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| Topic Started: Mar 6 2010, 05:07 AM (165 Views) | |
| Forge | Mar 6 2010, 05:07 AM Post #1 |
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February 18 3:15 pm The ax rose into the air in a perfect arc and then slammed down quickly to cleave the block of wood in two. Forge had chopped wood for a few minutes and accumulated a nice pile of manageable timbers. The White King pulled the collar up on his jacket and the wool collar rubbed the base of his neck. He loaded his arms with the wood and carried the pile and the ax back to Naze’s cabin where he stacked the wood next to the cast iron heating stove. Naze was in the kitchen frying slices of ham on a stove that was older than he was, if that was possible. Forge had returned to the reservation in Montana two days before. The drive from the airport in the rented Jeep from Billings was enjoyable. It was quiet and the snow covered terrain was beautiful. He was returning to a place he had belonged to before he was the White King or even “Captain Forge” of the US Army. He was returning to be simply Jonathon Silvercloud. The town of Lame Deer had grown in the years that Forge had been away but the reservation had remained much the same. The areas of the reservation that were well kept looked nice while the ragged areas looked like they could use a lot of work. The Maker drove the Jeep around for a while just taking in the sites and remembering his youth. He cracked a smile as he thought about how much he had enjoyed driving around in the old Jeep had had fixed up. It was the first big machine he had fixed and once he laid down the tools it ran better than it ever had before. Forge had pulled the rental Jeep up to his parents’ house and his heart sank. It looked like the place hadn’t been maintained in years. The porch was rotten and several of the windows had broken. Parts of the roof were even crumbling inward. Forge stepped from the vehicle to assess the damage. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “They haven’t lived here for almost fifteen years,” a voice called out. Forge was surprised to hear someone speak to him but he knew the voice. He would never forget the voice. He whirled around to find his old mentor Naze coming from around the dilapidated shed. He had aged but he still looked much the same. Naze’s once shining black hair had become as white as the snow around them. “I knew you would return. I saw it in a dream,” he replied. The White King felt more joy than he had anticipated. He was overwhelmed almost. He was glad to see that Naze was alive but also felt a great shame in the way that he had left the reservation over twenty years ago. Forge felt he should apologize and tell Naze so much all at once but all he could muster was, “It’s good to see you.” Their first day together they didn’t speak very much. The air was still strained but Forge spent much of his time helping the elderly mentor with chores around his cabin. Naze didn’t have as much respect with the tribe as he used to have and wasn’t taken care of in his old age. Naze was getting along fine but he didn’t have his full potential anymore. Forge helped split a lot of wood and made some of the more strenuous repairs around the cabin. On the second day they began to talk more. Forge related to Naze more about his life and what had happened to him since he left the reservation. Forge had been a disabled veteran and now become a very wealthy businessman. Naze had said that he was glad to see Forge do well for himself, but he never said he was proud and Forge had picked up on that fact. Naze set a plate of food for each of them on the table and poured them both a glass of milk. Forge came over and sat across from his mentor. They ate the ham and beans silently for a few moments and then Naze broke the silence. “Why is it that you came back after all these years, Jonathon?” Forge put down his fork and took a drink of milk. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked for the words. “For a long time, several months, I’ve been feeling different. It isn’t easy to put into words,” Jonathon explained. “I’ve been stretched thin. There has been a lot of death and I know I must help to keep things under control. I’m worried for my people.” “You don’t mean your People, do you?” Naze asked causing Forge to flinch slightly. Naze folded his withered hands on the edge of the table. “Your life is complicated. You have taken the weight of the world on your shoulders and muddled everything in your mind but it is your heart that knows how to cure you. It led you here to where you belong,” Naze said. “I don’t know about…” Forge began but Naze continued gently. “The heart always knows. It is tied to destiny,” Naze replied. “If you listen to your heart you will know why you are here. Only then can you admit the truth.” Forge took a deep breath through his nostrils filling his lungs. He leaned backward against his chair and exhaled slowly. After twenty-some-odd years of running had Forge really come back to Montana for this? Was he willing to make a new commitment? He wasn’t some impressionable boy any more. He was a grown man who had made enough mistakes to know when something seemed foolish from the get-go. Only didn’t seem entirely foolish. It had felt perfectly right at one point. “I’ve come home to pick up where I left off,” Forge said almost a little unsure. Naze nodded slowly. “Tonight, we will begin what we ended long ago,” the old man answered. ((Here is what I imagined Naze to look like. Chief Dan George)) |
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| Forge | Mar 23 2010, 12:33 AM Post #2 |
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Unregistered
