Ashes Part 4: Clerical Error

[Witcher Wolf]

Until Jen can get back to putting this on the site, I have decided to release it on the forums. If you haven't read parts 1 2 and 3, just click the link in my sig.

Enjoy.

Ashes Part 4: Clerical Error

Preston’s investigations had been all for naught, every lead he tried to follow and every clue that he found led to a dead end. Without the mind-numbing embrace of Prozium, Father’s plan seemed to be working, his spies reported a ‘rattled’ and increasingly ‘paranoid’ John Preston. The man was going out of his mind and scrabbling for any thread that might give him resolution, they were confident that they had succeeded in breaking the one that opposed them.

As the months rolled off the calendar like fallen leaves the ‘cold god of death’ as many had come to call him, had turned to those things that numbed the pain, the vices that Father had forbidden – alcohol being the great nepenthe now. He sat quietly in his barren room, cut off from his friends and allies – all alone and brooding, his face darker than the night sky above New Libria.

Another shot of whiskey found its way in a cold shiver down the man’s throat and he stared glassy-eyed at the picture of his beloved Robbie and Lisa, torn from him in a fire-filled conflagration before he could really get to know them both again. He silently cursed the fates and threw the glass against the wall, he asked himself were all these emotions truly worth it?

As the glass shattered into tiny sparkles of diamonded light Preston closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering the last time he’d spoken to his friend Tara. He had cut her off just like everyone; with his enemies out there he needed no-one else to be caught in the crossfire.

And so it was that his opponents watched and waited for the man to fall even further into this dark miasma, almost gleeful in a way that their plan had turned out much better than they could have ever planned. But what is it one says about the best laid plans of mice and men? They often go astray, due to the most unforeseen of circumstances.

In the dark lair of Father and his minions a discussion curled through the air like the damp smoke from a perched cigar. The subject of course was none other than the fallen angel of death, John Preston.

“Is it time yet?” Ezekiel strode into the meeting with a glowering expression, all the signs of his previous control were slipping as the rebels stocks of Prozium had dwindled to just a few phials – they were all experiencing the new-found emotions, the destructive power of anger and the seductive caress of hatred.

Father looked up from his speech and gave Ezekiel a wan-smile. “My friend we were just discussing the very subject, would you like to join us?”

Ezekiel Kayne snorted and pulled out a chair with a snap of his black gloved hand. “I would…”

Father ignored the other man’s disobedience and promised himself that it was only the lack of Prozium that made his dependable right hand man act like a buffoon. The rest of the renegade Clerics from the pre-chaotic Libria sat in silence and held their tongues.

“I believe that soon it will be the time in invite our friend into our home, to once and for all settle this debacle and plant the seeds of Libria’s re-growth. While we number but twenty stalwart souls, we are the last of the true Clerics and the last of the true Librians.” Father began again with his soft cajoling voice whispering the sweet treacle words, as if any lie he could turn into a vibrant truth.

“About time,” Kayne hissed softly.

Father sighed and continued on with a darker tone. “John Preston must be made to pay for the crimes he has committed against us, against our beloved Libria.” He ranted like this for a good hour while the rest of his Clerics sat wrapped in every word.

The rest all save for Ezekiel, the darker heart of this man had always been one of his strengths but without the drugs to keep it in check; he was already starting to have ideas above his station. He pondered idly that if he really wanted, he could remove Father and deal with this business himself once and for all.

“So what do you think?” Father turned to Ezekiel and questioned him directly.

“I think we talk too much and we should find Preston, kill him and end this,” Kayne shrugged his shoulders and sneered.

“The plan,” Father began.

“Is flawed,” Kayne countered.

“What?” Father could not believe his ears as the Grammaton Cleric flagrantly disobeyed him once more.

