Fifoo

Ah, always the famous question of whether this or that is acceptable or not. Especially when we talk about this medium that is art... and when we are ourselves artists. Art has long been questioned without really satisfactorily answered, causing inevitable conflict between the representatives of a civilization called "right-thinking" and artist who wish to leave their "art" speak in any freedom, and that no censorship come the curb. What is it that freedom of expression? Should we leave everything to say or do? This notion of morality varies considerably across cultures and history. In France, the art of nude is generally very well accepted now. Remember the case in point, when some artists went against the current thoughts of their times, causing memorable scandals (eg. the Impressionists in the 19th century). But it is also what has advanced the status of art... Because the primary purpose of any art form it is not to convey a message? Of course, some form of censorship is sometimes necessary to handle overflow, especially if the only goal of the "artist" is trying to "make sensational" or to show things that are irrelevant to the artistic themes or ideas in lieu of its original purpose... to express feelings and emotions in an intelligent and respecful manner, and share them with an audience.

Sir Alfred Hitchcock was an English filmmaker and producer who pioneered many techniques in the suspense and psychological thriller genres, often regarded as the greatest British filmmaker.

Instantly, I just added the first chapter in the Druid's Garden. :wink:

--- Chap.1. Preparations --- Long ago, in the Ancient Kingdoms of Opal, to the imperial city of Istandiir, capital of the beautiful province of Achenlor, lived a young boy, Anaël. His dearest wish was to one day become a great knight, but he came from a humble family and lived in the shopping districts of the imperial city, and, if we followed the book of the ways and customs in force in the Realms, only persons of noble rank were eligible for this long-desired title, unless truly exceptional circumstances. His father, an upholsterer, earned his daily bread honestly, and worked hard to feed his entire family. Anaël had two older brothers, Arwin, and Ebell, who helped their father at work, the mother had died giving birth to her little sister, Yiniel. She had long curly blond hair, the color of the wheat ripened in the sun, as his mother once, she was the spitting image with his angel face. The similarity between Anaël and his little sister was such that one would have thought they were twins. Situated in a beautiful natural setting and surrounded by a lush emerald green forest, the City of Istandiir was magnificent. Considered the most beautiful jewels of the kingdom, it stood proudly to the sky and stretched majestically out of the side of a large fault rock, with, on his right, the Aden river jumping from the cliff top in multiple waterfalls, forming an impressive wall of water nearly a half mile away. This part of the untamed river plunged into an estuary located in the west, below the capital, formed by its junction with the Scinian Sea and its nice sandy beaches. Defended by an incredible succession of towering white stone walls and a network of fortified towers ending in points, its graceful architecture consisted of a mix of imperial and Elven style. Huge arches stylized and finely decorated, where flocks of passerines flew *, completed the gather and consolidate everything, forming a beautiful maze made of stone, marble, stained glass and shrubs to complete this great work. The districts which made up the entire city spread over several levels, according to a specific hierarchical order, depending on the prominence and social situation of its inhabitants. They started from the bottom of the cliff, by a series of terraced buildings, to finish in points with the high towers of the Imperial Palace, which peaked on the top. Not far from the palace and its private gardens, reserved to the Court of the Emperor and Empress, was a splendid green park where it was good to stroll in any hour of the day, or even to wander randomly in the night to satisfy a bit more romantic encounters. Then came, surrounding the park of their inescapable presence, the city's universities and worship, the main market square with its shops, and finally, the great arena for games and entertainment. It was good to live in this wonderful city, and the entire population was happy to share this privilege daily. The Elves and the Imperials had finally learned to live together in harmony and peace, and such as great builders, they were able to enjoy each other and benefit from their respective cultures, so different but oh so complementary. The capital of Istandiir became a symbol of the peaceful co-existence of the two races. Oh sure, it has not always been peaceful in the Realms. It took a lot of time, determination and sacrifice to achieve this result, and go through so much suffering, too. There have been many periods of unrest, when Opal, in flames, was a land where the Lords of Old Provinces were fighting