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Several hours later Forge sat on the floor of Naze’s cabin stripped to the waist. The meager furniture had been pushed and stacked against the wall to afford them more room, though the ceremony they were going to perform didn’t require much space. Forge almost couldn’t believe that he had come back to what he had left so many years ago. The process was familiar. At one point Forge had memorized the ins and outs of the rites as a young man but time had eroded the memory away and replaced it with other things; things of steel and gears as well as ledgers and earnings. Naze had carefully applied the paint and sang the chants that had been passed down through the ages. The pungent odor of the smoke hung in the air but it drafted up and out of the sliding opening in the cabin’s roof. It was placed there for just such an occasion. Forge chanted along with Naze, his mentor. At first, he felt ridiculous but it was coming back to him, although rather slowly. “You have too many ties to the physical realm. You must not let them weigh your mind, your heart,” Naze instructed. The Cheyenne remembered practicing such an exercise when he was younger. He would have to open his mind and allow the visions to come. It still remained difficult because Forge didn’t fully believe it. He was no longer an impressionable child to blindly follow the teachings of an old man but he saw no other alternative. Forge had felt so dissociative in the past few months, that nothing made any sense he had talked himself into believing that the only course of action was to return to Montana and take part of this ancient ritual. Naze kneeled down once more and waved the smoke from the smoldering wad of herbs toward his student. “You must open yourself. You are the Chosen One of His People. It is your duty,” he said. Forge inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly. He imagined his body melting like wax and seeping through the floorboards and then into the hard soil beneath. He flowed deeper into the earth but instead of finding more darkness a growing light was found. It was brighter than the sun and growing closer until Forge was completely consumed. Being in the light was like floating in the sea. Forge was on his back adrift in a vast expanse of white. There were no landmarks or any horizon in sight. He was anywhere and nowhere as well. It wasn’t as joyous as Forge had expected. It was isolation. Suddenly, in all directions at once, a darkness grew in what could be considered the horizon. It raced forward as it grew and shot toward Forge’s location. The dark enveloped the white until it was right upon Forge. It licked at his skin and gripped him like tar. The Maker struggled but was pulled under as if by quicksand. A cruel voice came from the darkness. “How does it feel?” the voice asked. “What? What are you talking about!” Forge demanded. “Where is Naze?” Out of the darkness Naze appeared before his student. “Are you looking for me?” he asked. Forge’s brow knit in confusion. Naze’s body then dissolved into dust and blew away leaving only a shadow behind. “You should see the look on your face, boy,” the voice said. “You really aren’t good with people are you? If I was a machine you’d have figured it out by now. Let me give you a hint; Maxie was my dog for four months and did tricks when I whistled.” “Shadow King,” Forge sneered as he struggled for control though in the back of his mind he knew that if he was seeing the Shadow King face to face that it was already too late for him. “You do understand how grave your situation is, after all,” the menace said with mock sympathy. “I’m almost sad the game is over, I have to admit.” “What game have you been playing with the Hellfire Club, monster? Is this some kind of contingency plan of revenge of Fisk’s?” Forge yelled. “Fisk? Silly little Maker, this is all about you and me. I’ve been goading you since that mess with Apocalypse,” Shadow King explained. “When you took the Eye of Horus I was just over your shoulder nudging you along, driving you to the point of obsession. Nur’s contraption was intricate and those designs were built so that they would be consuming to a person with your talents but for the most part when you started to regain a little control, I nudged you right back into investigating the machine.” Shadow King drifted around Forge in the darkness within his mind. He was taunting the Cheyenne and enjoying every moment of it. “I could have taken you at any moment. Your mind is open and ripe for the picking for even the most amateur telepath. I wanted to savor your agony. Finally, you decided to come here and I took hold of that old man you hold so dear. There was no need for you to go through that stupid ritual. You might as well have been sleepwalking.” “The Club is never going to let you get away with this! They’ll tear into this realm and rip you to pieces,” Forge threatened. “I’ve heard that song before. You and that silly club. You’re not as untouchable as you think,” Shadow King said and then put on a voice that was sickeningly chipper. “Now that I have you, let’s not waste any time, shall we? What do I want to invent?” Shadow King now had the reigns of Forge’s body. He rose from the cross legged position in the floor. He looked down to the unconscious body of Naze, the miserable old fool. Shadow King now had access to Forge’s inventive mutant powers. When the menace coupled that power with the White King’s knowledge gleaned from the Eye of Horus, he knew there would be no stopping him. “Maker, you’re going to help me make history.” |
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7:26 PM Jul 11