Aladastrius and I (Dia) have joined our forces, outbalancing the force of law, to write a series.A rather long one in
my opinion.This is only the prologue in our long epic and other the other parts are not as boring. We hope you all
enjoy this! (This part was written by Dia). This contains some naughty words.
Dia and Aladastrius present to you....
Le Chemin de Malfoi
Prologue: Remembrance
The stale air which reeked with the aroma of mildew, hung over the room like an aura, casting a
mien of ancient untold secrets and the close proximity of death. The stench of the
deceased swept through the cracks between blocks of stone, spreading it's unmerciful
hand throughout the corridors, rooms, and halls of my citadel, my great fortress that
pierces the crimson sunset like a sword, my imprisonment.
I know there wouldn't be a sunset made of the splashes of watercolor paint against
canvas because I wouldn't live to see it. My chest shudders in pain as I try to exhale from
the breath I held for what seemed like an eternity. Along with the carbon dioxide, blood
spouts out of my gaping mouth onto my writing table, barely missing the parchment I'm
scribbling on. My quill darts and races upon the papyrus, marring the parchment with
delicate curves of obsidian ink. The elaborate painting my quill makes is for my heir to
read when it is time. The moisture in the air causes my ebony robes to cling to my chest,
allowing a clear view of my ribs. As I scrawl my message in a forbidden language upon the
paper I hear the wailing of the bagpipe from across the loch. It's mournful song adds to
the melancholy that has taken over my soul.. I know my fate is inevitable. I hear the
clamping of armor against stone as my executioners, Godric's soldiers, spiral towards my
humble abode.
It's funny, no- downright fucking hysterical that when I, Salazar Slytherin, am so close to
death that I can feel her icy claws, put everything, my situation, my environment, my
actions into poetic context. Most people would think if a person was dying they would
think about their past experiences and basically put their life in a short summery and grade
it like it was a freakin' report. Nope, I have to be original and become another Edgar Allan
Poe in the making. Hell, I can't even remember what I did in my life before the age of 10
and then to make it strange, I remember things that happened in years after this time! I
don't even remember what my name was before I claimed the alias of Salazar Slytherin.
I abruptly turn my head towards the door that blocks my office. The clamping has gotten
louder. They are closing in on me. I feel the deathly chill of Hel's breath upon the bare
patch of skin on my neck. The old wooden door whose planks of wood have thousands of
splinters piercing the moisture that clings to the air and is barred by a simple band of iron
couldn't save me from the murderous plans of Godric Gryffindor. If it wasn't for the lack
of time, I would start cursing to Odin about the architect of this castle's lack of paranoia.
I face my letter again. I neatly write my name in my horrible Olde English and set my quill
upright in it's assigned ink bottle. With a waver of a hand and murmur of an incantation
the ink dried upon the paper. I fold the parchment in a neat little rectangle and I place my
seal upon where the ends of the paper meet. I place this message in the safety of one of my
desk's hidden drawers. With this last task done, I can think.
I stare out of my slit of a window, onto the murky waters of the loch. Encircled by verdant
rolling hills of the highlands, the lock will forever be in a shadow. The gray sky looms
overhead, leaving a reflection on the almost dead water. I sigh as I catch myself fingering a
song that could be played on a guitar. As they move closer, my soul wavers towards
another side of myself. This part of myself being more sarcastic, ignorant of magick but
fully aware of science and the untouched technology of the unmagickal. I'm leaving my
yin for my yang. Now I can here the hateful murmurs of my executioners. These will be
my last minutes. I tuck a thick strand of black hair with some silver strands behind my ear
as the wooden doors started bulging under the pressure of about 16 men pushing against
it. I turn up my sleeve and with a finger, trace the faded outline of a tattoo of a salamander
that is engraved onto my lower arm. It's funny that I don't remember how, where, and
when I got this but, I still remember how to play the electric 12-string bass guitar.
The old wooden door busted open.
******************************~Flashback~*******************************
Rain, endless bloody god forbidden rain, fell in small droplets upon the windshield. The
windshield wipers wipe the droplets away only to receive more. The constant pounding of
the downpour filled my ears with a constant rhythm. My gazed wavered from the constant
traffic onto the bleak waters of the Pacific, gently rolling, allowing itself to be bludgeoned
by the consistent force of rain. The 'sheer' sound of cars speeding by in another direction
beat my eyelids to droop. The clouds overhead form the shape of a-
"Salamander! Are ya' awake?!"
These are one of the moments I really really despise living in Oregon.
"Yes I am awake, now that you have awakened me from my reverie," I reply to my
companion's rude awakening. For a while I wonder why he called me 'Salamander; till I
felt pain that could even make a masochist scream 'Stop!".