“You heard me old man, it’s flawed, we have destroyed our enemy and in turn we have lowered ourselves to nothing more than – thugs,” Kayne stood up and waved a hand to encompass everyone present in a sweeping arc of motion. “Bombs and terror tactics are the recourse of the diseased mind, it’s you who has lost the way and it’s you who has become the cancer at the core…Our Father.”

Father’s jaw tightened and he gripped the edge of the table with his hand, his knuckles went white and he stared in disbelief at the younger man.

“You dare!” Father kept a tight reign on his emotions, he would not let himself be goaded, his world was not going to come crumbling down.

“I do more than that,” Kayne had reached his limit, with no Prozium to guide him Father’s soft words and narrow-minded attitude had rankled to the man’s core, he snorted and in a smooth motion his sidearm slid out – it took one shot – just the one and the coldness of the action left the rest of the assembled in shock.

Father’s body rolled back and he crumpled to the ground, a single red dot upon his forehead like some baptismal mark of death.

“What have you done?” One of the Clerics rose to his feet and stared in horror at Ezekiel’s smoking pistol.

“I have reset the balance of power. Father has grown long in the tooth and in any pack when the old are no longer useful, they are left in the wilds to die. I am the right hand of his word, we will do things as they should have been done in the first place – no sneaking and no knives in the back – bombs and poison are the tools of the weak.” Ezekiel Kayne did not mourn his mentor’s passing; he was full of the new found sense of power acquired through the basest of betrayals.

“You have a plan?” The same Cleric questioned, hopeful of a reasonable answer.

“I do,” Kayne looked to the dead body. “Remove this thing and I will outline it.”

With some trepidation the other Clerics did as they were ordered, they were all suffering from withdrawal now and their skills were deteriorating rapidly. Ezekiel could keep the law and order of the gun from now on, none of them could challenge him for leadership.

“It is done,” Fallon sat back down and folded his arms. “Tell us what you plan to do?”

“We rely upon you for direction now,” another Cleric added in an attempt to quell the rising fear in his belly.

[Witcher Wolf]

Ezekiel Kayne surveyed them all and tapped his fingers together with a swift motion; he offered each and every one of them a cold smile. “We kill John Preston, Jurgen and topple this makeshift ‘illusion’ of government, with our might we can do anything – we are Clerics of Libria not children of tomorrow!”

“Yes!”

Slowly the assembled stood to their feet and began to clap, the fuel of this sound only added to Kayne’s conviction and he nodded grimly. Yes, this is how it should have been in the first place, he should have been the top of the pack from the beginning, Father was an old man, weak and feeble – he had no vision left – vision came from within and not some mouldering tome.

John’s dreams had been liquid and nightmarish; in his head he replayed the deaths of everyone close to him. Errol Partridge had died at Preston’s hands. His wife had died because he was not strong enough to stand against Father’s law. His children had died because he had tried to build something good from the ashes of Libria.

His nightmares took a turn for the worse and began to seem almost prophetic, Ezekiel Kayne and Father laughing over a strange elongated box. He’d heard about such things, before the furnaces – the dead were interred in the ground.

Preston woke with a start to hear an angry buzz in the back of his head; it swam with a terrible and convulsing pain. The throb was powerful and insistent, almost like a rolling thunder in his brain – he looked at the empty bottle of whiskey and blinked, is this what he’d become?

A book lay on his bed by his side, he threw it across the room and glared at the cover, a well known tome lent to him by the female Cleric. Tara.

He checked his face in the mirror and noted the sallow cheeks, rheumy eyes and the irregular patches of stubble upon his chin. He shaved quickly and took a comforting shower, hoping to wash everything away with the soft-warm caress of the water.

He replayed everything once more in his head as he stood under the shower head and closed his eyes, putting both hands against the back of the wall and letting the water flood him. His breathing slowed and he began to focus more rationally, reaching inside the part of himself that contained his years of training and understanding, the part of himself that he’d almost forgotten – how could he have been so blind, the answer to his problems was simple enough.

