Wednesday, 19 March 2014

ATS funding and READATHON II

If you aren't familiar with ATS then this post won't make a whole lot of sense to you.  In short, it's a genetic connective tissue disorder (that I suffer with) that can lead to aneurysms and other complications with the arteries.  As well as this, it can cause hyper mobile joints and chronic fatigue.
To find out more about ATS read the "ATS and stuff" post through the blog archives or go here


So recently, Arkansas children's hospital has decided that they want to do a study on ATS, which is awesome!  As well as this, the doctors want all of the ATS patients together in America so that they can do tests on us for the study.  All of this is possibly the best thing since the guy who invented sliced bread was born, because now we can try to improve the lives of all the kids (and adults) with ATS and give them a chance to live normal lives.  I'm lucky.  I've never had to have an operation because of my heart condition, and although my life certainly isn't normal, I've got it better than some others like me.  Now, we can help those people.

Of course, this is going to cost money.  We have one foundation interested in funding the ATS study, but that isn't going to be enough.  We need you! *points at you enthusiastically*

That's why we're officially starting ATS fundraising.  We'll be using Paypal for fundraising, and hosting the donation page on a separate blog like this, named Twist Of Fate.  You'll be able to donate with your Paypal account, or with your credit or debit card, quickly and safely on the blog.  The link is below.

We're going to need a lot of funding to make this happen, so if you have any creative fundraising ideas, message me on facebook (Joseph Wills), send a Twitter to me (@Joe_Toe_Wills) or come to my home late and night and scream your requests at my bedroom window (don't do that).  Alternatively, you can email me at, or my mum at, and we'll arrange something.


Yeah, I know, it's really exciting, but there's no reason to be hyperventilating.  Here, breathe into this paper bag for a while.

If you weren't around last year, I'll catch you up: around may, I held a readathon, where I pretty much just read as many books as I could for a weekend in the name of Great Ormond Street Hospital.  I consumed around 600 pages in fine reading material, and raised a great amount of money.  With last year's success in mind, I'm doing it again this year for ATS.

Saturday the 5th and Sunday the 6th of April

Me, or my doppelganger

For ATS fundraising

As many books from this year's Carnegie Medal shortlist, which you can view here-

Well, I pick up a book and read the words inside.

I'll talk more about the readathon on facebook, twitter, here, and mostly at the Twist Of Fate (ATS fundraising if something was happening in Coronation Street and you weren't focusing on what I've written above) blog.  Keep your eyes physically glued to all of these things at once or face the consequences.

Thank you very much.  Please consider donating or fundraising for ATS!

You can find the blog here-

-The corporeal form most know as "Joe"

Thursday, 6 March 2014

Go And Download Welcome To Night Vale

My intermittent and unstable posting on this deer carcass of a blog that I occasionally reach over and try to resuscitate before getting distracted by some pretty colours or a squirrel or something has got me wondering what I'm going to do.  Am I going to start committing myself to posting things regularly? HAHAHAHAHA no, that would be a responsibility and I can't have that, I play DotA.  Am I going to pull the plug on the blog forever, accepting that no-one really cares and neither do I and I should just stop trying to bring the deer back to life and give it a nice burial and send it's family flowers, but then I wouldn't be able to indulge in overcomplicated metaphors once every few months.  No.  I'm going to sit here in the woods with the deer by my side and go about my daily life, occasionally turning round and screaming "I'M NOT LETTING THIS ONE GO" before remembering that I have some nice crisps in my pocket.  I'm going to post on special occasions when I have something interesting to say, and you're going to read it and be transfixed at the screen for a few short seconds before you lose interest and look at cat pictures on tumblr, just like old times.

Anyway, Night Vale.

I thought that Welcome To Night Vale was something that only I knew about at first.  It popped up on the podcasts app on my iphone while I was on holiday last year and I had no idea what it was, so I downloaded a few episodes to listen to.  On the beach the next day I decided to listen to the first episode.  "A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.  Welcome to Night Vale."  The narrator intoned, talking in a voice that seemed almost like he was chanting.  I was instantly scared and amused and intrigued, loath as I am to use that word.

What followed was twenty minutes of this creepy dude talking about angels and a dog park that no one looks at and hooded figures and there were helicopters and everyone is in love with this Carlos and why is the weather a song and more weirdness and creepiness.  It was an announcement of something seemingly normal, followed by a buildup as the story became weirder and weirder until the final, often terrifying climax of the segment, followed by the same thing again, all narrated by a completely calm radio host who acts as if everything going on is just a normal day's news.  When it finished, I listened to the next one.  And the next.

