Gallade's Story Archive

  This I state, as I bait this communicate counterweight of the acclimate. Adequate? Concentrate, for this cultivate and fascinate the educate, such as the inmate may fabricate the automate’s mandate to checkmate the fate of humanity’s late great- Wait, why this I state? Simply create an overrate, overweight paperweight which may “-ate” on a silver plate, to punctuate the approximate reason you appreciate. I demonstrate, orchestrate if you will propagate, this statement which will radiate and re-create a moderate slate which may suffocate a reader’s palate for the easy to irritate may find this irrigate mate of the rhyming designate to be duplicate in a rate that may inebriate a reader, humiliate a writer, intimidate another as you investigate the infuriate incorporate that may impersonate and intoxicate a peaceful negotiate pontificate personifate by taking to devaluate and desecrate this affectionate overrate postulate of the tolerate syndicate of “-ate” that may strangulate a ru...

  June 7 th , 1887           They say you only recognize the value in what you have once you have lost it. The examples given are universal human treasures that have the chance to be revoked: Life, loved ones, the ability to walk, see, or touch. It is a reasonable claim, and it holds true even now.           Yet, I cannot imagine any man who spoke these words to expect to miss the promise of a simple doorway.           Doors are simple objects. They contain a few pieces of wood and metal designed to contain the air, temperature, and sound between rooms. They imply a sense of privacy.           But above all, they promise consistency. When you open a door for the first time, what lies on the other side may be a surprise. But the second time? The sixth? The seventieth? Each subsequent opening promis...

              The market was bustling and rustling, people turning every corner and browsing every shop. The stall-keepers calling to customers with their products in hand, each holding out various kinds of custom-made clothing and jewelry, from nice colorful skirts and hats to necklaces with patterns resembling the sun or the moon. I could feel the warm stone beneath my feet vibrate with the many stomps and steps of the crowd. I looked overhead and watched as the many Whalepilots sailed upon their companions overhead in slow, majestic formation for the festival-goers. One let out a long, light bellow which sounded charming to the ears. As I passed the many colorful stalls, I came across a wonderful display offering simple crystal-shaped gemstone necklaces, deeply enticed by one of rich velvet color. “That’s a rare one, that. Dug out o’ the Shrike Valley by a friend of mine not even two weeks back. Seems a treasure, but I’s not yet got...

 Like all tales that have been passed into legend, the story of the Thistle-tongued Dragon was one which few knew the details of, and none now live who remember it. In the age before ours, a giant dragon flew in from the East. The power of it's wings was incredible, it left an incredible gust in it's wake. It perched itself upon the towering castle in which the Lord Blackwell resided, and was said to have roared at the townsfolk. It was made clear what a powerful beast this was. It was clear how evil it was. And so the townsfolk tried to make peace with the beast. At first they tried sacrifice, but the dragon appeared offended. Next, they tried gifts. But the dragon did not accept. Finally, one brave soul dared to compliment the dragon. And at this, the dragon did not react. It remained quiet, and at peace. Soon, after showering the beast in compliments, it left. Spread it's broad, powerful wings, and flew off to the seventh peak in the eighteen spear mountains. Or ...

       The ocean storms today.     Each droplet struck the deck and windows like a step in a hastily performed dance. The pitter-patter of the porthole glass asking my attention to the vast ocean beyond.  A hundred billion droplets caste in a rich blue, acting as the cover to a hundred billion more. All while upon this what we call an ocean, vast and beautiful, I sit writing.     Barely a fraction of the world is visible to me on this ocean, which sits upon a single massive collection of rock and gas, hurtling through space around a continual explosive ball of light that heats this stone, which sits so far away it takes eight whole minutes for light itself to reach us, the fastest known thing ever measured by us, the species upon this planet, this incredible chanced stone.  And here I am, on this boat upon this ocean held by this planet flying around this star.     And not alone are we in this incredible space, as this star is ...