They wanted him dead…

They wanted Libria back to how it was supposed to be…

They couldn’t kill him, he’d proven too strong, so they destroyed his spirit and took his children away.

His jaw tightened and he hit the back wall with the palm of his hand, the pain never truly went away from Robbie and Lisa’s deaths. A new wave washed over him and he fought to control it, but somewhere between the self-pity, loathing and grief he saw a tiny shred of hope.

He went back to the final part of his dream and shut down the shower, towelled himself off and dressed in record time. He picked up the phone and called two people, Tara and Jurgen asking to meet them in the abandoned church where he’d first begun his road to freedom, at the cost of a dear friend’s life.

The time and place was set…

The hours rolled by as Preston prepared. Then he drove to the location and sat down on the floor. The inner area of the church was quiet as the night embraced it, the stars poking through the cover of cloud like tiny diamonds against a velvet cloak.


He was able to read passages from the very same book that cost Partridge his life, knowing that his enemies were watching him; their spies lurked in the further reaches of the ruin. He could almost sense them through his training, this was perfect, and this is what he wanted them to see.

He closed the book and checked his watch, checked everything and nodded grimly for one last time. Then he whispered just enough so any listener could hear it.

“I am truly sorry my old friend,” Preston said and put the barrel of his sidearm to the side of his head.

They saw a defeated and humbled Preston as nothing more than a shadow against the wall, lit by the callow light of the moon that now streamed in through the ruin of an old window. His shadow and the agonizing ‘bark’ of the gun.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, just as the sound reverberated through the once holy place Jurgen and Tara burst in, their reaction was a perfect footnote to the end of the illustrious John Preston’s career and Fallon and Michaels watched it all from their hiding place.

Tara’s agonised scream of, “no!” coupled with her feverish attempts to wrestle from Jurgen’s sudden vice-like grip was like music to their ears. Ezekiel would be pleased; they would be rewarded for informing him of Preston’s ignoble end.

With this in mind the two watchers made their swift escape from the church and returned back to the lair, back to the underground catacombs and passages beneath the New Libria. They wasted no time in their return journey moving as if possessed by a spirit of determination unlike any other, until at long last they stood before the Cleric’s room.

Michael’s hand trembled as he raised it to knock upon the door, rapping lightly upon the surface for three times only. From within the room came a stern, “enter,” spoken in dour and taciturn tones.

They stepped within and were greeted by Ezekiel Kayne dressed now in the strict lines of a uniform akin to the one Father wore.

“I trust,” he began with acidic intent. “You have some form of news for me?”

“We do, Fallon and I were following your orders – to observe John Preston,” Michaels looked to his partner for support and then back to the glowering apparition. “We followed John Preston to the old church where after a few hours, he took his own life.”

Ezekiel had been bored up until this very moment and he sat down hard upon the nearest chair and remained in silence for a long time, until the barest of laughs bubbled forth from his lips.

“John Preston…is dead?”

“Yes Sir,” Fallon nodded and looked to Kayne. “Is that not glorious news?”

Ezekiel shook his head and spat the words out like venom. “No it is not!” He bellowed. “We were supposed to be the ones that killed him, not Father’s ghost!”

“Sir?”

“Don’t you see, Father’s plan worked and he sits now mocking us…mocking me…I can see his bloodless corpse, all bloated and swollen with self-satisfaction, the ruination of John Preston has become my own!” Ezekiel’s grip and sanity were starting to shift; he began to giggle a little and stood up. “Why didn’t you two stop him?”

[Witcher Wolf]

“Stop him?”

“Yes, you could have stopped him, or did you want me to look like a fool?” Ezekiel had always been a couple of steps away from madness, paranoia borne of the lack of Prozium finally kicked in and the ranting Cleric eyed both men with a mounting sense of betrayal.

“You planned this!”