So what is Welcome To Night Vale? It's a bi-monthly podcast that takes the form of fake community updates for the fictional titular town, in which there are angels, hooded figures, a sheriff's secret police, a scientist with perfect hair called Carlos, an (apparently) underground civilisation under the local bowling alley and fun complex, and other stuff.  It's mainly surrealist comedy mixed with genuinely scary horror, urban fantasy, philosophy, as well as a recurring cast of characters and places.  Throughout the whole thing, specifically the early episodes, there's a really, really dark feeling to what's going on in the town.  The show's prime actor is Cecil, the narrator/radio host, but in later episodes voice actors have been brought in for some of the show's major characters.  All of them are phenomenal.

I feel like the podcast has lately been transitioning into more of a comedy of a horror, which isn't a bad thing at all, and has also been relying on continuity for it's stories.  This is, ultimately, what the creators need to do to keep the show going for a long period of time.  However great it is just hearing Cecil say absurd things, the novelty can wear off sometimes, and providing characters and stories that stretch across multiple episodes gives me a reason to come back besides hearing what they've come up with this week.  And the characters are amazing, however insane they all are, when I recall each one and their distinct personality when going about daily life, I always smile to myself.  At times, the podcast is also capable of genuinely touching and beautiful philosophical speeches; the computer's "beautiful dream" speech in the episode of the same name is one of my personal favourites.

When I was sitting there on the beach listening to the very first episodes of Night Vale and being terrified and laughing out loud (yes, it's funny enough that I can safely say I laugh at loud at least once in most episodes) Night Vale felt like my discovery, like a hidden cove on the coast of a tropical island.  It seemed really obscure from my (admittedly lazy) attempts at finding some trace of a fandom, or at least some people who had listened to it.  At some point it blew up, and now everyone's glow cloud this and Carlos that and apparently there are cosplayers (FOR CHARACTERS FROM AN AUDIO PODCAST.  REALLY, PEOPLE?), so I guess I got my wish that everyone should hear this thing.  My attempts at showing my friends Night Vale have so far been met with dismissive comments and general apathy, so there's obviously some people who still don't listen to it.  If you're one of them, go listen to it.  A new episode is uploaded on the 1st and 15th of every month, and there are already a hefty pile of instalments that'll take quite some time.  Although continuity isn't the most important thing, I recommend listening from the start.  Just search for Welcome To Night Vale on itunes.



Voice Acting-


Thank you for reading, faithful and ever present... reader.  I leave you with the computer's speech from the Welcome To Night Vale episode "A Beautiful Dream" (taken from here


Tuesday, 8 October 2013

I Hate The Phrase "Get Kids Away From The Xbox And Into Reading"

Hear me out here.
I'm 13 years old, and I love gaming. I've been playing since I was really young, and still do it now. It's allowed me to talk to and have fun with my friends (I can't a lot of the time because of a medical condition), it's led me to make friends with people from different countries and cultures, something I would never have done if not for gaming. And, of course, gaming has opened up a huge new gate of amazing storytelling and gameplay experiences.
I also have a passion for reading and writing. I read and write all the time. I've written a book (which was published with the help of the amazing Starlight Foundation) and am in the process of writing another one. To me, there's little that's better than a big stack of good books.
Now let me tell you what I want to talk about today.
In the UK, there are loads of campaigns to get kids reading, which I support. I only have one problem with them though: There's always an emphasis on getting kids away from "The Xbox." Whenever I hear this, I scream inside.
It really, really annoys me when the media portray gaming like it's the devil, and that we NEED to get our kids away from the stupid xboxes and Playstations.
What they don't understand is that that kids could be having fun playing with their friends. They could be getting involved in charity events thanks to gaming (trust me, it happens), kids aren't just sitting there and mindlessly clicking away, and those who are could be on their way to getting to a point where gaming is a beneficial hobby to them.
Why is it that gaming has to be something that kids are brought AWAY from? Why is it that if they're having fun gaming, they can't do it, because, you know, IT'S GAMING. I am a big gamer and a big reader. I know that a balance can exist. So when campaigns are done to get kids into reading, maybe taking the "if you start reading books you can't play games any more" part away, more kids might actually start reading.
Rant Over.

