well i was telling Eth earlier that i was writing a story and in case he did not believe me here is a bit of it.

Hassin continued up the hill that was near the skipper river. He walked with a stride that implied strength. The sun was shimmering; it caught his armor at the tips of his pointed, gold trimmed guards. The sun slowly moved across his red and golden breastplate all the way down to his yellow-flecked boots. At first glance a viewer would not see the finer details of his armor. Around the wrist was a silver gauntlet it was trimmed with the finest minerals in the land. He continued up the hill. As he reached the top he looked upon his kingdom. To the west was the mighty waterfall which explained why it was called Harisha Minask this meant the “drowned phoenix” to the east loomed the Hontu mountain range. To the south was the “sharista fashi” or shimmering forest, to the north was the Haratis or “haunted plains”. Not much was know about this place, the haunted plains, all that was really known was that no one had returned alive from that region.
Hassin was a very powerful Warrior, for he had been trained by the best and knew that he could defeat all except the gods. There were many men, women, and children looking upon him with admiration and awe. He felt the thrill of being a person envied. He turned his gaze and like a hawk he looked at the shimmering palace surrounded by thousands of men and manipulators alike. The men, with their brown messy hair, always flaunting their custom created weapons, were continuing on the never-ending lap around the palace of the Emperor. “The Emperor.” Hassin remembered with hate and something much worse. The worst person ever to exist, Pointlessly displaying his power by daily executions and raids on his own villages, He did all these indignant acts with a smile and flourish of his fine, dry marked, hands. If there was anyone he hated it was the Ruler of this land of havoc known as Saze. He returned his gaze to his subjects; something caught his eye like a shimmering, silver, fog. He squinted closer and his first suspicion was confirmed. He then thought to himself, “Ha! what a fool.” Then with the quickness of a hawk he sprung down his hill. He knew, as fast as a rushing bull, he could defeat his opponent, a weakling, a foolish Trojan. This Trojan had violated the vow to never wield a weapon in front of the shimmering warrior’s hill. Hassin was upon his opponent and swung his blazing weapon three times. Seconds later the foolish Trojan was nothing but a shimmering ghost in the air. Hassin continued upon his way while. His followers were swarmed around him near, but not quite touching. They formed a Semi circle covering Hassin’s back. He looked about his mighty kingdom, which had remained in peace for many years.
Something was nagging in Hassin’s head, something did not seem right about this particular walk. Suddenly he knew, spinning around he screamed, “Traitorous bastards! Die!” He spun his shield around just in time to block five of the traitors’ attacks. He had known something was going to happen the walk had just been to perfect. Then, like the warrior he was, he began to fight the traitors. He felt nothing but purest rage for this treachery. Suddenly around Hassin a giant, sparking, blood red circle appeared from his weapon. The Traitors were dead before they could tell what had happened. Hassin grinned to himself; he had just proven how powerful he was for the followers left unharmed. He continued upon the weather beaten trail, the gravel was crackling under his dried cowhide boots as he entered his forest.



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