“No, Sir! I, we did not!” Fallon tried to defend them, tried to reason with Ezekiel and failed…

Two gunshots echoed in the lower catacombs as Ezekiel’s madness claimed him fully, he laughed and kept putting bullets into the corpses until he sat down hard again and looked at the smoking pistol in his hand.

“You will not lie to me, cheat me or betray me?” He asked of the gun, the metal felt warm and responsive against his fingers.

A thin curve of smoke almost smiled in a reassuring manner, he tucked the pistol away and walked over the two bodies. “I must pay my respects.”

The news of John Preston’s death shocked the society of New Libria and unleashed a cataclysm of newly discovered emotion across the face of the city, it echoed to every corner of every building – even touching those Clerics who now followed Ezekiel, albeit in a different manner.

As now was the tradition and custom in New Libria, John’s body was prepared and dressed in his immaculate white suit, loaded into an elongated box and dropped into the ground. His funeral was a massive state occasion and everyone turned out to pay their respects, the procession was lined all along the streets and right up to the new graveyard, where already headstones were standing in mute silence like old and forgotten soldiers.

Jurgen and Tara were there along with the Governess and other assorted dignitaries, those people that had been close to John. There were more tears that day than have ever been recorded in the history of mankind; there wasn’t a dry eye amongst every citizen of the city. Of course those that did not count themselves as citizens were celebrating the defeat of their nemesis.

Ezekiel Kayne had watched this whole affair with a detached air of boredom, the whole ritual screamed against everything he knew. He would have to re-educate so many people and of course there would be some losses, after all, you need examples to illustrate how the herd should follow.

He hung back from the society like a carrion bird and trailed the procession until it reached the graveyard, where the newly ordained priest gave a strange speech and blessed the dead man in the name of some god or other, things had fallen so far and so quickly Ezekiel mused.

A few more tearful goodbyes and one by one they left the graveyard, Tara and Jurgen were the last to go standing quietly at the headstone until she could take it no more and collapsed into a tear-filled heap in the other man’s arms. He held on to her the best he could but as always, his lack of emotion provided scant comfort in her grief.

When they finally left Kayne did not make his move, he remained under the cover of the other buildings until night cast a bitter chill over the city and plunged the graveyard into a cloak of shadow. It was only then as the first of the stars dared to creep out under an opium moon that Kayne crept forth from his hiding place as the whispers of rain trickled from the skies.

It did not take long for the weeping clouds to disgorge the full fury of their torrential anger upon the ground, soaking it within minutes and turning the graveyard into a muddy sloshing mess. Heavy droplets splashed into puddles as Ezekiel made his way to the headstone of Grammaton Cleric John Preston, pulling back the hood of his coat so he might gaze upon the newly dug ground.

“I had hoped,” he began and knelt down at the front of John’s grave. “I would be the one to kill you John, you were one of the best, but not as good as me,” the man’s ego blistered through the rain as the water soaked his hair, plastering it to his skull.

The sky answered with an angry roar of thunder and a lash of lightning, bringing memories full circle in the Cleric’s mind back to the awakening of Libria.

“You almost had us John,” he chuckled. “But in the end you were slain by a ghost, imagine that, the irony of it all – Father’s own plan worked to bring you to ruin but it robbed me of my prize.”

“I had to kill him John, there was no other choice, and like you he lacked vision and was weak.”

“But he robbed me of my prey, even in death. Can you hear him laughing John?”

“Can you?”

“Are you laughing John?” Ezekiel looked to the sodden ground and caught sight of a spade lying close by. “Are you even in there John?”

He had not been able to see them inter Preston, or prepare him. He hadn’t been able to get past the security; it had been tighter than under Father’s reign. A slight notion burned to the forefront of his mind, what if Preston wasn’t in that box – what if he’d been hunting the catacombs and killed his men while he was gone, what if he’d found the starved body of the bomber, left to rot since Ezekiel needed him no longer.

What if?