Wednesday, 11 September 2013

I'm back (at least for a few days)

*Does jazz hands*

So hi.

It's been a gazillion years since I posted on this blog, and it's been a tontillion (That's an actually number, I think) years since I made a post on this blog that wasn't an advertisement for my book.

You can buy my book on amazon, the live it

*Slaps self*


But I'm definitely going to start posting on this blog again.  I started the Lazy A.I, my blog/youtube channel for games, books movies and whatnot, and poured my heart and soul into a whole THREE blog posts and THREE videos and gained a loving fanbase, which consists of my mum, and my dad if I make him watch my videos.

This blog, however, requires a lot less effort, so hopefully I'm going to stick with this.  Coming soon will be-
Posts about things that make me annoyed/amused/insert other feeling because I don't know any more here
Updates bout my writing and whatnot
Me being "QUIRKY" Becuase apparently that's a prerequisite for any bloggers nowadays
Me using fun words like "scallywags" and "Hobbledehoy"
Me making fun of Call Of Duty
Me talking about how great TB is
Me talking about how great Dodger is
Me talking about how great Jesse Cox is
Me talking about how great the TGS I MAEN THE CO-OPTIONAL COZZ ITS DIFFRENT NOW OKAEY podcast is
Me talking about how great JonTron is
Me watching JonTron
Me watching JonTron
Me watching JonTron
Me watching JonTron
Me talking about how great other things are
Me making lots of grand declarations about writing and then going back on them two days later
Me not advertising my book too much
Me loving Game Of Thrones
Me getting upset when I see a Game Of Thrones spoiler anywhere
Me getting angry when I see a Game Of Thrones spoiler anywhere
Me getting a lot of strange new feelings when I see a Game Of Thrones spoiler anywhere
Me talking about Game Of Thrones
Me feeling like I'm the only person who's decided to read the books before watching Game Of Thrones
Me perhaps chronicling a Dungeons And Dragons game that I'll hopefully be dmming after me and my players all read the rulebooks
Me talking about how great Netflix is
Me getting progressively more upset about Firefly being cancelled as I watch more episodes of Firefly
Me having sometimes mixed feelings about Battlestar Galactica as I watch more episodes of it
Me telling you about how I'm watching so many more space opera serieses now that I've got Netflix
Me not being sure what the plural of series is
Me putting off starting Breaking Bad
Me putting off watching Star Trek past the pilot episode for some reason
Me watching Modern Family reruns
Me being upset about Futurama being cancelled
Me buying loads of books
Me not getting around to reading any of those books
Me talking about books
Me talking about smelling books
Me apologising for talking about smelling books
Me not thinking of enough bullet points to do books justice
Me getting annoyed at me because I never learnt how to do bullet points on a keyboard
Me being a bit more realistic
Me being a bit more challenging
Me being a bit more colourful
Me being a bit more revolutionary
Me making references from old ads that I saw in a JonTron video
Me still talking about how great JonTron is
Me playing gaaames
Me getting angry about mainstream games
Me being annoyed about next gen consoles
Me being annoyed about games reviewers
Me being annoyed about (certain) youtubers
Me trying to hide my PC gaming masterrace orientation
Me defending Bioshock Infinite to the grave
Me putting off playing The Last Of Us
Me loving Valve for doing nice things
Me not loving EA for doing not so nice things
Me trying to explain to people I don't just "hate on" EA and IGN and Call Of Duty and whatnot because it's cool to do so
Me realising that I use the word "whatnot" a lot when I read back on this
Me being amazed at the quality of The Humble Indie Bundle
Me loving the Humble Indie Bundle
Me being confused about the Humble Indie Bundle being no longer indie
Me being even more confused about the Humble Indie Bundle being no longer games related
Not buying the Humble Comedy Bundle
Me realising that this list was quite a nice update on my life since I stopped blogging
Me making lists that are longer than they were originally planned to be
Me being me
Me managing to round off long lists quite nicely

So my blog has quite a lot going for it, huh?

I wanted to do some nice new transformation to make it seem like the next generation of the Blog Of Joe, but I guess I should just-


Okay, I'm gonna go do that now.  


Bear with me while I think of a new sign off catchphrase,


Monday, 17 June 2013

It's out!

My book comes out today.  My book comes out today.  I still don't believe it.  I get sudden moments of realisation every now and then when I gasp and begin to rock back and forth with my chin against my legs in shock, but then it passes.