among themselves to extend their conquests and consolidate their political power. Then came the Great Wars of Vorian **, the darkest period in the history of Opal. That was more than 2000 years, while the men began to found their empire, uniting their powerful armies and seeking new lands and riches to exploit, in order to quench their thirst for expansion and thus to impose their domination over other peoples of the Ancient Lands. They found themselves facing a fierce and bitter opponent who initially did not interfere, or only very little, about the affairs of human civilization, only sporadically engaged in trade with the emerging Empire, except with the adventurers hungry for sensational and... reckless enough... or so foolish as to dare to approach them. These people full of mysteries, who have developed their culture at a high and sophisticated level, were exceptional fighters, wielding weapons and magic to perfection. We called them the peoples of the Original Earth, Elves. Today, survive only a few traces and vestiges of these wars, the only witnesses to this troubled period, scattered here and there, in countries almost forgotten or erased from the memory of Men. And nobody - not even the Elves, dares to mention, or even whisper the names of these ancient cities, castles in ruins, lost sanctuaries, sacred places, or profane graves, which still exist, places full of mysteries and lost forever, bearing the traces of ancient civilizations, with so much sacrifice, suffering and bloodshed. Yes, no one, in all Kingdoms of Opal, dares to speak for fear of arousing a vengeful spirit, malefic guardian, or other custodian of evil coming from the depths of Ages. But let us leave aside the bad memories and ghosts from the past and let us look at the events here because, on this day, the concerns of residents of Opal were all other... The family home of Anaël was facing south, neither too far nor too near the waterfalls of the river Aden, which allowed to admire them without being bothered by their rumblings. And when the sun was setting on the horizon, ending his round to the sea, everyone could enjoy the magnificent view from the terrace garden, surrounded by lawns and flower beds. Anaël loved coming here, because the view there was exceptional. He missed no opportunity to come and lean against the railing, to contemplate the work of this so generous nature that he worshiped, and so to breathe clean air, subtle blend of woody fragrances and scented spray changing by the softness of the seasons. Large millennia trees swayed lazily in the breeze, spreading their branches and leaves to the blue sky, iridescent by hours, a typical quality of Opal. These ancient guardians served as a refuge for a multitude of colorful birds that sang and flew towards the clouds, sometimes by whole bands, in a constant movement back and forth. Large waterfalls were dancing on the cliff, twirling on the rocks as they met them, jumping from one to another to break out in sheaves like a firework, forming clouds of tiny droplets which unfurled in the air to the rhythm of the light wind, and came to land near the boy, like the caress of a loving mother, leaving a cooling sensation on his hands and face. Air, water, mineral and vegetable mingled subtly, yet unified, rocked to the rhythm of a beautiful symphony. Anaël turned around, happy to observe the beautiful city of which he was the special guest, and where he was born fifteen years ago that. He was proud of this town and also the family home where he lived: a beautiful house that belonged to his family for generations, built when the first imperial merchants came to settle in Istandiir, marking the beginning of unification with the Elvish civilization. The house was located in the shopping districts, halfway between the districts of Port and Lower Town, and the richest neighborhoods of the Upper City, which could be considered beneficial because it allowed easy access to all parts of the capital, without having to cross over its entire length. Picturesque half-timbered house in imperial style, partly adjacent to the rockface - which gave it an undeniable style, it was built on three floors, neither too large nor too small and pleasant, warm and functional. From his position, from the terrace, the young boy could see his father's workshop, which was opposite a large courtyard between the two buildings. This green space landscaped gardens were dedicated to both play and relaxation, thus making the whole family delight, but also that of passersby stroll from there, according to their outings... After being steeped in images and sensations of the world that Mother Nature has been kind enough to offer him, Anaël focused on another task, as important as the previous one, and oh how inspiring: unsheathe his fabulous wooden sword, and go slay the way the first beggar who introduces himself, and dare him to block the road leading from the terrace to the interior of Family Home - an area hitherto untouched, as fiercely and valiantly defended by the impetuous boy. Only the brothers "The Tub" and "Thumper" a very dangerous pair of great two-legged creatures, have dared and still dare to oppose him, leaving the outcome of the battle quite uncertain. But the worst, most terrible of all, as yet unbeaten so far, was ... "The Great Distracted"! Anaël was helpless in this top-notch fighter. Really, these three gave him much trouble. But, shh! The mere mention of their names made them appear. So ... Caution! - "Anaël!"