The writer in me states that my muse have not really died down. In fact, it screamed at me; especially when i started browsing old articles and novels i've written these past few years. My favourite among all was a story i wrote titled, 'In The Blood'. It's not all gory and dark as the title projects. Infact, it's just about a family, the Royals, who are affliated with this secret brotherhood called Skulls and Bones. Even though it's my own writing i'm reading back, i find the story line quite heart warming really.

But it does takes skill.

And hours and hours of neverending research to get the myth and the fiction in the brotherhood. And since i'm lazy to blog anything more down (you sure my muse isn't gone yet?), i'll grabbed the prologue of that story. Just an excerpt from the beginning. Just to pull you through some myth and legend. And since everyone's stories deserved to be told, this is theirs.

IN THE BLOOD

PROLOGUE

Night had settled over most of London.

It’s infamous fog hung low on the particularly warm evening of February the 18th. All the sleepy little neighbourhoods, nestled in the mist of the evening, seemed to almost fall asleep, as their inhabitants slowly dimmed the lights in exchange for some peaceful slumber. All in all, it was a quiet evening, as most evenings usually were in the suburbs of the city.

Inside a huge house, a low rumbling continuous humming was heard. The house, known more commonly to the people in the neighbourhood as the Tomb, had its dark curtains drawn down on almost every corner. If someone were to press their ears close to the large oak door, they would realize that the low humming was actually voices of people in unison; something like a choir. Except, this was no ordinary choir. It was a choir – formed by a group of people; a brotherhood that spells Power with a capital ‘P’.

About not more than twenty people were gathered in the living room of the Tomb. All of them – men and women – were in similar hooded cloaks and masks. They were chanting or rather, more like reciting an initiation rite. As the chanting continued, a light-brown haired guy emerged from his room. He stared for a moment at the masked figures before his eyes darted to the side of the room, where his brother was seated, watching the hooded figures without blinking.

The guy glared at his brother, narrowed his eyes slightly and continued his predominant stare on his brother. Two seconds later, his brother got up from the seat, walked over to where the hooded figures were standing, and starting cursing all of them at the top of his voice. The chanting stopped. As though in trance, his brother clasped his mouth and glanced around in fear. “I didn’t! It wasn’t – I would never - ” his brother paused, staring ahead of him. “He. He made me do it.“

A woman stepped forward from the hooded figures and turned to look at the brown-haired guy. Throwing the woman a look of pure hatred, the guy walked up to the oak door. He opened it and stepped out into the cold air of the night. Behind him, the door slammed shut.

The lonesome young guy sat on the front steps of the Tomb. Even in the darkness, you could make out his sharp, handsome features and perfect mouth turned down in dismay and anger. If you could hold a light close to his face, you would behold
the way his bright intelligent green eyes flashed dangerously; the way he was
grumbling under his breath, the way he seemed to emit his rage to his surroundings.

A few minutes later, the door opened and those hooded figures came out – this time, dressed in normal attire, as though they’d just returned from visiting the owners of the house. The walked down the path to the huge massive gate, away from the Tomb – or, the guy would always thought, away from me. Every few seconds, the people would turn to look at the guy. Even in the darkness, the young man could see fear in their eyes as they stared at him, before making a quick business of disappearing from his view quickly.

The door to the Tomb burst open and out strode a formidable looking woman. She was wearing a deep navy gown and her hands were shaking – perhaps with fury. Nonetheless, she grabbed the guy by the scruff of his collar and forced him inside.

The door was slammed shut.

Inside, the light brown-haired guy eyed the woman furiously. He had his hands in his jeans pocket; perhaps it too was shaking with fury. He was about to open his mouth, when she started first, in a rather livid manner, yelling not speaking.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU EDWARD? How many times have I told you not to behave in that way with Nick, especially in front of others? Tell me boy, does anything penetrate through that thick skull of yours?”

Edward R. Allen kept his mouth shut allowing himself to build up a wall of anger before yelling back. He knew she was provoking him, but he would wait till his temper had reached his boiling point. The woman sank into a nearby armchair, looking more dangerous than ever, yet trying to soften her look by burying her head into her hand and shaking it in dismay. “Why Edward, why? We never encouraged, or practiced all those – erm – whatever you possessed.”

Disgust was evident in her voice. Edward remained silent. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his younger brother, Nick, slowly edging his way into the scene. He knew exactly what would happen next; it had happened countless occasions before. Nick would make his way to the armchair, comfort Mother, playing devil’s advocate all the while, saying how she could not, must not, blame herself for the outcome of people’s behavior, and that she, of course, was right and all that nonsensical crap. And just as Edward had predicted, he did walk over and start talking in hushed tones.