Wow.  The last 5 months have been absolutely crazy.  It's something I've always dreamed of but never thought it would happen, and now, looking back, I can't believe I actually lived my dream.  

It wouldn't be possible without Starlight, live it publishing and all it's lovely people (especially Sarah Davey, Henny, Murielle Maupoint and the editor of my book, Kate).  

I really hope that everyone who reads my book enjoys it.  Please, when you've finished, tell me what you think! Leave a review on amazon and post on my page on facebook, or rate it on goodreads.  Be honest.  I can take it (I mean, after I cry in the corner for twelve hours).

Finally, You can go to my page to read that short story I promised.  It's basically setting the scene for The World, and introducing you to some of the characters.  

Finally (you know what I'm going to say) please come down to my book signing this friday at Waterstones in St Neots (next to Barratts).  You can come down at any time between 3 and 5:30 PM!

That's all for now,

Stay frosty.


The World page on Facebook-

The World on Amazon-

Thursday, 13 June 2013


I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.
What am I apologising for, you ask? Well, if you haven't noticed, it's been (probably) a month since my last post, and a lot of exciting stuff has happened.  Here is what has happened.

So, my book went to print a few months ago, and we hit the "Go Live" button.  Since then I've had a lot of interviews (Hey, three is a lot) with newspapers and radios about my book.  It's still coming out on the 17th of June, so we've got plenty of time before to.... what was that?  The book comes out in four days?


So, the book is available for pre-order at the moment.  You can either get it from me, preorder it from amazon (Still can't believe my book's on amazon) or from the live it publishing site.  I'll post all the links from the bottom.  When the book comes out next week you'll be able to (takes deep breath) get it from me, from amazon, from the live it site, you can order it in from any library or book store (if you have the isbn), download it on a kindle or an adobe glassbook, or you can order one straight from me.  If you do buy one from me, I can sign it for you and then deliver it, so if you want to do that then message me on facebook or drop me an email (My address is and I'll get it sorted for you.  And yes, you still have to pay me for it.

Waterstones in St Neots will also be stocking my book, so you can go straight in there and buy one.

Speaking of Waterstones, I'm doing a signing.  Next friday (the 21st of June) I'll be on Waterstones in St Neots signing books from 3PM to 5:30PM.  So why don't you drop in? (I'm giving cheesy rhetorical questions to persuade people to do stuff a try now).

As well as all that, you can expect a short story which will set the scene for The World to appear on my facebook page, either a few days before or on the day the book comes out, so look out for that.

So what am I writing now, I hear you ask?  No?  Oh, I thought I heard you say it.  Well, I'll tell you anyway.

So remember how I quit writing Red Zone to write my fantasy story, the Three crusades, and then how I quit that to write a different book that I didn't talk about before? Well, now I'm going to talk about it.

So, I started writing this a few months ago (I haven't got a title for it yet, by the way) and I'm really enjoying.  I'm already approaching 100 pages.  It's a new story, that sort of takes the premise from Red Zone (In the way that it's about a boy surviving in an apocalyptic world.)

It follows Henry, a teenager who has survived on his own in a terrible world run by gangs and bandits.  He trusts no one, and has never formed a relationship with anyone since his adoptive father, George, who he lost.  One night, Henry finds a young boy cowering under a car, and his overwhelming guilt forces him to take the boy in.  Henry's life is turned upside down by this old concept of caring for someone flooding back into his life, and as he learns what it is to have a relationship with someone, he finds himself involved in a war between a vicious band of survivors and a group of people living in a village that the gang want as their own, Henry finds himself doing something he has not done in a long time.  Care for people.

I'm really going for something different with this new book.  The World is an epic sci-fi story without a deeper meaning.  With this new story I'm going for a gritty, deep narrative.  I'm going to focus much more on characters and how they change.  Don't worry, the story is still going to be pretty action-packed.  What I'm trying to capture is a story of redemption set in a vicious, cut-throat world where there is only hate.  I'm really enjoying writing it, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it.  Expect an extract being posted here soon.

I've also decided that I'm putting my "Serium" series on hold for now.  I want to focus on my new book and I think it's going to be hard to do that and bring an episode of Serium out every week.  Sorry about that.

That's all for now.  I'm going to try my hardest to keep blogging regularly from now on.  Sorry for leaving it so long.