Failure was made of uncertainty, should haves and might haves. He must know! And his hand automatically reached for the handle. Then slowly he forced himself to dig, dig and find out, all the while the storm raged on as if the heavens were angry at him, for despoiling this place with his presence and his malign intention.

He dug in the pouring rain for the better part of an hour, shifting dirt over his shoulder into piles behind him until the black coffin lid appeared out of the ground, the sides of the hole already caving in as he jumped down upon it, landing with a heavy thud.

The lid was torn off and hurled aside just as a white flash lit up the skies, revealing Preston as pale as death in the bright flare. The shock of seeing the corpse forced Ezekiel out of the hole and he landed with a thud on the pile of dirt at his rear.

“So you,” he took a deep breath. “Did do it, you were buried here like some common earth-worm, instead of being consumed in an all cleansing flame!”

Another bright spark of lightning lashed across the clouds, blotting out the stars for a moment and blinding Ezekiel as he looked upwards.

“Is this your anger John?” He questioned the unforgiving weather.

“No,” it answered. “This isn’t anger; it’s not about anger or hate Ezekiel Kayne.”

Ezekiel’s stomach tightened into knots as the white apparition of John Preston stood up from the coffin and pointed towards him.

“Are you satisfied with what you did?”

[Witcher Wolf]

“It was Father’s plan to use the bombs,” Ezekiel muttered and tried to stand, the wet ground threw him off balance and he floundered before he finally got his feet.

“And you didn’t stop him?”

“I did in the end!”

“Too late for Robbie and Lisa,” the ghostly white figure shook its head. “I always knew that Father was alive, even when I spoke to the Vice Council. DuPont failed to see your ruse, and I almost missed it.”

“Now you and he are dead!”

“The cost Kayne, the cost was paid in the blood of my family but you wouldn’t know, understand or care what it’s like to feel that kind of loss!” Preston’s apparition snarled and he circled Ezekiel now forcing the other man to stand close to the edge of the grave.

Where was his Clerics training and where was his iron resolve? The pallid apparition of Preston hovered like a spectre before his eyes, accusing him and driving the other man to depths of fear that without Prozium took hold like a steel vice.

“So what now, are you going to shoot me John, you’re a ghost, you can’t kill anyone!” Ezekiel laughed in the storm and wiped the rain from his face. “Wait a moment, your face, its running?”

Preston smiled that smile, the slight twitch of his lips he reserved for a moment before his own emotions left him, purged in the blink of an eye. Father’s plan had worked up until Preston’s dream, the dream that had been a result of reading the book at his bed, a book that was penned by William Shakespere and told of a horrid betrayal, murder and ghosts.

It was that very book that had given him his idea; he called Jurgen and set a bold plan into motion.

Now the culmination of the ruse stood at the edge of the grave size, in a vicious storm with the angel of death all dressed in white before him.

“Our Father,” Ezekiel began and moved his hand towards his weapon.

“Who art no more,” John uttered and his own pistol snapped forwards from the hidden wrist holster, the clip already locked in place.

There were two shots, and only one of them struck home – it was enough however to send the former Grammaton Ezekiel Kayne tumbling backwards and into the coffin where he landed badly. His knowledge of the Gun Kata could have saved him if Preston’s terror tactics, amplified by the lack of Prozium had not been enough to drive him out of his mind at the last moment.

The still smoking pistol followed Kayne into the coffin and landed by his side, he couldn’t quite make out the shape of John Preston above him, his eyes were full of water and the smell of blood lingered in the air.

John Preston stood at the edge of the hole and emptied his clip into the dying man, the trigger clicked once and in a mechanical gesture he snapped the gun away. Jurgen melted out of the shadows nearby along with several Sweepers, he’d been watching all along just in case things had not gone Preston’s way.

“Is it over?” He asked the other man as John walked past him, offering a shrug of his shoulders.

“We still need to round up the rest,” his voice was monotone and lacked any real feeling.

