are not to be trusted.
Wait a minute, I think I hear something in the room next to mine, I will be back before you know it. Just hang on.

I think it was a rat. Yes, really, a giant type of rat, glaring at me in a corner. However, I did not see it, nor did I find the real 'maker of sounds'.
Where was I?... ...Yes... ...Yes, I was - I was going to say it, but not yet just not yet. It is not the right time.
..Oh.
..Well, then. Then I will just tell you that I ignore the facts that has been told to me? Yes, they are facts, they are the truth, I understand it all now, and no - stop saying that - it is not a trap or a lie. It is true, you cannot, you just cannot.. I mean, you MUST accept it.
I hear the sounds again. It's a scratching sound, really annoying.. But, if I may say, also terrifying. I do not wish to go to that dark room again, I am so afraid.. You must, you must help me, I think there really is someone near here.. watching..
..No, it is not him, I think.
At least, I hope not.

I am really glad to speak to you.. or, to have this, this single chance to speak to you. ..Yes, I understand. But I do not want to say it yet, I want .. It is still not the right time!
Sssht! I heard something falling, a really loud sound!.. There IS someone here! THERE IS SOMEONE HERE!! Damn it,.. quiet now. I will have a look..
But may I not return.. I must say that I have allways admired you.
But love? There never was love. Goodbye.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12295708/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12295708/ Tue, 27 Mar 2007 07:16:15 PDT
"Oh, our old sites, our old places! Why do these things change, why do they get older, as we get older? Why do the trees survive us? Because everything that gets older, is more powerful, and is sacred. Never dare the trees nor point at them with black fingers; you will live a cursed life, and Ragnarond's black Raiders will be there when you are dead."
The Wise Old Man from the Woods

-----------------------
1.

When The Nolms still lived in the western places, in the lands we call Avallhemë, and the years got longer and the big rivers expanded, Umínn had a conversation with Illusarion [Ælluserech], the upper being, of the moonpalaces.
And Ælluserech gave the lands of Gonbad to him.

Ælluserech: These are your lands, Umínn Umvatar! See it with your own eyes; the Finarfond, the Thirvund, the Aramandachos; all rivers beyond it are yours. The Orcwas, the Falachamar, the Isilmar, the Great Lake, the Lukeseye*, and all other lakes are yours. The Holy Pasture, the Akilandami, the Erechanige, the Lorech, and all other great roads belong to you. The lands are all yours, the mountains, the hills, all is yours, and for you to rule it. Use it with good hands, and make the people curious for every new thing coming.
Umínn: I will treat every land and street and animal nicely, great Ælluserech, and I am a greatful man in this very hour.

However, Ælluserech also said there was something else, darker, going on. Morthrong Eterige, better known as just Eterech [Murdering Liar], the king of crows, was about to enter the Värld.
In Aming, in Emnaë [A little place near the sea of Avallhemë], there was a tomb, a black tomb, and it was made by the hands of three black knights long ago. The tomb had the inscription: 'Ende oock in Avallhemë ruscht ick', wich was old lowlandic rune, and no one could read it. However, the Wise Old Man from the Woods translated a piece:

'And also in Avallhemë [...] '

But the rest is unknown to him. He translated the words in a few, more modern, lowlandic inscriptions [Like: 'En ook in Avallhemë rust ik], but still, it was hard to read. It was very important, because it was a Tomb of Ragnarond, in the heavenly places. That was very dangerous.
Now, in the Tomb, the body of Eterech was there. It was the fate that he would rise, because with every good thing rising [Umínn's lands], there must also be bad things.
And so was it that Eterech [Hruvardar] came upon Cascarond.


Umínn heard the news of this 'raising shadow' and asked Ælluserech what to do. Ælluserech said that he had to wait, and then send a Descendant. And so he waited.

In those four days, the king of crows walked through the lands of Avallhemë, not knowing who he was. But in those days, he started to understand that he was not normal, not a Nolm or Human or Albling or Ruis or Dverige or any of the creatures. He started to understand he was unique, and had views and visions that no one had, and that his power got bigger in the nature of his dreams. And he wondered, and he thought, and he got an idea. He walked to Lhadam Falahad, to be one of the noblemen there. But they refused. The were afraid for this unknown shadow, and did not want him in their palace.
Dissapointed as he was, he followed the path to the sea. He swam, and discovered the ancient cities and lost capitals. He started to understand the secrets, and did want to know more. He came to new land, and there was Cascarond.
He felt reborn. He felt the distances, the great atmosphere there, and he felt the precense of an old man.
It was the Old Man from the Woods who was the first real meeting after the Falahadrim's rejection. He was old, and grey, that is all I can say. His beard was long, and his eyes were bright and looked wise to Morthrong's direction.

Wise Old Man: I know who this shadow is, like I have seen it before. I wish I could remember.
Morthrong: Do not talk in thyself, but to me! What are these lands, I see?
Wise Old Man: The lands you see do not belong to anyone, but Umínn Umvatar.
Morthrong: That was not my question, old man. Who are you to be here all alone and pover, in the woods of lost dreams?
Wise Old Man: You do not know anything about these woods, nor do you really know what Dreaming or Predicting is.
Morthrong: Then tell me, if you do not want to waste my time.
Wise Old Man: What a haste for such a youngh man! Do follow me, I will show the way to the Thirvund.
Morthrong: The Thirvund I do know now; I had a bath in it once, and my body was changing, and refreshed.

The old man ignored his comment, and took him to the Thirvund, the big river of Great Shining.
And there, the Wise Old Man from the... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12293783/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12293783/ Fri, 23 Mar 2007 07:59:22 PDT


Dark, clouded waters, deep and grey, fullfilled with the dust of the troubled minded. I look in these waters, the waters have eyes. I seek in these shatters, the pieces of ancient puzzles, to fit in my new labyrinth.
I look in these feelings, to get them on the good place, and drag them on the lands.
The man who knows, is the man who does not honour. The man who honours, does not know.
I know. I honour. I see.
I look. I lend. I never borrow.

I keep.
I keep the things that are not mine,
I lend the things that are so fine,
Pure and gold,
but, truth is to be told,
It is much better than that,
and goes beyond the greatest value.

It rules human's greatest gift and enemy,
It is quiet, and suddenly loud. It screams, it wants, it needs, It feeds.
The key to the key is the key itself. The lock is allready there. Without the key, the lock is useless, but safe. Without the safe, there is no lock. Without the lock, the key is useless.
Being safe never means that you are useful.
Being alone never means you can bear it all up to heaven.
Trip to trip, silence to silence, all in slices, all cut, right in two.

Missing letters, missing words, copy and paste them all together.
To see, to gather. To regain the gaining in the regeneration again. To like the weather, to touch the feather.
Paste it, make the glue sticky, and send it. Send the miracles and riddles, and stories to be told, and let them leave unanswered and unsolved.
Because there will allways be problems and imperfections, and there will allways be unclean things. Being normal is odd, being odd is not normal.
What is normal.
Normal is the last name of being sick, miserable, and dead.
Not living, but dead.
In fact, we are all dead, we just have to find out when we are going to admit it.

When you agree with it, your time has come.
However, time has allways been there, with you.




Direction is lost, and so I am lost. What is safety.
What is protection. What is security.
Nothing more than a lie, and so is the truth.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12293651/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12293651/ Fri, 23 Mar 2007 07:44:21 PDT
It has just begun. The challenge. The confrontation. It is all here now, all with us, and the sea is shaking.
Troubled in these thoughts, we roam together. Troubled in these words, we try to understand.
Words, not to be explained, sentences, not to be mentioned. Whispers, not to be thought of, tention, pain and fear, not to say out loud. These feelings roam together, all together, in the troubled thoughts of time.
Through these dusted places we go, hall to hall, corner to stone, and we build and break, and break and build, and go on. We break the buildings and we build the bricks, to break. We use the tools to invite the danger, we use the danger to keep the tools away from us. What do we seek? What do we love. What do we conquer.

I don't know.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12242564/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12242564/ Mon, 19 Mar 2007 08:32:52 PDT
A dark wind and a dark night came of the Unknown Lands, and it did set them all on fire; huge, powerful flames came over the lands, and made a part of it go into the dust and ashes. Black knights came out of these fires, and they had no names. They rode on meagre horses, and their horses were also black, and fire came out of their eyes. Where the horses went, all lands became filthy, and where the black knights had been, there was only ravage and dirt. They left a path of this foul swampish dreck for the people in the Unknown Lands, and the still living people who did go in there, changed. They changed, that is all I can say about it right now. They changed a bit.. drastic.

Now that Arthar and Salumo came and saw; they couldn't resist to try and save the people, dying. However, this was not smart. Those people were allready 'unsavable', and the three dark knights, who came on meagre horses, came closer and closer. Who were they? Were they some kind of Ragnaurékar? Daemoner?
No, they were not. They were the Raiders of Ragnárond, and the Colonels of Death. Their names were Agony and Pain, and the last one had a terrible name, impossible to write down, or speak of. That last one was in later times known as Mauroth, and he was a descendant of Morthrong, the king of Crows. These three knights had the lands among Eternum, Morthrong's plain of fear and where his tall tower stood.
Arthar and Salumo did not know what to do; they couldn't go back and ask the Nolms for help. And they couldn't go further, because they had to save the children, getting paler and weaker.
Then the Raiders of Ragnárond came, and their faces were black, and their helmets dark. Mists went wherever they'd wanted, and doom was upon that hour.