Stay frosty,


Here are all the links

The book on amazon-

The book on the live it store-

The book on waterstones-

My page on starlight-

My newspaper articles-

My article on PE19 aboutmyarea (It's on some of the other aboutmyareas as well)-


Tuesday, 30 April 2013

Serium- Part 1

As promised, the first part of my ongoing short story series is right here.  Just to say, the next parts of the story will NOT be on the blog.  I'll be uploading them to wattpad, but I'll keep posting links on facebook so that everyone can find them.  Thanks, and enjoy!

The earth was already old.  Land has formed.  The lush forests in the centre.  The freezing tundra in the south.  The beautiful lands hidden in the giant western sea, and the vast sand dunes around it.  The rolling hillsides to the north-west.  And, of course, the apparently uninhabitable wasteland rocky wasteland that completely covers the east of the planet. 

There were six tribes.  The first, those that called themselves Gionan, build their settlement in the forests of the central land.  Their large village was perched on the edge of a hill, above a waterfall.  Below it, a large river was forming, pushing it’s way through the trees.  On the banks of the river, Gionans erected farms, growing all kinds of crops for the villagers to eat.

But the Gionan’s settlement, called Giona, was in danger.

Not by the wolves that stalked the woods at night.  Not by the harsh monsoons that ripped the leaves apart in the summer.  But by men.  They were greedy, power hungry.  They lived in Barben, a smaller village miles away from Giona.  They were known as Barbarians.

This is where the story begins. 

A young Giona huntsman is who it begins with.  His name is Makana. 


He raises his bow.  That is what he calls it, a bow.  It’s something he had fashioned himself, taking a slightly arced piece of wood and tightly fastening a piece of string to either end.  Makana places a pointed piece of wood in the groove of the bow, pulling it backwards.  The beast he’s looking down on was grazing on a wild flower that it had found while roaming through the forest.  Now it would be dinner.
Makana releases his grip on the string and the wood goes flying through the air, cutting through the wind.  The beast gives an ear piercing howl as the wood penetrates his torso, causing him to slump to the ground.  Makana places his bow in a strap on the back of his shirt, and then grabs hold of the rope tied around his waist.  He looks to the tree 10 feet away from him, making sure the other end is tied there, and allows himself to fall from the branch.  He, like the arrow, cuts through the air, the rope keeping him from tumbling to the ground.  As soon as his feet hit the dirt floor he digs his heels into the mud, slowly coming to a stop.  Swiftly untying the rope from his waist, he strolls to the beast.  It is still breathing, it’s chest heaving in an attempt to stay alive.
“Thank you for you sacrifice.” Makana calmly tells the beast, before taking another pointed piece of wood and using it to slit the poor thing’s throat.  He dislodges his two arrows, as he calls them, and puts them back in their pouch, which is strapped to his leg.  
“You shouldn’t be too heavy.” He says to the beast.  It was something that helped take away the guilt of ending the animal’s lives.  That, and the fact that this beast could help to keep the villagers alive.  He swiftly climbs the tree to which the rope is attached, unraveling the tight knot, and then tying it around the body of the animal.  He put his back to the carcass, facing the path back to the village, and began to tug on the rope.  The beast’s body slowly trails behind him as he goes.
The boiling sun begins to warm Makana’s body as he enters the clearing.  The rope suddenly gets entangled in a thorn bush.  As Makana works to untangle it, he starts to feel strange.  Like something is not right.  He feels watched.  Standing up again, the rope untangled, he walks slowly, his head darting left and right, to make sure no one is following him.  He reaches the other end of the clearing, where the dirt path through the forest continues.  As soon as he starts to feel safe, it happens.  He feels something close around his ankle, and within seconds, he is swept from the ground, the rope falling out of his hands.  He dangles upside down, a piece of rope around his lower leg tied to a tree just above him.  It’s a trap that he normally uses to catch smaller game, but he knows that he hadn’t put any down in this spot for a long time. 
“Mss ajan, Kor hunda mi pa?” 
“Nes.  Ka Ajan gan yu fusell.” 
Makana’s heart is burning and thumping.  Does he hear voices?  And if they are voices, why are they talking in such a strange language?
“Whoever you are, I’m just a hunter.  Don’t worry, I’m Gionan.”  There’s silence. 
“Hello?”  Nothing.  Makana reaches for his “arrows,” but when he fumbles around on his back, his hands don’t meet them.  That’s when he sees his arrows sprawled out across the floor.  He tries desperately to grab one, thrusting his hand downwards, but it doesn’t work.
“Show yourself!” Makana shouts.  He’s trying to sound bold, but there is no hiding the way his words came out shakily.
“Mssasa.” He hears from the bushes, and suddenly, they came into view.  Three people.  Terror is instantly struck into Makana.  He doesn’t recognize them.  They are of his race, but are wearing strange clothes.  Armours crafted of metals, and two of them wear menacing wooden helmets with faces carves into them. 