“We can do that, you need to live John,” Jurgen said pointedly and looked past towards where Tara stood, a little way by a black car.

“What’s left for me?”

“Self pity isn’t you John, look around. You have lost so much and now you stand to lose even more,” Jurgen’s gaze fell on Tara again and he shrugged his shoulders. “It’s up to you how you live John; it’s up to you how you choose to continue from this point on.”

John Preston stopped walking and looked at the woman in black; her makeup was streaked with the rain and her tears. Out of all of the people that knew his death had been faked, thanks to his controlled breathing and a tiny breather in the coffin itself – Tara was someone who genuinely thought Preston was dead.

She didn’t know whether to cry with joy or shoot him on the spot, her emotions conflicted back and forth until she broke down and wept again.

He went forwards and comforted her best he could, looking back at the former Resistance leader and the Sweepers. He put his arms around the woman and held her closely.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and put her head on his shoulder. “I had to draw them out. I was scared they would go after you next, it was a logical choice.”

“I know,” she wiped her eyes and kissed his forehead. “I don’t blame you, truth be told I think I would have done something similar.”

“Your book gave me the strength to fight, a plan to work from,” Preston smiled at the light kiss.

“My book?”

“Macbeth,” he replied resolutely and laughed a little, finding humour in the idea. “I created a ghost to draw them out and it worked.”

“It hurt a lot of people,” Tara said and huffed softly.

“I know and for that I am truly sorry,” Preston shivered as the wind shifted and the rain came down even more harshly.

“What now?” Tara asked him and stepped out of the embrace.

“I was hoping that we could go for a coffee and something more important…”

“Oh?”

“Say…something like…the rest of our lives?”

“I don’t know. I am pretty pissed at you John Preston, but I’ll settle for punching you in the nose when you least expect it for giving me the impression you were dead!” She was half-laughing and half-crying when she said these words.

Preston put his arm around her shoulder and guided her towards the car, looking back towards Jurgen and the Sweepers. They seemed to be making good use of the coffin to seal Ezekiel’s body away for good.

“The last we shall see of him, but perhaps not his like,” Preston opened the door and ushered Tara in. “We need to get you into some drier clothes and I could do with a change.”

“As long as you don’t go running out on us again, we were worried John.”

[Witcher Wolf]

“I won’t,” Preston started the car and pulled out of the graveyard heading back towards the main city. “I guess I have to go on air tomorrow and explain the ruse?”

“Yes…” Tara answered glumly. “There are going to be some pretty upset people wanting your head over this John, the Government for one.”

“I did what I had to,” John said and fixed his gaze onto the road now.

“We all did,” Tara replied solemnly, “even down to mourning the loss of a hero.”

The black car wound its way slowly and carefully through the streets of Libria under the watchful eye of the storm, the lightning curling in fingers of blue and white to caress the clouds as the thunder roared onwards – drowning out the sound of the car’s engine. There were so many things left for Preston to do, this was not the end of his journey but it marks the end of this particular tale for now – a fitting footnote in the struggle against oppression and ignorance, sometimes to achieve the end result – you must be willing to go the extra mile, ignore the system and know what orders to follow and when to turn away from blind obedience.

A price is always paid; nothing ever goes by without incident.

[mawa]

*claps and bows*

Impressive stuff, as always, Wolf. This piece is a masterpiece, being a great culmination. Libria in decline, Preston in decline... things apparently couldn't get any worse. But there were a few suprises, since the plot is very twisted - twisted in a Wolf's way, I'd say. And that means evil twists. One particular thing bothered me:




***MAJOR SPOILERS***
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Preston... Wolf, at first I wanted to strangle you. Killing Preston? How could you?! And while I was reading and thinking about 75 ways of inflicting death ( just kidding ;D ) a next twist appeared - pretty bloody wicked. Other thing is, that - maybe I'm overinterpreting - but the coffin thing is very symbolic, IMO.