Then suddenly it all stopped. The clouds turned gray again, and the wind stopped coughing on the lands of dusts. The Raiders were gone in shadows, and Arthar and Salumo walked, side by side, together to the fields of Arcacaras, and there stood a palace, named Lhadam Arcacaras. And the palace was surrounded by water; this was the mouth of the river Erceos, and the river was named like that, because those trees [Erc's] feeded on that water. And these lands were now known as the Ruislands [Pronunciation: Roycelands, or Rooszlands, normal spelling: Reuslands], the lands of giants. Titans, cycloper, vanar or Tenemeor were other names of these creatures, and they were later one of the biggest enemies of the Nolms. The lands were Arthar and Salumo now were, were, besides Smengùl's lands and Mistilangr's lands, the most dangerous of whole Cascárond.

Note Author:
Ogres lived in Ogreward [Orcrvard], and together with the breed of Trows [Trollinmir] , also known as the Malignant [Duluvár], they were the children of the Ruises. The Ruises were the children of the Lesser Daemoner, wich were related to the Ragnaurekar. The Ragnaurekar were the children of the three dark knights; those were Morthrong, Mordung and Mauroth. And Morthrong ruled all of the Daemoner. It is also so that the Gvortar [Goblins] are a lesser breed than Ogres, or orcs. However, orcs are not known in Cascárond. Mostly Gvortar, a few ancient Lesser Daemoner, and maybe some Ragnaurekar in deep caves are founded there, who are related to the Great Children [The Ragnaurékar]. As you may know, the Lesser Daemoner are also, a little bit, related to the Alves, because the Alves are related to the Aqualondë, who are related to the Nolms and angels, who are descended by Illusarion, Morthrong and Fin Faxilokige, better known as Beregil. So, all creatures go in an eternal cyclus, and the lower circles are we, mankind and animals.

Back to the basic. Arthar and Salumo, both children of the Nolmic race, walked to the palace of Trollburg [Where the Trows lived], named Lhadam Arcacaras. Long ago it was a palace of the men of Lhadam Falahad, but the trows took over, and settled themselves there. The palace was no palace anymore, and it was named Ogracarcass [The carcass of the Ogre, as you may understand]. However, it was filled with trows, not with half-ogres, or all that kind. It was a palace, covered with mud and rocks, and it was very dangerous, foolish [but also brave] to go inside. Trows did not need lights or candles; so it was... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12190146/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12190146/ Thu, 15 Mar 2007 06:24:15 PDT |||44: At the summit of Maenor Mountain lived a little man. His name was Thogard, and he was known as very wise and strong. And he was also a thief.

The Nolms lived in Nemaria, and one day, Ÿoá the plantlady couldn't find her crown, made out of the purest silver [Or Greatsteel, Worthsilver, or Truesilver]. She cried almost all the day, and her tears filled the Antorcine. These lands now became the Sea of Avallond.
The Nolms didn't know what to do, and Uminn was thinking all day about it, and forgot the wars in Cascárond. Uminn walked to the Eldalves, and said to them to find the Worthsilver. However, they refused, because they couldn't leave their fiery world, as they would condensate to the Wholeall.
Uminn did send a descendant, named Phoeter, the man of Ÿoá, to find the Crown. However, after a few weeks he didn't return, and Uminn thought he was dead - however, he did not tell Ÿoá.
Uminn now, walked to Arthar, and asked him to do it, but he was terrible wounded after the battle with Astráchost, the dark phantom of Mauroth. What could he do now? Now, he asked Tyrvål [Teanmer] to do it, and Tyrvål accepted. Tyrvål was the god of the water, and he also ruled a bit of the rocks. He was brave, and was related to Arthar. One day, he leaved Nolmarond [Námaria, the lands of Nolms on Cascarond], and he searched for the Worthsilver.

Tyrvål couldn't find it anywhere. He tried Immerlicht, he tried Gonbad, he tried Smengùl's lands, he tried the Wholëall, he tried the heavenly lands, he tried the hellistic worlds, he even walked through the gates of Mauroth, passed the pass of Mistilángr, and walked straight into Ràgnárond. There, he found only dust and devils, and he got wounded, and chased by the Ragnaurékar.
In tears, Tyrvål walked all the Seas, and still could not find the Worthsilver. He changed himself into a falcon, and flew up, up into the sky, to see the Worthsilvers' shine. Then he saw the mountain of Thogard, laying in the far north, almost near Inuïta [Eskï] and Niffalhemë.
Maenor Mountain was a huge mountain, and the clouds above it were very, very thick and dark, almost impossible to get through. However, the shining of the crown Muitanil [Because that was the name the Worthsilver had] was still a little visible through it. In the time that Tyrvål climbed the Maenor Mountain, Ÿoá the plantlady got weaker and weaker, because Muitanil the Worthsilver Crown was one of the most important things of her. It was made by the Dverige long ago, and it was so shinefull, that they suddenly turned from black to white, and they were known as the three pure white, half alves, the white dwarves.
Tyrvål came to a little house on a ridge near the edge of Cuthamba, and there lived a man named Hœthir. His beard was grey, and he knew much about the trees and things near the Maenor Mountain.

Tyrvål: Did you or did you not see a shining object, Gray One?
Hœthir: I never saw anything like that before. Maybe you mean the Sun, wich is a shining eye, going up, and down again?
Tyrvål: No, Gray One, I do not mean the Sun.
Hœthir: Then it might be the necklace and thong of my brother, Furias, laying near the dark cave of Fuithas. Do not enter that cave, evil things have their lair. My brother died there, and still no one got the time to get the necklace back.
Tyrvål: I do not mean the necklace and thong of Furias, your brother - But maybe I can get them for you? If I will do that, will you lead me through these incredible mountains?
Hœthir: That is smart, great one. But first tell me your name.
Tyrvål: My name is Tyrvål, the God of the Sea and Rocks. I rule the past, and I am standing here, in the Maenor Pass. Now tell me your name, and I will get you your necklace and thong.
Hœthir: My name is Nuithas [Sneaky Killer], the Bringer of Enlightement.


Tyrvål did not know the real meaning of the fake name, but he did suspect something. Why would this man live up Maenor Mountain on his own, where the Worthsilver was? He suspected the man to be someone, disguised as an old gray man, who stole the Crown. Still, he followed the old man up, higher into the mountain. The darkness became almost terrifying, but Tyrvål was a brave man, and did not fear the darkness. Still, he was nervous of what danger was in Maenor Mountain. The real meaning of Maenor was 'Fullfilled with secrets', but Tyrvål was afraid the secrets were not so good. Still, he walked on, and keeped walking untill he lost all view on the gray old man. Where was he?
Tyrvål searched and searched, but did not find the old man again. Shrugging in the darkness, he followed the small path, leading into the mouth of a dark cave. the cave was almost endless, and suddenly there was a great well; he could not go past the well, because of a spell that didn't let him through. Then Tyrvål read the inscri... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12179309/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12179309/ Wed, 14 Mar 2007 10:17:03 PDT You did not.
You failed miserabely. No, don't speak, I did not say to you to do so.
Just let me think - for a while. No! You - you only make it worse - worse like this. You.. you've ruined it.
You've failed.. again. I.. I just cannot believe.. I'm.. so.. dissapointed - you don't want to know.. You - you are wrong. You are totally wrong.. Don't talk to me like that! Now shut up, and listen, damn it! I didn't say to you to talk! Sit down!
Oh.. dear.. why? Why did you.. just let it all go..
like that..

Oh.. You've messed it all up.. It all.. up.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12167765/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12167765/ Tue, 13 Mar 2007 10:56:42 PDT Or two, perhaps. I don't know, but the creature may know, or may not, you never know. This creature seems to be happy, and I am happy when he's happy, even if he is all alone. He gives us hope, at least me. He is my saviour, my rock I stand on. He will never taste the asphalt's gentle kiss, he will never try to escape, because he isn't locked in yet. He is free, free, but not for long. We are all free, if we want it.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12167629/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12167629/ Tue, 13 Mar 2007 10:43:28 PDT
]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12155029/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12155029/ Mon, 12 Mar 2007 10:43:20 PDT
Introduction
A dark sunlight in the evening, and even in the noon, she will come, she will ride on this everlighting darkness. All the Nolms will pray for their souls to be taken, and for Venv's mouth to be shut, for they will know, for they will see, how all things will work out, how all things will keep shining, and keep taking opportunities, untill the end comes.
----
A man, with a black jacket, green trousers, black sunglasses, and a package in his hands. Who was this man. I didn't know.
So I followed him.
I followed the man, and he walked further and further through the city, untill we reached the ghetto and realms of old streets. There was an old house, and the man did go in it, with the package.
I walked to the house, and there was no nametag on near the door. Also, there wasn't even a door. I doubted I would ever step into the house, so I walked away. I think there must have been people, living there, some day, but not now anymore. But where are they now, then. Not here. Who is that man, actually. What's in the package. Does he even exist.
Of course, it could all be an illusion, I'm quite easy to trick.
----
Note author:
I left the questionmarks away, because I felt not to do so. I had a relationship with the questionmark, once, but now it's over. So I'll never use one again.
Or will I?