" Why the hell did you ever convince me to get this goddamned tattoo!" I yell at him,
holding my arm in front of his face, giving him a great prospective of the vibrant crimson
salamander painted into my arm. He pushes my arm away with a look of disgust marring
his face.
"Jesus Craig! I'm trying to fucking drive here! Anyway, Jenny thought it would be sexy
for you to get the tattoo, remember?" Jake said, mocking me with his tone.
" She was drunk at the time, and it was also Jenny that thought naming our band 'The
Funkadelic Oranges' was sexy too, remember?" I reply, damning Jenny Mkcarthy to the
darkest, most evil, level in hell.
"Yeah, and it was also Jenny that gotch' ya' to play the bass. Remember?"
I was sick and tired of these mind games, and ignored his comment. I reverted my eyes
back to the drenched road. My empty mind being filled by my useless ponderings. It was
then I saw a crimson flash of a corvette zooming by.
A guy running a red light.
I turn my head to Jake, listening and his attention focusing onto Iggy Pop's "Search and
Destroy" which was airing on the radio. He was totally oblivious to the assholes in
driver's seat around him.
" Jake! Hit the fucking break!" I yelled over the old buick's stereo. Jake stole a surprised
glance at me and then focused at the speeding corvette going right in front of us. He
slammed on the break. Everything happened instantaneously. The impact of the crash,
crunching sound of metal and bones, pushing against the restraints of the seatbelt, ribs
broken, snap of the seat belt, body flying, hitting windshield, scarlet blood and diamond
glass sprinkled, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth, hitting concrete, and-
Complete darkness.
______________________________________________________________________________________
Don't worry! There is more after this! Anyway here are the notes!
1. Hel is the Norse goddess of death, daughter of Loki, the Norse god of destruction
2.loch (pronounced lock) is what is theEnglish tern for a lake.
3. Odin is the Norse god of war. He is the leader of the Norse gods.
I own the Funkadelic Oranges, Craig, and everybody else with the exception of Iggy Pop, Salazar Slytherin
(J.K.R), and Godric Gryffindor (J.K.R). For those of you who say "Why didn't Salazar apparate?", magic is like
muggle technology, it advances. Apparation was just one of those advances that weren't around for Salazar.
Hope you all enjoyed that!
Dia and Aladastrius. (We'll give any person 10 points if they can translate the title!)
my opinion.This is only the prologue in our long epic and other the other parts are not as boring. We hope you all
enjoy this! (This part was written by Dia). This contains some naughty words.
Dia and Aladastrius present to you....
Le Chemin de Malfoi
Prologue: Remembrance
The stale air which reeked with the aroma of mildew, hung over the room like an aura, casting a
mien of ancient untold secrets and the close proximity of death. The stench of the
deceased swept through the cracks between blocks of stone, spreading it's unmerciful
hand throughout the corridors, rooms, and halls of my citadel, my great fortress that
pierces the crimson sunset like a sword, my imprisonment.
I know there wouldn't be a sunset made of the splashes of watercolor paint against
canvas because I wouldn't live to see it. My chest shudders in pain as I try to exhale from
the breath I held for what seemed like an eternity. Along with the carbon dioxide, blood
spouts out of my gaping mouth onto my writing table, barely missing the parchment I'm
scribbling on. My quill darts and races upon the papyrus, marring the parchment with
delicate curves of obsidian ink. The elaborate painting my quill makes is for my heir to
read when it is time. The moisture in the air causes my ebony robes to cling to my chest,
allowing a clear view of my ribs. As I scrawl my message in a forbidden language upon the
paper I hear the wailing of the bagpipe from across the loch. It's mournful song adds to
the melancholy that has taken over my soul.. I know my fate is inevitable. I hear the
clamping of armor against stone as my executioners, Godric's soldiers, spiral towards my
humble abode.
It's funny, no- downright fucking hysterical that when I, Salazar Slytherin, am so close to
death that I can feel her icy claws, put everything, my situation, my environment, my
actions into poetic context. Most people would think if a person was dying they would
think about their past experiences and basically put their life in a short summery and grade
it like it was a freakin' report. Nope, I have to be original and become another Edgar Allan
Poe in the making. Hell, I can't even remember what I did in my life before the age of 10
and then to make it strange, I remember things that happened in years after this time! I
don't even remember what my name was before I claimed the alias of Salazar Slytherin.
I abruptly turn my head towards the door that blocks my office. The clamping has gotten
louder. They are closing in on me. I feel the deathly chill of Hel's breath upon the bare
patch of skin on my neck. The old wooden door whose planks of wood have thousands of
splinters piercing the moisture that clings to the air and is barred by a simple band of iron
couldn't save me from the murderous plans of Godric Gryffindor. If it wasn't for the lack
of time, I would start cursing to Odin about the architect of this castle's lack of paranoia.
