A docu-movie taken by citizens of New Orleans themselves before, during and after hurricane Katrina hit them. One of my own must-catch, must-see movies this year.
Opening on August 22nd 2008 in the US, it focuses on the current fiscal problems that is systemic in the US economic system. These financial mis-handlings would definitely have a ripple effect throughout the world's nations, developed or otherwise because, let's face it the bulk of the world's nations, developed or otherwise are tied into the US economy, whether you like it or not. And that means the country I am residing in too. And if something is not done to alleviate this problem, then we could very well go into another recession. And we all know how wonderful that is.(I wrote this fantasy themed short tale many years ago. Just thought I'd repost it here so that I'd get some feedback from people who actually do read my blog, since I do realize that I have not actually written anything much lately nor posted any of my writings here)
Lightning flashed before rumbling thunder as the rain pelted down hard upon the lands, creating a seeming fog amidst the forests. Still, he pressed on. Water seeped into his boots and drenched the cloak was now pulled tight around his large torso. His left hand was free though, hacking away at vines and growths that were in his path with a crudely fashioned axe. Every so often he would halt and examine his surroundings - broken twigs, bent branches, impressions upon the ground - all made harder, if not impossible by the downpour. And yet find an indication he did, for even the heavy pelting of raindrops could not mask a piece of torn robe, clinging desperately upon a thorn of a nearby bush. Already dried blood marked the ripped yellow-brown fabric, denoting that its former wearer was only but a day away, if not nearer.
Tilting his hooded head upward from the dangling fabric, his eyes studied the immediate area, seeking further traces of where his pursued have gone. Vision sifting through the misty strands of rapidly descending raindrops, a tight grin formed upon his facade. For fifty paces or so lay the source of his amusement - a cave bored from the hard rock of the nearby mountainside. From three days before the cloudburst began, seemingly unending and the cave was the only shelter for a week’s treading at least.
Hacking at the vines that stood in his path, the barbarian continued on. Stealthily this time, axe concealed within his cloak now that the vines were removed, taking each splashing step carefully, hoping that the roar of the drizzle would mask his approach. Though cautious, his progress was as steady as the falling rain. A clap of thunder announced his arrival to the mouth of the cave and he lingered not, immediately slipping into the shadowy darkness with ease as if it were his own skin. The further he progressed inwards, the fouler the air was, decaying corpses of woodland creatures were scattered across the hard ground, some half eaten, most without a limb but all dead. Large boulders stood at random distances to each other within the cave, a norm to the oblivious and oblivious the barbarian was not. Their smooth untainted surfaces, a stark contrast to the moss carpeted walls and semi-grass strewn ground. Smooth, save for the scratches near the base of each large rock, marks of impact from height and yet the ceilings of the cave left no indication of such an occurrence.
“Magic.” He murmured, almost to himself if not for the slight echo of his voice reverberating back to him, again and again, fading as the momentum of the sound wore off.
Removing his drenched yellow-brown cloak, he calmly placed it upon the boulder nearest to him. Its weight more than doubled from the water it held and coupled with the dampness and chilly breeze coursing through the cave, became an unwanted burden to his task. Remnants of water from his already removed cloak, trickled down his arms, as both reached downwards before pulling two daggers of ebony hilt, one in each hand, out from their scabbards. His movements were more fleeting now, smelling a stench fouler than the dead corpses that cluttered the grass patched ground. Death had made its home here, even before the arrival of the one he hunted and its grasp was none more apparent when he came upon the carcass of a cave bear. Head crushed, leaving but a pool of what was once its blood. A boulder of similar size to the ones before stood upon the corpse’s back, or what remained of it. Though the raven-haired barbarian had seen much bloodshed in his time, purposeful or otherwise and much of it from his own hands, he was slightly appalled and yet understood the very motive behind it. Every action is driven by gain. Be it for the higher powers they worship, for their families or friends or even for themselves. It was always the want or need to acquire that drives the mechanism of action. Even though the gain in the bear’s death was for a temporary shelter, it was a gain nonetheless, though the price was debatable, certainly in the bear’s case.
He would have said a prayer for the fallen beast, had he a deity to worship. A moment of silence was all he offered, before continuing to his task.
The sound of dripping water echoed throughout the cave, its rhythmic beat coupled with the silence, formed an almost hypnotic melody. A sharp turn could be seen a few paces ahead from where the echoing tempo originated.