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12142907/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12142907/ Sun, 11 Mar 2007 11:38:50 PDT

MESS IS LORE


Finding yourself in a place like this, it's not fun. Certainly not if you are all wrapped up, and have nothing to say. Do you even deserve it?
Well, I cannot judge about it. Only thing I know is that you smell bad. No, really, I'm not kidding - I have never smelt something that was
so foul and stinking. I'm sorry to tell you this, and you probably won't
listen.
I thought you were listening, though, for a minute - I thought you
were following my story, and you were marking my words in your
mind. But no.
Well, where was I? Ah, yes, this place, this mess, it's all nothing, and
nothing at all. Someone has to clean it, but it's not me. You do it.
Yes, why not you? And why don't you clean yourself up instead?
That will make things work around here. That will make our lifes
a bit more .. nice. Yes, and that is what we want, isn't it? Don't we all
just want to live our lifes, day in, day out, and have nothing to
complain nor worry about? Yes, that is what we want.
Well, this place is all made up, all fake, foney, and unreal. I don't
like that, did you know? I don't like to live in a non-existing place.
I don't like to live in this mess, wich is, exactly, nothing. Exactly
nothing. If I will write a story about it, ever, I will call it like that.
Exactly nothing, yes, that will be the name.
Where was I? Yes, you have to clean up your mess, because you
made it. You are the creator of this mess, and have full power
over it. But do you have power over yourself, to say to yourself:
I will clean this mess up now, exactly now, and not later? Do you
have that power? Do you?
And if you have, who gave it to you? Who gave that gift? Yes, that
was me. I was the one who gave you the gift, to have the power over
yourself, to say you are going to tidy up your life. That was me, and
no one else. But, you know, nothing is tidy, and nothing is a mess.
Tidiness or mess; both are nothing more than lore.
Now go clean it up.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12139329/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12139329/ Sun, 11 Mar 2007 05:02:48 PDT Summon your inner weakness and break it right in two, between hammer and anvil. Shatter it in a thousand pieces, and melt those pieces into an amulet. Carry it with great care, and hand it out to a stranger to hate. Let him carry the burden you are relieved of, and carry it to another one. Bring the cyclus in complete, complete the vicious circle, as a turning wheel, as the bringer of enlightement.
Summon now your greatest hope, and put it in a box. Share it with none, and keep it for yourself. As the days go by, your hope is getting less and less, and it makes you thirsty for water. You ask a stranger for water to borrow, and oddly, he gives you an amulet. 'Eat this, and your thirst for gold shall be gone, together with your hope and pride,' he will say, and you take your own burden of your inner weakness again. Now you see how weak you are; you burdened someone else with your foolishness, and now you take it back because you are thirsty. But we humans have allways been thirsty, allways digging for gold and power. However, we look a lot like the dverige, getting smaller and smaller, like our hope is getting smaller, and like our burden is getting bigger. Why don't we throw it away, not hand it out, but keep it secret and hidden, buried in lost thoughts? Why don't we share our hope, hand out the hope, and crush our weakness? Weakness is for the poor, pennilessness is for the weak. Now we are all together, between boundaries, but together, and we end up the cyclus of creatures. Dverige for the thirst for gold, humans for the hunger for power, Nolms for the daylight, and alves for the nightlight. You see, all those creatures are our feelings and characters, we have in humanity. We can be careful, but also cruel. We can be filled with grief, but also remorseless. We can be thirsty, but also dead.
In fact, we are all dead, we have allways been dead, and it will never change.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12116955/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12116955/ Fri, 09 Mar 2007 10:53:13 PST Gardener Niles was a simple man, and he lived with his wife and children. Unfortunately, he wasn't very lucky. His boss terrorized him and his colleagues on the work, he had problems with his wife and children, his pockets were almost empty [And his wife suspected him for spending his money to ale, mead, and wine], and he was an alcoholic.
One day, he got crazy. He was about to be fired on his work, but he said: 'No. You are fired. I fire you! How does that feel? Does it make you helpless, depressed?' and his boss asked for security. Gardener Niles though, did like his boss almost beated him to death, and his boss got locked up for it. Now, Gardener Niles became the boss of all gardeners, and he felt happy in a certain way. His wife was proud of him, and his only friend, Ormal, the man who tried to get Niles from drinking in the alcoholic-meeting-group, was amazed.
Gardener Niles rode one day on the road with his horse, and he was in a hurry. He had to fill in a contract, wich would make him tax-free for the rest of his life. He would also become more powerful in the town he lived in. So, that was very important to him.
However, another horseman was riding against him. He was in a hurry, too. It was Forester Fennett, the man wich was once his boss. It was the man he locked in jail, and he was just on free foot again. Unfortunately, he saw Niles, and stabbed him in the chest with a small knife. Niles fell off his horse, and cursed the old man, that now was gone. Bleeding and crying, Niles crawled further, and he came to his work. The contractgiver was not happy to see him, and sended him away, not noticing the hidden wound.
Angry and confused, Niles crawled back to home, where his wife left a note: 'I allready know what you did. I have to tell you a thing: I have a relation with Fennett for a few days now. I'm leaving you, and the kids are with me. You will never see them again, as you allways are in for trouble.'
Bleeding and dying inside, he now searched for revenge, and stole all money of Fennett [Wich he called Fetcher] in one night. After this, he got more and more obsessed, and he killed Fennett's children and wife, and tried to get his own wife back. Oddly, she didn't want to see him again, and sended the Blue Korpsa to him, and he got in jail, for the rest of his life.