 Could it really be?  Could there really be more people on this earth than there were at Giona?

“Ajan.  Gom em ka renash ton ka Barben?” It is the man without a mask.  He comes up close to Makana, staring into his eyes.  Makana tries to think of something to do, or say, quickly.  These men are carrying weapons, swords, which are long and twice as wide, shining in the light.  Blood is rushing to his head.  His hand suddenly lashes out, trying to meet an arrow on the floor.  The man in front of him reacts swiftly and brutally,  He draws his sword and lashes out with it.  There’s a flash of pain in Makana’s arm, and as he looks down in horror, he sees a huge gash on his forearm, the shirt around it torn.  The pain is horrible, like the wound is burning through his arm, and putting his good hand over it just stopped blood spraying on the floor.  
The man talks again, and Makana is instantly flabbergasted.  He speaks in Gionian.
“I said.  Speak… You… The tongue…. Of the BARBEN?”  Makana is silent.  He stares at the man, wincing in pain at his wound.  
“Who are you…. And what do you want from me?” Was all Makana could manage.
“We are Barbarians.  And we want you to deliver a message for us.  Tell your leader…. That this is our land…” As he talks the two other men come up to him.  They use their swords to cut the rope free.  Makana falls to the ground, headfirst, into his blood and arrows.  
“And that by settling here, you have sinned in the eyes of the Barbarians.”  The masked man on the right drops to his knees, using his right hand to grab Makana’s collar, and sending his left hand into Makana’s face.  He does it again.  And again.  Makana feels blood trickling from cuts all over his face.  His cheeks become tender and bruised.  He tries to resist, to push the men away, but one arm is completely useless and the man with no mask keeps his foot on Makana’s other arm.  He soon becomes too week to thrash around. 
“Tell your leader as well, that we punish sins with death.” 
The man who is talking grabs Makana’s left leg, still keeping his arm pinned.  He then raises his sword.
“Soon, your kingdom will be dust.”  He forces the sword downwards.  It makes contact with Makana’s leg.  He screams.  The men disappear as quickly as they appeared.

Makana sees Giona through the trees.  It’s not aflame, or besieged.  People are going about their daily tasks, happy as always.  Makana stumbles through the bushes and collapses in the tall grass at the outskirts of the village.  He manages to pick himself up, using his right leg to walk.  He leaves a trail of blood behind him.  As soon as he enters the town, Alma sees him.  She drops the clothes she is carrying to the river, her face wide eyed and horrified.  She calls for help, but Makana hears it as if it were far away.  He can’t stand anymore.  His eyes droop as he collapses to the ground.  In front of him, he sees Tolmus, their leader, and behind him, a crowd.  More than half of the village is gathered around him.
“What happened, Makana? What beast or monster has done this to you?” His voice echoes.  Makana reaches out to him, trying to form words.  He has to tell them. 
“Invaders.”  He manages.  Gasps from the crowd.  He coughs.  His bruised lips form another word.  “Bar….barians.”

There were six tribes.

While the people of Giona were preparing for an invasion, another war was coming to an end.


Living in the snowy land of the south.  They were once a strong settlement of 1,000 people.  Half of them lived in one village, Rzzaki, and the other in a different settlement a mile from the first one, called Rzzamika. 
Then, Rzzamiki betrayed Rzzaki.  There was a feast, celebrating the most successful hunting month they have had in years.  Everybody was in Rzzaki.  

That was when Rzzamiki took their chance. 

 They had been waiting for years, forging a fake alliance with the other village, convincing them that they could be trusted.  When their bond was stronger than ever, Rzzamaki attacked Rzzaki.  Their soldiers killed 100 villagers, taking all of their supplies back to their settlement before they left.  Those who survived, they wounded, or did wicked things to.

Now, six months after, Rzzaki takes revenge.  Led by their king, Nageti, they strike.