The woman, his dear sweet mother, looked up as she addressed Edward indirectly. “Don’t speak rubbish, Nicky darling, of course Ed will be made to issue an apology to you…in front of everyone.” Edward clenched his jaw. She continued. “It’s all because of the company he keeps, you see darling,” Nick nodded as if Edward wasn’t present at all, “His friends are dangerous, dark, rebellious,” Edward bit his tongue so as to prevent anything particularly nasty from coming out, “And the garbage of the society. What else is to be the outcome?“

Gritting his teeth and making a fist, Edward idly wondered how long more he would, could, withstand this nonsense before he would burst. Next would come the part about him being unsatisfactory, dishonoring the noble name of the brotherhood and his family.

“…running our name in the mud, a name that your forefathers before you worked so hard to keep up…” Edward noted dully that she was speaking directly to him now. Now would come the part of how he should treat Nick and the rest of his relatives, much more better and how he should date the girls from the other wealthy and respectable families, be courteous, respect them, hang out with them. Edward knew the whole drill by heart now. But then came something he didn’t expect.

“Your psychic abilities are a disgrace to our honorable family name! I told you to stop reading people’s thoughts and controlling them, didn’t I? The brotherhood despises people who practiced black magic! And I would not have a son who runs around with filthy, rotten, dirt like that Sarah girl. In my opinion - ”

But Edward didn’t care much for her ‘opinion’. In fact, he decided, he didn’t care much for her. His eyes flashed in a most threatening way once again. Her last comment had gotten to him and he didn’t know whether it was because she had again insulted his abilities to control minds or because she had brought up Sarah in the topic…but something had struck a chord and before he knew it, Edward was lashing out all of his built up rage upon her and that numbskull, Nick.

“You keep giving me shit about how the Allens and the brotherhood are so much more well-brought up and how I should mix around with these sophisticated rich people. Let me tell you something – these people have nothing! Only class, post and high quality! That doesn’t mean anything to me, mother! And don’t you dare utter the Sarah’s name from your disgusting mouth! She’s much more of a human being than you two pathetic under mounts can ever hope to be!” Edward breathed heavily, letting out everything he had bottled up for years.

Ignoring the looks of indignation on their faces, though he knew he was venturing a bit far, he continued, “HOW MANY TIMES, MOTHER? How many times do I have to sit here and listen to all this idiotic nonsense about how Nicholas is the perfect son? For how long do you want to keep denying the fact that you too have the abilities I possessed? For how long should I continue to endure this rubbish? LOOK AROUND MOTHER! OPEN YOUR EYES! You’ll see that so many commoners out there are better people than you!”

The woman was at a loss for words. She stared at her son sudden outburst of stinging words, aghast at everything he had just said. The silence in the room hung like an ominous cloud. Then in a low, dangerous tone, she ranted out, “Stop. This. Nonsense. This. Very. Instant. Do you hear me Edward Allen?” She emphasized on each word, making it almost impossible for him to continue lashing out his anger.

Once again, he lost.

“Yes mother,” he said, stonily, his face a perfect illustration of detachment. He was used to this, used to forcing down his burning anger and frustration – there was nothing else he could do. He was trapped, completely powerless.

Nick, sitting nearby in a heavy, intricately carved chair made from dark mahogany, sneered contemptuously. Edward gave his brother a single glance, and then, wholly unaffected by Nick’s obvious disgust, Edward turned sharply on his heel and strode from the room, his shoes clicking hollowly on the highly polished wooden floor.

He walked steadily down the hall, feeling his mother’s eyes boring into the back of his neck as he left. The still, dry air eddied in his wake, stirring the few specks of dust that rested on the gleaming furniture lining the hall. It was not until he was round two corners and safe inside his own room that he let the cold, emotionless expression slide from his face and crumble into one of utter misery.

He exhaled shakily, his head and shoulders dropping in defeat, and resigned himself to the fact that he was stuck in this static, suffocating, empty house, or rather tomb, for the rest of his life. A sudden fury welled up inside him and he had the sudden urge to throw something, smash something, break something, just make SOME kind of impact, ANY impact. He wanted prove to himself that he was there, he was alive, he could feel, that he could change things. But instead, he collapsed helplessly face first onto his richly draped bed and buried his face in his pillow.

It was no use.

Even up ‘til now, twenty-nine years later, Edward reclined on an armchair in his office, his legs outstretched. In that contemplative mood, there was no telling where his thoughts could reach…

Yes, that's just a Prologue so as you can guess, there is a continuation to it. If you are all being nice, and if i'm feeling up to it, maybe i'll post the rest down for your reading pleasure.

We'll see.