Author of Peace

Chapter 1 - Uprooted

Black clouds circled above the two ships and churning waves slammed against their sides. The smell of rain intoxicated the black-haired captain, the anticipation of battle sent chills up his spine. Pupils dilated, he raises his sword towards his opponent.

"Give 'em hell, lads! Either we sink them, or die tryin'!"
Cannonfire broke out between the opposing forces, each shot rivaling the thunder in loudness. They traded blows, the sheer force of each hit was enough to send some of the men tumbling into the ocean. All the while, the waters continued to grow more fierce, and the wind whipped up something awful.
"Captain, we've lost most of our firepower, we can't continue like this!"
Several of the cannons lay as nothing more than shredded iron on the deck. Not only that, but the captain could hear his men frantically patching up holes below. He had to do something, and fast.
"Get me closer to that ship!"
"Are you certain, sir?"
"As I live and breathe!"
As the first mate took the wheel, the captain scaled the mast of the ship, fighting for balance against the violent sea. Just as he reached the top, disaster in the form of a cannonball struck, decimating the mast. With a heavy groan, it began to topple, and the captain with it. The other ship was so close...
With no other options or time to spare, the captain held fast to a rope, cut it and leapt! And then...

"And then?"
"You'll just have to find out next time."
A collective "Awwwwww" rang out from the group of children.

"You always do this to us, Tohl. It's not fair!" cried a little boy.
"Yeah, I wanna know what happens next!" A little girl shouted.

"That's good, it's called a cliffhanger for a reason."
The dark-skinned young man hopped off the fountain, shutting the book and tucking it under his arm. The children began to disperse from the garden, chatting amongst themselves as they went. A satisfied smile stretched across Tohl's face as he watched them go.

"Oi, Tohl!"
He turned around to the sight of a tall, bulky man approaching him.
"I tell ya, I overheard some of that, mate. You tell one hell of a story, always 'ave."
The man extends his hand out, and Tohl takes it, receiving a very firm handshake. It took a lot not to wince, the guy had a grip.

"I appreciate the compliment, it's nothing, really."
"Ah, no need to be so humble, pal. But enough o' that. Lissa wanted me to fetch ya, something new arrived in the shop and she wants you to see it first."
"I'll head right over, thanks for the heads up."

The man nods and Tohl makes his way out of the garden, heading up to the shop at the top of the hill. Opening the doors, the familiar smell of ink and paper filled his nostrils; the heat of the hearth and the same black cat sleeping by it warmed both body and heart.

"Ah, there you are! I got something that should help you with your next story."
The portly woman reached into her apron pocket, placing several vials of ink on the counter. Tohl picked up a vial and swirled it around; it didn't seem any different than the ink he already used. Then, the woman places a cotton ball next to the ink.

"You can erase this ink. Lord knows how often you complain of writing too fast and making mistakes.
"Where did you get something like this?"
"Nevermind that, but look, you've probably spent more on whiteout than you have on food at times, so this should save you some hassle."
"Does this mean the ink is weaker? I'd hate to accidentally undo my work."
"Worry not, only that ball there can erase the ink."

"Oh, then that's perfect! Thank you, Lissa. I appreciate this."

Goods safely in his satchel, Tohl makes his way to his home in the village. His house stands alone on a hill overlooking the lake at the bottom of the valley, the view of the surrounding mountains serving as inspiration for Tohl's stories. Once inside, he proceeded up the stairs, each step groaning with age. Parting the curtains in his bedroom revealed the evening sun setting over the shimmering lake. The orange-reddish light flooded the room, the setting sun reflecting over the surface of the water.

It was the perfect conditions for writing, and so Tohl wrote. Hours upon hours he spent in the same old wooden chair, pen dancing across the pages of the bulky leather book.

THUD