With furtiveness belying his size, the barbarian sneaked around the turn and hid, just as stealthily behind a jutting formation of rock. His back against the rough surface of the rock, the barbarian titled his head, glancing from beyond the obstacle and grinned at what his eyes perceived. A pool of crystal clear water lay to the northwest end of the on lying cave. As a dead end, it housed what appeared to be the nexus of the dead bear’s lair, strewn with the bones of many animals that dared trespass and most that did not. The stench of bear excrements though strong did little to overpower the malodor of its current inhabitant. An orc of about five feet in height, if not slightly more, draped in a leopard skin robe ornamented at its neckline with the skin of a viper, sat there, body leaning upon the hard walls of the cave. Its mouth muttering as a skull topped staff was held upright by its right arm, its left dangling lifelessly towards the floor. Orc blood dripped from its mouth with each utterance. Drop by drop falling upon the necklace of human ears that hung from its green hued neck. Three tearing wounds where the bear had struck marked its chest, though partially healed, blood still oozed from them, tainting its torn leopard skin robe, as well as the shredded monkey hide vest that clung to his body. With a stagger it stood, dropping the arm that held the staff, lips moving as an eerie glow appeared about its form, but for a brief moment before disappearing. Its wounds now mended, albeit slightly, it returned to its previous position, eyes closed, sitting and muttering.
The barbarian grinned, for he knew of the opportunity before him. Swiftly he moved, gliding between the shadows with enough stealth to keep his target from realizing his movements. It took but a second, if not lesser for him to reach within sufficient striking distance of his prey, still unseen and hopefully, unheard.
Another staggered movement brought the decrepit creature up to its feet with eyes closed as it began chanting. Like a sudden gale an ebony dagger carved through the still air before striking piercing the orc’s leathery neck. Dark red was the blood that gushed from the wound on its jugular as the barbarian launched himself into a battle frenzy, hands both clasped upon the metal handle of his large twin-bladed battleaxe. Eyes wide, with a hand still grasping the puncture on his neck, the orc attempted a failed curse as blood frothed from its green-blue lips. Lifting its skull adorned staff up, parallel to his body, fireballs shot from the skulls’ eyes and though the mercenary avoided most of the barrage that were aimed his way, the full brunt of a missile that struck his right shoulder could not be avoided. His body twisted to follow the direction of the force, sending his massive frame, hurtling, shoulder first into the jutting rock face from where he hid before. Turning to face his foe, the barbarians’ eyes widened before he kicked at the hard stone wall, propelling him just before another missile of flame crashed upon the protruding rock face.
Right arm still numb from the scorched flesh, he swung the other with as much force as he could muster, sending the axe hurtling through the air before wedging itself diagonally across the orc’s head. He could almost hear its silent scream as its torso bent backwards before the rest followed, sending the frail shaman slamming to the ground. The final fireball that departed from the staff struck the stone ceiling, sending bright sparks sprinkling down, like white flakes on a day of snow. Sheltering his eyes from them, he rose, right hand still hanging limply by his side as the large man strode towards the motionless form before him. Stooping, he searched the pockets of the dead orc’s robe.
“There you are.....”
His voice though a whisper veiled not the jubilation in its tone. Slowly he pulled the item out from one of the deceased shaman’s pockets. A golden medallion, with the crest of a roaring lion, tarnished from years of improper care. It mattered not to him what care was taken of the medallion. As long as it was intact, the bounty would be his, regardless. Retrieving his axe from the orc’s head after rummaging through the corpse’s pockets once more for other valuables, he collected his ebony dagger before covering the scorched wound upon his right shoulder with a red hued rag. Pocketing the medallion, as well as few coins and some jewels, the barbarian strode towards the exit of the cave. All manner of stealth was gone from his movements then, the prey killed and the target, claimed. What pain that throbbed in his right shoulder paled before the visions of the bounty promised to him. An image that no sooner diminished as he approached the cave’s exit. Grabbing the cloak he left on a boulder there, he stood in near perfect stillness as he eyed the form at the mouth of the cave.
A slender man stood there, clad in a faded green tunic. Darkened redwood was the material used to make the longbow that hung diagonally to the man’s back. A color complimented by Earth brown pants and even darker leather boots. The man grinned as he saw the cloth wrapped around the barbarian's shoulder.
“Enjoyed your slaughter, Master Windraven?”