He thought over his life in prison, and knew it was over, all over. But he felt he could not rest if he didn't kill Fetcher himself, and got his children and wife back. The Blue Korpsa hated him, and so did the rest of the world. His good life was in tears, and he got more and more into darkness.
One night, Niles broke out, and ran to Fetcher's house. It was all dark, and Fetcher seemed to be asleep. There, he found Fetcher, in bed with Niles' children. It all turned black before Niles' eyes, and he knew what happened. He grabbed a bick, pointy stick, and broke it on Fetchers' head. Then, he grabbed Fetcher, and bound him with lots of rope. He took his clothes, and did cut off all his bodyparts. He managed to stop the bleeding, and he bound the wounds. He did cut one eye of Fetcher, and he also grabbed a larger knife, to cut big wounds in his face and body. After this, he awaked Fetcher, and did put him before a mirror. Fetcher saw [with one eye] what happened to him, and cried out loud, and his soul was shattered. Niles felt he enjoyed it, and he grabbed his stick. His children awoke now, and he said them to go back sleeping again. Now remembering again what Fetcher did with them, he smacked Fetcher's stomach, and breaked his skull. Then he stabbed his eyes with a burning knife, and burned out all his teeth. Then he did cut off his face, and awoke Fetcher again, and he was still alive. Darkness took Niles' soul, and Niles said: 'I will torture you more If I let you live like this'. And so he left Fetcher there, before the mirror, and he laughed. Then, he looked at his children, and he did not feel any emotion for them anymore. He choked them with two pillows, and threw them out of the window, along with Fetchers' bodyparts. He heard their bones cracking, but did not feel remorse. Almost struggling over the blood and intestines, he left the house, and walked towards his own house.

It was day, and Niles' wife awoke. She felt dizzy, and took a few steps. Almost immediately she noticed something strange was going on. She ran to the kitchen, and saw Fetcher's body, naked, and with no bodyparts at all, besides his torso and head. He was still alive, but not able to speak. Niles' wife screamed, and ran out of the house, to the streets. There stood Niles, and he kicked his own woman to the ground. There she layed, and in one second Niles felt remorse, and he cryed there for an hour.
Af... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12103967/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12103967/ Thu, 08 Mar 2007 09:44:21 PST Dust and dirt was all over the place; but the hero was victorious. Death and desease was spreaded over the lands; but the hero felt the pride of his fatherland, and tried to clean his sword.
Clouds sticked to gather, and rain started to fall. The war had a bitter end, and the hero thought about the battle they had won, and the victory they had gained. It was nothing more than a small fight, but still a dark remembrance in his memory.
A cold breeze came over him and his companions; all lit torches were unlit, and all horses suddenly ran away, together, away from that dark hilltop. Some men followed the horses; that might become their death; following the animals means they are animals, and betrayers.
The hero in the middle grabbed his sword with both hands, and looked around the lands. What was happening? Where the gods not pleased with his actions? Were their smiles filled with grim? Were their eyes filled with fire? Why didn't they answer, why didn't they see, why didn't they tell the truth to the man, as a gift to be token?
The hero did not feel heroic anymore, and he tried to get up his horse again, the only horse that was left. He failed, and fell in the dreck, blood and intestines of his enemies and brothers. He laid there for a while, and then stood up, confused and feeling miserable. All his companions were gone, and so were the bodies. Only he was there, with his horse, and the black, black sky.