... (Here they are!)... "Anaël! Finally you're here!"... (Alert!)... "Father is looking for you everywhere!" worried Arwin and Ebell, the two elder brothers. - "I..." (Attack!)... "I'm coming!"... (At the enemy!!) - "Anaël! What were you doing during all that time spent outside! " roared a stentorian voice. - "I..." (The Great Distracted!!)... "Forgive me, Father." - "Come on, Anaël! Hurry up! It almost seems that you forgot what day it is!" said the father with a firm and authoritative voice, which was rather unusual for him. This man, known for his magnanimous and gracious nature, showed clear signs of impatience. The tension was palpable. Something special was happening, because in normal times, he used more tact in how to educate his four children: "It is time to prepare! And therefore let your brothers alone with your wooden sword, Anaël! You'll end up hurting you with that! " - "All right, Father." Anaël nodded, leaving, but against the heart, his favorite toy at the foot of his bed. Authoritarian father's face showed the concern as and as time progressed. But the feverish atmosphere that hung in the family home was tinted with joy, because it was THE big day. All these great people ran in all directions while they were busy, going up and down the large wooden staircase leading to upstairs, in a back and forth move on the edge of hysteria - but controlled hysteria, of course, for a family accustomed to more tranquillity in other circumstances. The family ended to prepare, while not skimping on a concerted effort. - "Daddy, Yiniel still put her dress on backwards." growled a voice of a boy, lost in all this tumult. - "I-did-it-on-purpoz'!." laughed the little sister, while hopping like a little chip that could not keep up. - "Me, I can not find my shoes..." worried Anaël. - "You do not make it easy task, my kids," said the father, "go help your little sister!" Then, while fixing his collar, doing his best to rule a semblance of order: "Come, it's time to go, we'll be late! Ah, if only your mother was there to help..." - "But, father?" asked Arwin, the eldest child. - "Yes, What's up. Something wrong?" said the father, raising his eyebrows, looked surprised. - "You put your work shoes on!?" noted Ebell, very puzzled, pointing his finger toward the object in question. All eyes were fixed on the anatomy in question. Nobody moved, it was as if time had stopped, the space of one second. But the silence was soon broken by the mocking laughter of children, now echoing throughout the household. The father, surprised, remained banned. - "Egad! You're right, kids!" he said with undisguised amazement, staring at his feet. Then her face ornamented with a broad smile: "What I'm distracted, anyway..." The father hastened to complete his work by rising shiny boots, a black real looker, and, in the opinion of all, more suited to keeping the harmony of its great days. Satisfied with the result, he continued: - "That's better now! Are you ready to go?" The children answered all together, in insisting on the length of syllables: - "Yeees! We are reaaady!" - "So, if you do not mind: forward!" Then, pulling his hat well back feathers on his head: "And the last to cross the threshold of the door... will return the dishes!" Motivated by this challenge a bit improvised, the children tumbled in the main room, only too happy to take this opportunity! They crossed it in one go, and somehow crossed the threshold of the door, under the amused gaze of their father, who remained a little behind - on a voluntary basis, as already guaranteed to be the lucky winner. And after all these efforts, which still made sure to close the door behind them, the little band, spirited, was finally able to survey the levels of the lower city, by holding hands and singing of joyous choruses loudly. The crowd outside thronged the narrow streets that crossed the city, weaving, trying to find the best way to avoid large aisles crowded with people. To see them like that, they were so much so that, seen from above, one could imagine having to deal with a beleaguered anthill, all excited by the arrival of some malevolent giant relentlessly teasing it with his stick. The entire population was eager to win the place where the event took place in the upper part of the city... --- (*) Passerine, a genus of sparrow birds of the New World. (**) Vorian Pass, located between the highest mountains of the Kingdom of Opal, the only gateway between the Ancient Valley of Aden, north-east, and the Original Land, south of Opal. Was the scene of the bloodiest battles during major wars, hundreds and hundreds of thousands died there, leaving, according to legend, the land forever imbued with the blood of the brave. .../...