“Men and women.  Today, we will bring justice to our land.  Many of us have been scarred by the attack in Sunfall.  We have all lost some of those dearest to us.  So now, the Rzzamaki will suffer.  Remember, the guards and soldiers must die.  So must Talmet himself, the treacherous scum who ordered this attack.  Spare the woman and the children, and the men who did not participate in the slaughter.  Keep your swords at your side.  Those who wield projectile weapons, stop when I say the word, and use them.  Then, you will collect more ammunition from the stockpile under Icehill and fire again.  Those who fight in the vanguard, abandon your steeds when we reach the walls.  Climb over their defences, or push through if you can.”  Nageti pauses, jumping up onto his steed.  He runs his hand through it’s white fur, before putting his hands on the reigns attached to the beast.  To rouse his men, he sais one final thing. 
“When our ancestors look back at the moon passing of Icereign, they will remember it as the passing when our kin dominated the evil that PLAGUES THIS LAND!” before he even finishes, his 150 soldiers roared.  They were ready.  He puts his hand on the hilt of the greatsword nestled under his fur armour, drawing it.  He can raise it with one hand.  
“FORWARD!” He hollers.  Nageti kicks his steed twice, and it goes thundering ahead.  Beside him, there are 50 others, all charging forward, swords raised and projectiles aimed.  They attack the harsh blizzard, not able to see ahead.  It matters not.  Each man knows their way across this stretch of land, and could easily traverse it with their eyes closed. 
“We’re getting close now! Be ready to dismount-“ Nageti is interrupted by the sound of something cutting through the air.  Before he could decipher the sound, three huge objects appeared above them, plummeting down to earth.  They crash into the ground just left of him, and their line of attack is suddenly broken.  Three of the mounts stop in their tracks, hit by the objects, and their riders go flying.  Nageti now knows what is happening. 
“They know we approach! The traitors are using their machinations to weaken our attack! We must increase our speed!” There’s a ferocious cry from the soldiers as they urge their beasts to go faster.  They are thundering across the land now, ploughing through the snow.
“PROJECTILES, FIRE!”  With swift reactions, the last two lines of soldiers drop off, and the air is suddenly filled with their ammunition, hurtling towards the settlement of Rzzamaki.  Another round of rocks come flying through the air, but their beasts manage to dodge it, and they come to a stop in the ground behind them.  Nageti can see the walls of Rzzamaki through the snowstorm now.  They are just five seconds away.  
“DISMOUNT, NOW!” He screamed urgently, and like dancers, each soldier flew from their beasts, landing, in the snow feet first.  The animals retreat, but Nageti’s men keep moving up.  Projectiles continue to fly through the air from both sides, like fighters exchanging blows.  His men reached the walls.  There are at least 100 men lining the walls, ready for an attack.  Nageti digs his left hand into a groove in the wooden wall, holding his greatsword in his other hand.  All around him, his men do the same.  He sees a guard above him, stabbing at the man to Nageti’s left with a dagger.  He sweeps his greatsword upwards and it finds the guard’s arm.  He drops the dagger, collapsing to the ground.
“KILL THEM ALL!” says a booming voice below Nageti.  A hole in the wooden wall suddenly opens, and a host of armoured soldiers pour out. They instantly begin chopping at his men, who were scaling the wall.
“Drop from the wall! We must defeat the guard below us!” Nageti, as if to show the others what he meant, lets go of his handhold and plummets to the floor.  He arcs his sword as he falls, and it cuts through three men.  He lands in the middle of the fray.  Instantly, five more soldiers jump towards him, trying to disarm him.  Nageti ducks and one goes flying over his head.  He stabs with his blood soaked sword, impaling a soldier, before kicking another attacker away.  He turns.  A sword flying towards him.  He brings his up to parry, and the sound of steel hitting steel echoes throughout the valley.  He jumps to the left, avoiding an attack from another man.  He tackles the one who was attacking him to the floor with immense power.  As the man is consumed by the snow, Nageti raises his sword.  He pauses for a second, his sword ready to strike.  Suddenly, he hears a scream coming from behind him.  Taburta, his best fighter, stumbles to the floor, clutching a wound below his waist.  Nageti rises to his feet, already swinging.  He plunges his blade into the attacker’s stomach, bringing him down instantly.  Nageti looks down at Taburta, who is still on the ground.  He sees the emptiness in his eyes, and knows that he is gone.  

He died valiantly.