You did also a great job with portraying Kayne as a hard-core SOB. And a pathetic coward in the end. He gets what he deserves, I'd throw in some bonus as well. *evil laughter*
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***END OF MAJOR SPOILERS***

[Sontin-JudasFm]

;D Interesting twist at the end there, Wolfie; for a while I really wasn't sure what had happened. Like MaWa, I loved the fact that Kayne finally got what was coming to him Fantastic stuff!

[Witcher Wolf]

Thanks MaWa, Judas, glad you enjoyed it. Now I'm sad in one way because it's over, but it's been a thoroughly wild ride getting to that point.

It does free me up to work on some more things, including finishing that darn book #1 of mine as well as adding a few more parts to Cross' story.

I guess that Ashes was always going to be a four part snapshot at the New Libria. I don't think I could have gone on much longer past that, with all the loose ends tied up nice and neatly.

[JenGe]

I don't have time to read this just yet Wolf since I do not want to do a hurried job of it but as I told you by e-mail I'll get to it as soon as I can...

Damn, computer geeks holding my laptop hostage!!! I need my virtual drug back!!!

[Witcher Wolf]

JenGe said:

I don't have time to read this just yet Wolf since I do not want to do a hurried job of it but as I told you by e-mail I'll get to it as soon as I can...

Damn, computer geeks holding my laptop hostage!!! I need my virtual drug back!!!

That's Ok Jen, fully understood. No one else has any comments? Mr Anderson, Libby? Stupon? (Anyone)

*watches a howling wind shift a tumbleweed along*

*sings* "I think I'm alone now," hehe

[JenGe]

ClericWolf said:

*sings* "I think I'm alone now," hehe

Yeah, I noticed that things gotten quite slow around here after that little incedent last week with the UV clip & Wimmer. I guess people finally realized they might be watched. It was slowing down a tad before that though as well.

Anyway, they guys at the shop FINALLY have all of the parts. They said I should have my computer back by mid week sometime. Not holding my breath though.

I do have Judas' to do before yours but then I'll get to Ashes right after. I usually try to pace the fan fiction between all the graphics work that I have to do for the site but since I'm almost a month behind now I'll just do these back to back once I have my laptop in my hand again.

Apologies for all of this Wolf!! - Jen

[Witcher Wolf]

;D

Good news re: Laptop! *paws crossed for ya*

[Libby]

*yawn*

Just got back from Barbados...totally chilled-out and utterly jet-lagged. ;D

Managed to read this...but will have to have a second go to follow our lupine Machiavelli's mind. Can hardly string a sentence together atm!

[Witcher Wolf]

Welcome back from hols Libby

I like that: lupine Machiavelli's mind ;D

[JenGe]

Wolf, just thought you'd like to know that I have my laptop back. I hope to have yours done by Friday...Sat. at the latest.

[Witcher Wolf]

;D Cooool

[JenGe]

I'm just sprinting out of here to catch a showing of The Interpreter and wanted you to know that I have the page finished and live...

www.freewebs.com/equilibrium-movie/Ashes4.htm

As others have stated this one really is brilliant Wolf. I really love stories with twists and you captured that nicely. I also like the reference to Shakespeare.

I'm very honored to have your work included on my site Wolf. Thank you!!

Jen

[Witcher Wolf]

Sweet job there Jen and thanks very much for the compliment. I'm kind of sad now it's over but also quite relieved it was a tricky undertaking to be honest, so much to live up to from the original.

[Libby]

Yes, I know it's Friday night, but I'm just about to collapse into bed...jet lag, new job...etc, but couldn't go before heaping praise and general gobsmackedness upon the final instalment of 'Ashes'.

Yay! (for starters) a 'happy' ending! After the horrors and utter disregard for our feelings (re: snuffing out the lives of the innocents...Wolf trait extraordinaire), Ezekial shows his true nature, Preston gets to be both 'ghost at the feast' and 'deus ex machina' all in one....AND he gets the girl!!

What can I say? *jumps up and down* (well, virtually since I'm knackered!)

[TheMacroprosopus]

Moth. Er. Fuck. Ing. Wow. Forgive the expletive, but...

Christ, man, that was amazing. Excellent twists. As Mawa said, I couldn't believe you did it. However, I was willing to accept it as fact. I was more than delighted when it all switched again. I quite enjoyed the whole scene with Kayne and Father. That was great.

Wickedly wonderful ending. Just...Wow.

[Witcher Wolf]

*takes another bow*

Thank you Libby, Stupon Nice to hear that the final instalment puts the capstone on the whole thing and finishes the short serial quite nicely.

As for the twists and turns, they often come when I least expect it - like with Wyrden. I'm happily writing an escape scene when a new character gate-crashes and demands her screen-time.

I was left going, now where in the nine hells did she come from?

But you'll have to read the first book to find out who she is, what she does and the various other twists and turns in the book.

*grins*

9,587 words and counting on the last part of Book One

[MisterAnderson]

ClericWolf said:

That's Ok Jen, fully understood. No one else has any comments? Mr Anderson, Libby? Stupon? (Anyone)

*watches a howling wind shift a tumbleweed along*

*sings* "I think I'm alone now," hehe

Sorry bloke, with finishing up my old job & starting the new one, I haven't had time to even scratch myself. I haven't read this yet as I want to take my time & I'm about to jet down to Sydney to see some friends for the weekend.

I promise I will get around to very soon as well as finishing my trailer for HoM....

[Witcher Wolf]

No worries mate, I know you'll get to it when you can ;D

[Beefie]

**Fan..bloody..tastic**, truly excellent stuff there Wolfie - as always.

That was a very enjoyable experience for me, reading all the parts of Ashes and seeing it all finally end 'happily'.

I have to admit I was a little worried there for a while....*killing Preston....surely not, not Wolfie*, but knowing what sort of a classic and original writer you are I thought yep, I think Wolf may just kill off the main character.... *But no he can't I keep telling myself*.... There was always that nagging feeling in the back of my mind - yes Wolfie would be prepared to do it.

I'm really glad you didn't though, I kept hoping that Preston would jump up from his grave and cry ...*boo*.

Right - now what. I'm really quite sad too now that it's finally over .....?? All the months waiting for the next installment and ...........

Once again though, great stuff, really enjoyed it.

Can I also add a big THANK YOU to you Wolf for inspiring me to write my own stuff, something which I never thought (and still think) I could ever acheive. Thanks Wolfie.

[Witcher Wolf]

Beefie, always be prepared to do something nasty to any character your readers like. Especially one like Preston, the effect it can have really does mark a good writer from a mediocre one.

We live through our emotions, if you have an emotional attachment to a place or character - when an author takes that and uses it, by putting them in danger or in my case killing them off - it can trigger a response so profound that you can drive a reader to tears.

I learned a long time ago, no one in my world whether it's a fan-fic world or one of my own, is truly safe.

Thanks for the comments/compliments, they really are able to brighten my day whenever I read them. Every author, professional or not likes to see how they affect their readers.

There might be another EQ fic from me, depending on how I feel, but for now I will have to concentrate on my book and of course updating Cross' story.

As for writing your own works, I believe that anyone is capable of creativity no matter what they think and I strive to bring it out of everyone I know.

Keep going

[MisterAnderson]

*clap clap clap*

What can I say my friend, you've done it again.

I have to concur with everyone elses surprise at "killing" John, but then being pleasantly surprised to find out it was all a ruse...the ol' bury-the-hero-and-pretend-he's-really-dead, trick hey?

Didn't see that one coming I can tell you!

[Witcher Wolf]

Thanks Mr. A, was well worth it. I am still kind of sad it's over now but the serial had to come to an end...it was a logical choice.

Almost coldly-mechanical in a Grammaton Cleric kind of way.