]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12091282/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12091282/ Wed, 07 Mar 2007 10:22:52 PST
The lands around Lhadam Falahad where white and cold, and the trees were all cut down. The sky was empty; only the cold breeze ruled it, and came upon the lands.
A slow mist spreaded among the mountains near the palace, and the peasants took their relatives and animals with them, and ran into their safe houses.
It was hunting time again.
Three men, all in black, walked upon the white lands, and they felt powerful. "Blow the horns!" one said, and their hidden companions did. A long, squeeking sound, reached the walls of Lhadam Falahad, and the palace shook, and even all peasants and noblemen shook in their comfy beds. Frightened they were, and they listened carefully to the hard sounds on the cold lands.
"Up to the ladder!" the three men commanded, and their companions ran upon the fields, disguissed with leafs and woods. From Lhadam Falahad, the army looked huge, and it looked like an army of trees. Good-believing as they were, they sended a brave messenger as far as they could, to Avallhemë, where the Nolms took place. However, it would take far to long to get there for this messenger, and then all would be lost. The army of trees had come, and the palace was lost. All was lost. But they deserved it, because they were cursed. They had to much wealth, and gave nothing to the poor.
The messenger died in the woods; the disguised army led him in the darkness. His skull was served to the count of Lhadam Falahad, and when he saw that, he was full of anger. All his fears in these fearfull years, was suddenly faded away, and gone. However, he was an old man, and he did not have an army. So, he asked the Nolms for help again, and then suddenly the messenger came back, and his clothes were gold, and his eyes white. In his hand was a sword, made of the light of Yoa's daughter [Yheathë] her eyes. And Yoa was the Nolm of plants, and she was the lady who ruled nature. And the army of trees were suddenly naked, and the messenger, named Asvald, said : 'I am the hero Asvald Beorc from Castildicum, and I have come to annialate you. Yheathë sees you are no real nature; you are just humans, wrapped in clothes, and bad thoughts. Go now, and throw yourself in the Thirvund. Listen to my words, and obey my hand. I have come to make Lhadam Falahad free again, and give the poor their money back. Before you throw yourself in doom, go to your houses, take your pennies, and give them to the poor. You are a free man then, and your evil will be banned away."
But the leader of the naked army was huge, as a giant, and he came upon the hero Asvald. His beard was black, and his sword sharp. "Who are you to dare the darkness? Who are you to rule the rare? I ask you to fight with me, and who loses, has to throw himself in the Thirvund."
"I agree with that, rare ruler" the hero spotted. "But first tell me your name, so I can shout it into your lady's ear, when your corpse is rotting."
"You don't talk like a hero, your voice seems bitter" the leader of trees said. "I will tell you my name if you fight with me."
"When I have killed you, there is no way to know your name, foolish figure!" Asvald answered.
"I did not say we will fight, did I?" the black-bearded man answered again. "You must be a wise man. Why not have a fight in wisdom? I tell you a wise gift I came across, and you have to come with a better one. We will go on untill someone gives up. I will start, because I was here first."
"I agree."

And so the two went to the hill Guilamanzuin, and the black-bearded man stepped towards Asvald the hero.

'I've seen dark things all across these lands, but what caught my eye? What did I see for wisdom?
I saw an eagle's feather, flying in the wind. But the feather is black, and the wind takes the feather further away than necessary.'

And Asvald answered:
'Your wisdom is strange, old man. Let me tell you something wiser.

I've seen dark things all across these lands, but what caught my
eye? What did I see for wisdom?
I saw the water in Neorcas; first it was blue, then it turned red.
When I touched it with my fingers, it didn't respond. When I threw
a rock in it, my horse fled.'

And the black-bearded man said:
'Your wisdom is odd, youngh spotter. Let me tell you something wiser.
I've seen dark things all across these lands, but what caught my
eye? What did I see for wisdom?
I saw nothing at all; only pure blackness. I tried to look around, but
nothing was in my way. Still, I could feel the prescence of love.
I felt it was stronger than this blackness. How could I know? I felt
your sisters' skin, and it was so soft my first thought gave me a new
view.
I also saw Morthrong Eterech, but he had a sword, and I did not.'

And... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12049077/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12049077/ Mon, 05 Mar 2007 10:15:24 PST
PART ONE - CASCAROND - The Wide World

"Oh, for the loss! Oh, for the failure! Why do we lose, why do we fail, at everything we try to build up to, at everything we do? Oh, why do we dine with our problems, and make pacts with them, and fill in their contracts, while not reading the little letters? You must win, grow up, that's what matters - that's what's going on. We're all alone and so together, everyone is unique, except for me - what makes me unique. Explain to the dumb people; say nothing to the wise, because they allready know, and understand."
The Wise Old Man from the Woods

Ragnarond - Means: World of ravens, or world of Ragnaurekar. It is where the daemoner dwell, and where all light is unlit.
Ragnaurekar - The upper-daemons, the great darkness-bringers. They are the daemons who are the most terrifying, the most terrible. They rule all daemoner, and they live in legions and lairs.
Morthrong - Morthrong Eterige, Eterëch, or Ætteryë is the dark shadow of ravens, the crow-king, and the ruler of the Ragnaurekar. He lives on the plateau Eternum, in the tower of Morthlong-Dum. He has also conquered a big part of Cascarond, the Better World. These lands are known as Mistilangr, Mordung and Mauroth, named to Morthrong's servants in darkness. It is he who lives in terror, and binds fear in the world. It is he who has a night-eye and a day-eye, it is he who has the Adumantë, the Soulstone, where his soul and Illusarions soul is in. If it will shatter, the dark crow-king will finally only show up in dark books, but also, Illusarion will be destroyed, also.
Astarachond - The temple of Astara, wich can be referred to Ostara, Eostre, Eostar [Easter, spring], Isis or Astarte. She is the highest goddess in Cascarond, and rules all Alfs, including the midalfs, and the dverige [Dverglings]. She is the queen of spring, and she is able to destroy the king of midwinter, named Mauroth.
Ormantazuin - Ormantazu-in, the hill of kings.
Uming Umvatar - The Unfather is the ruler of the mistdwellers [Nolms, Alfs, Dverige, and Aqualondë], and he lives in Avallhemë, the enlightened lands. There, he has his palace. Arthar Umvatar, and Lusalla Nahil live with him. Yoa is the lady of the plants, and she takes care of the nature around his palace. Uminn, Uthing or Uming is a well known enemy of Morthrong.
Lhadam Falahad - The white palace of Cascarond - it's settled in Gonbad, near Mistilangr.
Fearond - Palace of Alfs, the Highlings, the High Ones. The Midalfs and underlings [Dverige] are not allowed there. They live in nature.
Illusarion - The white keeper of the Nolmer, Dverige, and Alblings. He is the spirit of Cascaronds' nature. Much about him is unknown.
Sekarë - The Seekers. Nobody knows who they are, but they are terrible, and live in dark swamps, near Smengul's fortresses.
Sardonic Dum - Mauroth's dark fortress, where svart-dverige and svart-álfar live. They are known as Dumorë and Amortë.
Smengul - The wise dragon. Actually, he is a dark Ragnaurekar from Ragnarond, but he took form of a dragon long ago. He leads legions of recruted angels to Ragnarond.
Angels - Eostern, the white children of Eostar. A lot of them are under Uthinn's hand, but there are also angels recruted by Morthrong Eterige. He leads them into darkness and pain.
Alvar - Albs, Alfs, álfar, Elfs, Elflings, Alflings, Alblings, Ælvën or Guthalver are the underangels, the mideostern. They live in mist-made-dwelling places, and they look like mist, also. Sometimes they take a form, sometimes not. They are in humans minds, but sometimes they show themselves, the spirits of nature. Speaking of themselves, the Themselves are also elves, who live in the river Thames. The alfs are nature, but also the feeling of it. You can experience it every day.
Dverige - Dwergen, Dverja, Dverrë or Dvarva. They are dwarfs, midpeople. They are human, but they live in caves with nature. They are actually albs, or were, long ago. Now, they abandoned the High Ones, and became less intelligent, but good with tools and weaponry. A lot of them became svart-dverige, for Morthrong, the throng of death.
Nolmer - The Nolms, or Nolmer are the earthlings, ruler above alvar, but under the angels. They are sended by Uthinn, and they live in Avallhemë.
Sirvenar - You don't want to meet them. They are sirens, or callers of death. They are will o' the wips, and Jack o' lanterns. Lanthorns, thornbringers, and keepers of the swamp. Do not follow their lights. Rumor has it that they might look like Seekers. They could bring you to a secret place in another dimension, or to Ragnarond, where it is a terrible, eternal place.
Mensar - Mensen, Levenden or Manaz. They are humans, experiencing Cascarond's nature.
Lamensar - Low people, low humans. They did extinct long ago.... ]]> ~OlafBrouwer http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12037773/ http://OlafBrouwer.deviantart.com/journal/12037773/ Sat, 03 Mar 2007 09:29:43 PST
]]> ~OlafBrouwer