Just cut these two sentences at the beginning and we are in suspense worthy of Hitchcock's best... :thumbsup:

I totally agree with you, Herculine. Maharg gives a great contribution in the Druid's Garden.

Simply epic and... oops! have forgot to put my vote on, that's done now. :thumbsup:

Thanks! Fifoo's is better though, his had a lot of feeling behind it. And frankly, you put me in an embarrassing situation by putting my modesty to the test. Believe me your poem is very good and Herculine is right to emphasize.

Frankly, I have no idea. Everything is a question of whether we have the possibility to use the concept as it is not intended for profit. Perhaps fair use in a derivative work could be a possibility, for being more precise. :unsure:

Another great story, Keanumoreira, nice to see that you are a fan of Rapture. I've never played the game but saw some trailers about it: simply mind-blowing. In addition, a story emerged from the seabed, that's something that demands my attention. :woot:

Keanumoreira, thank you, your comments go straight to the heart, and it is good to receive such ones. I will try to ensure not to disappoint you, for the respect I owe you, all of you, because the Druid's Garden is a beautiful and welcoming place which really deserves attention. Another two small verses to complete in translation and... the verdict will be. :sleep:

Welcome back, Little Fairy! :teehee: I warmly thank you both for your very nice messages of encouragement. And I am truly honored by your presence. The first chapter will be released soon, a few touches to give on the translation. I just revamped the prologue because it does not satisfy me fully. I've attached a piece of music in the spoiler to improve the atmosphere. You can then listen and enjoy it at your leisure, before, during, or after reading the story. :happy:

Here's a little poem of my own making, unfortunately, the rhymes do not work in translating from French into English, so I did not touch anything to keep the spirit of the poem. The French version is included in the spoiler. Enjoy reading. Why... Why to run in all directions... I see people fighting against the wind, All this to gain even more money. They have forgotten what it means to live, Blinded by so many ambitions and envy. Poet, tell them what you think about... Why do they always seek to destroy... Forgetting all what the sages had in memory And those beautiful things of man and history. They reject everything that gave them the childhood, Caring little about the extent of their spending. Builder, tell them about how to build... Why can not they grasp the meaning... They want the answers without asking any question Whether they are wrong or if they are right. I see them getting lost in all these corridors Who leads them to places so illusory. Wise man, tell them what you think about... Fifoo - "Why" 06/28/10.

I think we can go further in defining the words "Today is a good day to die". For this, we can learn from epics in which we find the myth of the hero. A hero (or, for women, a heroine) is a real or fictional history of human mythology or art, whose high-facts worth sung his gesture. Depending on the culture, the hero is a demigod, a legendary figure, an ideal, a superman or simply a courageous person, giving freely of themselves. The role of the hero is between metaphysical aspiration, almost religious, to exceed the human condition, including a physical point of view and from the more realistic aspiration to work for the good of the community, for a morally point. The epic hero. The epic hero in the epics is one knight gifted with superhuman strength, able to endure all kinds of physical or mental suffering. Copy of his fidelity to his lord, he was elected for his perfection and still represents a community whose existence is at stake, community struggling and suffering, to defeat the purpose. God's strength is almost always added to his assistance. Death is the most moving moment of the story and contains a lesson driven by the vision of religious and feudal society: the suffering and death are noble when they are incurred for God and the sovereign. Thus the public, both chivalrous and popular, is called the major mass emotions and religious.

What infinite pleasure than to revel in your stories, Maharg67, always creative, but it demands no less from one of the best like you. Adding images is a very nice addition to the pleasure of our eyes. :thumbsup:

Thank you, Maharg67, your words warm my heart, especially coming from someone used to write, do not hesitate to give your opinion as and as the story unfolds, it is still in a state of whole project, but I hope to go as best I can, and uh ... this is the first time I try to write a story as vast ... perhaps a dozen chapters ahead in the bag. :sweat:

At a Little Fairy, who knows all the magic she will ever need. THE REALMS OF OPAL. Anaël of Istandiir, Knight of Achenlor. --- Prologue --- "Anaël... Anaël..." The voice seemed to come from afar, as if trying painfully to clear a path out of the thick fog that enveloped her. It was a barely audible voice, female, unreal, and its echo rang in my ears like a song out of nowhere, like an insistent melody, almost annoying. "ANAËL!" I managed to barely open my eyes ... My eyelids were heavy and refused to obey my will, as if I had emerged from a too-long sleep. My mind still numb had trouble recover from this state of semi-consciousness, as in a dream, a sweet lethargy that we wouldn't want to leave for anything in the world. I felt that my whole being floated in a mist, impalpable, surrounding me with its ethereal cloak. "ANAËL!" If only that voice could be silent and leave me in peace... finally. That voice... That voice as sweet and pure as a pearl of dew, as a crystalline melody... For all the Saints Opal! My mind, in a burst of survival, now acknowledged it: "EYLEEN! Eyleen, My Sweet!" The awakening was brutal... The blizzard raged around me, screaming, whistling, like an angry beast, it hit me the face of its onslaught. My whole body ached, and refused to yield to my desire to move, not even a little finger. And I was there, lying in the snow, powerless, face bruised, my body pressed against the ground, on the flank of the inhospitable mountain. Thin streams of blood flowed from my nose, my ears, and drew furrows of red on the snowpack. The arms outstretched, like a disjointed puppet, I was unable to get up, the cold and snow burned my hands and face. I was exhausted, wearied by so many efforts to finally get there... What a glorious end, Knight of Achenlor! After so many struggles and victories, and after reading through so many kingdoms and strange lands... Now hunger and thirst gnawing my guts and darkened my mind. Damn! I'm so close... I should not give up, not now! The icy wind, unruffled, continued his work of undermining, blowing in gusts strongly. He rushed into the lower parts of my body bruised, her painful bites inflicted upon me deep in my flesh. Spinning, swaying, insinuating itself through the smallest channels offered by my clothes torn, worn out and laminated by mistreatment by time and weather. He ruthlessly curled around my body, tightening the stranglehold of its deadly embrace, like a snake hungry and thirsty for blood. Insidiously seeking to extinguish the little heat that remained in me, that little spark of life, as if to stifle its prey, waiting to complete its work. I felt his icy bites, insistent, like fire needles planted here and there, in every inch of my flesh in agony. And soon I was going to die by so many tortures, if I could not find the strength to fight again and again! Eyleen, sweet Eyleen, my little fairy... I am so far from you, and so close now, because I hear your voice. May she guide me to you, my Love... Gathering the last strength I had left, I managed to crawl painfully to the summit of this mountain, the price of a superhuman effort, knowing that my goal was on the other side of the slope there, in plain verdant Garden of the Druids. I lifted the head, tears of pain streaming from my eyes and my vision blurred, and I could not help shouting her name all of my remaining strength: "EYLEEN!" The trembling arm, turned towards my destiny, I remembered every episodes of my life, such as image scrolling at top speed to someone about to cross the threshold, in the limbo of the afterlife, to the Promised Land... .../...