I face my letter again. I neatly write my name in my horrible Olde English and set my quill
upright in it's assigned ink bottle. With a waver of a hand and murmur of an incantation
the ink dried upon the paper. I fold the parchment in a neat little rectangle and I place my
seal upon where the ends of the paper meet. I place this message in the safety of one of my
desk's hidden drawers. With this last task done, I can think.
I stare out of my slit of a window, onto the murky waters of the loch. Encircled by verdant
rolling hills of the highlands, the lock will forever be in a shadow. The gray sky looms
overhead, leaving a reflection on the almost dead water. I sigh as I catch myself fingering a
song that could be played on a guitar. As they move closer, my soul wavers towards
another side of myself. This part of myself being more sarcastic, ignorant of magick but
fully aware of science and the untouched technology of the unmagickal. I'm leaving my
yin for my yang. Now I can here the hateful murmurs of my executioners. These will be
my last minutes. I tuck a thick strand of black hair with some silver strands behind my ear
as the wooden doors started bulging under the pressure of about 16 men pushing against
it. I turn up my sleeve and with a finger, trace the faded outline of a tattoo of a salamander
that is engraved onto my lower arm. It's funny that I don't remember how, where, and
when I got this but, I still remember how to play the electric 12-string bass guitar.
The old wooden door busted open.
******************************~Flashback~*******************************
Rain, endless bloody god forbidden rain, fell in small droplets upon the windshield. The
windshield wipers wipe the droplets away only to receive more. The constant pounding of
the downpour filled my ears with a constant rhythm. My gazed wavered from the constant
traffic onto the bleak waters of the Pacific, gently rolling, allowing itself to be bludgeoned
by the consistent force of rain. The 'sheer' sound of cars speeding by in another direction
beat my eyelids to droop. The clouds overhead form the shape of a-
"Salamander! Are ya' awake?!"
These are one of the moments I really really despise living in Oregon.
"Yes I am awake, now that you have awakened me from my reverie," I reply to my
companion's rude awakening. For a while I wonder why he called me 'Salamander; till I
felt pain that could even make a masochist scream 'Stop!".
" Why the hell did you ever convince me to get this goddamned tattoo!" I yell at him,
holding my arm in front of his face, giving him a great prospective of the vibrant crimson
salamander painted into my arm. He pushes my arm away with a look of disgust marring
his face.
"Jesus Craig! I'm trying to fucking drive here! Anyway, Jenny thought it would be sexy
for you to get the tattoo, remember?" Jake said, mocking me with his tone.
" She was drunk at the time, and it was also Jenny that thought naming our band 'The
Funkadelic Oranges' was sexy too, remember?" I reply, damning Jenny Mkcarthy to the
darkest, most evil, level in hell.
"Yeah, and it was also Jenny that gotch' ya' to play the bass. Remember?"
I was sick and tired of these mind games, and ignored his comment. I reverted my eyes
back to the drenched road. My empty mind being filled by my useless ponderings. It was
then I saw a crimson flash of a corvette zooming by.
A guy running a red light.
I turn my head to Jake, listening and his attention focusing onto Iggy Pop's "Search and
Destroy" which was airing on the radio. He was totally oblivious to the assholes in
driver's seat around him.
" Jake! Hit the fucking break!" I yelled over the old buick's stereo. Jake stole a surprised
glance at me and then focused at the speeding corvette going right in front of us. He
slammed on the break. Everything happened instantaneously. The impact of the crash,
crunching sound of metal and bones, pushing against the restraints of the seatbelt, ribs
broken, snap of the seat belt, body flying, hitting windshield, scarlet blood and diamond
glass sprinkled, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth, hitting concrete, and-
Complete darkness.
______________________________________________________________________________________
Don't worry! There is more after this! Anyway here are the notes!
1. Hel is the Norse goddess of death, daughter of Loki, the Norse god of destruction
2.loch (pronounced lock) is what is theEnglish tern for a lake.
3. Odin is the Norse god of war. He is the leader of the Norse gods.
I own the Funkadelic Oranges, Craig, and everybody else with the exception of Iggy Pop, Salazar Slytherin
(J.K.R), and Godric Gryffindor (J.K.R). For those of you who say "Why didn't Salazar apparate?", magic is like
muggle technology, it advances. Apparation was just one of those advances that weren't around for Salazar.
Hope you all enjoyed that!
Dia and Aladastrius. (We'll give any person 10 points if they can translate the title!)