Nageti sees that the company who had attacked them has been obliterated.  A lot of his men and women have fallen, but there are still a lot of them alive.  
“Through the gates.  Spare the innocent.  Kill the guilty.” Nageti is not aflame with fiery anger, but struck with a cold, deep rage.  He raises his sword, and walks towards the gate.
There is more resistance from soldiers inside.  A battle is instantly raging, his men locked in combat.  He walked through the destruction, five men at his side.  He is following the path through the small wooden houses to the king’s hall.  He wants to face Talmet, the king of Rzzamaki.  He wants retribution.
Nageti turns a corner and the king’s hall is suddenly in front of him.  A huge wooden building, with an arced roof.  There are around ten guards at the door.  A last defence for the king.  They charge towards Nageti, looking tired.  One raises his circular blade, inches away from him.  Nageti cuts him down swiftly before he can attack.  The five men at his side easily take down the others, and soon, nothing is standing between them and the door to the hall.  He pulls the doors open.

The first floor of the hall is empty.  It’s a familiar sight.  In front of him are three long tables, stretching to the far end of the room.  The chairs are neatly placed under the table.  At the very far end is a smaller table placed sideways, which is where Talmet sits.  The table bathes in the light of a huge window covering the far wall.
“We will find him upstairs.” Nageti says, nodding towards the spiral staircase in the far left of the hall.  They make haste towards it and ascend it quickly.

Nageti strides into the throne room, tailed by his guards.  It is also a long room, like the dining hall below, except there are no tables.  The far wall is also a window, and sitting behind it is a throne, decorated with jewels and precious materials like gold.  Talmet is slumped in the throne.  He sees Nageti but doesn’t move.  Slowly and hesitantly, Nageti moves up the ragged and dirty red carpet leading to the throne, sword scraping the stone floor.
“Why?” Nageti simply asks.
“Because there is no room for two.” 
Nageti stops walking.
“Have you crossed even a small fraction of the land that we call home? There is room for a thousand villages holding a thousand people here.”
“Maybe now.  But do you not expect our villages to grow? In a hundred moons time, there will be thousands more of us.  Imagine how it will be in a thousand moons time?  Do you think that we will be able to house all these people without our villages growing?” 
“We could expand.  Move away from each other.  We do not know yet how big this earth is.  How do you know that the Rzza land is the only realm in the whole world?” Talmet laughs at this.
“You mean to say that there are more realms other than Rzza? Don’t make me laugh.” He stands from his throne, no weapon in his hand.  “This is the survival of the fittest.  You have won.  You have earned the right to obliterate my village from this earth.  Now go ahead.  Kill me.” Talmet spreads his arms out, a look of fatigue but relief on his face.  Nageti raises his sword, ready to cut the traitor in front of him down.  But something in the back of his mind stops him.  Suddenly, it becomes clear to him.  
If Nageti kills Talmet, he would validate Talmet’s theory.  If he burned their village to the ground, like, after extracting the innocent, he planned to do, then it would prove that living on this earth is a matter of survival of the fittest.

Nageti does not kill Talmet.

He kicks open the doors in the dining hall, and bitter snow instantly hits his face.  Standing in the doorway, he throws Talmet onto the ground outside.  Then, Nageti walks out, standing over him.  
“Your king will live.  Your settlement will not burn.  However, if you attempt to rebel, you will suffer the same punishment as this treacherous scum.” Nageti kicks Talmet, who is lying on the floor, and he goes rolling down the steps, landing at his soldier’s feet.  One could not describe the state Talmet was in.  Nageti did not kill him, but he did not let him go unscathed.  
Slowly, the soldiers of Rzzamaki turned, and when they saw Talmet, recoiled in horror.  One by one, they dropped their swords on the ground.
“My men.  Take these soldiers prisoner.  Do not kill them, but spare them.  The ones that agree to live in peace can go free.” Nageti walks down the steps.  “Tell the villagers to gather in the town centre.  Now, we rebuild.”


From the day young Gionian hunter Makana stumbled into his home village, brutalized, with news of another tribe attacking, the people of Giona have been prepared for an invasion.  They built walls.  They trained soldiers.  They had men watching the perimeter all hours of the day.  

The attack did not come.

For 10 moons, they waited.  Through the boiling days of the winter.  Through the dark nights in the spring.

It was in the violent monsoons of the 2nd moon of summer when they came.

And Giona believed that the end was nigh.

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