I would like to thank everyone who helped me in this project and without whom this story would not have happened, my little brother who was my first drive, his partner who made the effort to help in the translation of this text, my friends who supported me through, they are part of my family, around me, or the community of Nexus. A warm thank you to all enthusiasts who share their stories in the Druid's Garden... A special thought for two wonderful people who inspired me to try my hand at writing, dezdimona and Herculine, and as well as some Little Fairy without whom this story would never have emerged... I miss you terribly. Much love... Fifoo. Ps. I've attached a piece of music in the spoiler to improve the atmosphere of each chapters. You can then listen and enjoy it at your leisure, before, during, or after reading the story. :happy:

Hmm, my favorite activity: hunting for Earthlings, while disguised as... a bunny... Ack, Ack!

First I wanted to thank you all for your comments on the subject... Myrmaad, to raise the ambiguous issue of interpretation of the term "weak". Grannywils, for your candor. Slygothmog, for being the last Knight of modern times. Trandoshan, your words are always helpful in any debates. Coous, to remain neutral on the subject, the day will come when choices are to do in life, so I hope you make the right when it presents itself to you. SilverDNA, for quoting the Milgram experiment. Balagor, to keep his "old hippie" state of mind, and especially more than anything else, do not change, stay as you are! Aurielius, for quoting Martin Luther King, the choice of this quote is perfect to illustrate the debate. And finally, Burnagirl, for bringing his disturbing evidence about what may be the conditions in which we see the good and bad, truth or lie... Indeed, everything is a question of our own ability to perceive and understand the world around us, about the complexity of reality and how we live or have the desire to live. Another interesting example is what might be called altruism animal. In "The Game of Death", a documentary by Christophe Nick, 80% of the participants issued electroshock. Similar experiments were conducted with such animals. The conclusions are different. This is the case of rhesus monkeys. In an experiment conducted in 1964, 80% of the monkeys stopped operating the chain of food delivered to them when they saw it was inflicting an electric shock to one of them. They preferred to go hungry for several days. Same with rats, they have stopped eating rather than to hurt another. In his book, "The Age of Empathy", Frans de Wall, an expert on primates, shows that animals suffer to see one of their suffering... He tells how the heart of a female goose is accelerating when the male is attacked by another goose. Some animals have the same concern for the well-being of another species in a zoo, a Bengal tigress fed piglets, a bonobo monkey, a bird has flown concussed top of a tree to steal it again. Compassion, which both candidates failed to Game of Death, has its roots in evolution long ago, a period prior to the onset of the human species. Furthermore it is regrettable that, by diverting most unfortunate, the emission of France 2 has quickly exonerated "electrocutors" their responsibility to focus the shot on television. Gladiators of the Coliseum, the slaughter of Verdun, the torturers of Abu Ghraib to those Srebrenica, people must look the truth in the face: inhumanity is as old as man. To each of us to act conscientiously. :wink:

1 - You heard a voice, Sarya?

What's really insane is this video... and me for loving it! *bwap* Warning, it's... insane!

Ban MHM for thinking-out-loud :laugh:

4 - a call of nature, somehow :happy: