Snow's Eclectic Journal

EPILOGUE

In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met

among fireside rituals fussed and fret;

knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,

preaching failed expectations, still we groped.

The Watchers Book lines 41-44

Translated by Christopher M. Townsend　　

Robert E. Howard's grave

EPILOGUE

　After finger sandwiches, chips and dip, several cappuccinos and rest room breaks later; it was Arlene’s final turn that finished up the group reading of the manuscript. Casey looked solemn faced with tears welling. Stewart began packing his long churchwarden pipe with fresh tobacco, and through gritted teeth told Jacob, “See, brother, I knew the wait to meet you would be worth it, better than the dreams, ’eh?”

Jacob smiled a bizarre understanding grin back at him, then glancing at Arlene’s sniffle, patted her leg softly.

Little over a year and a half later, and months of editing, Stewart and Jacob put their financial inheritance to work, finally publishing their grandfather’s book; some thirty-five years after Christopher’s death. In it, they included drawings that Allen Carter had made during their original archeological discovery, as well as photographs of the tablets, genealogies from the story, and indexes of peculiar words and meanings found within its epic tale. They both shared their dreams, the contents of the footlocker, and antidotes about each item, as well as exerts from their grandfather’s journal and private letters.

Two weeks after their book made print, Jacob drove out to the Greenleaf cemetery, in Brownwood, and parked his car beside the stone gateway. Finding his grandfather’s grave, two rows beyond Robert E. Howard’s historical marker, Jacob placed a copy of the Nephilim book and a dozen roses on the head stone. About that time another man, whom Jacob assumed was the caretaker, strolled up to him and said hello. Jacob suddenly felt all the blood in his face drain as his recognized the man from an old photograph.

Reading his expression, Dale tried to relieve Jacob’s anxiety with a smile, and put both hands in his pocket. He looked over at the book and flowers atop the headstone, and nodded, then said directly to Jacob, “By now you know the truth of what happened on the day we discovered the scrolls. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late for me to save Allen, and I’ve struggled with his death on my conscience ever since. However, I feel vindicated today, in that -- it was our duty to get the scrolls published for him, thank you for doing that for us, Jacob. I know your grandfather is very proud of you.”

Not knowing quiet what to do or say, Jacob just stood there perfectly still, nodding his head in reply. With a broad grin, the ghost of Dale Hines nodded back and turned to leave. Like the rippling effect of light being bent on a hot day, the figure evaporated and disappeared in plain sight, right in front of Jacob. It was then, for the first time in his several visits to the graveyard that Jacob even noticed the tarnished-brass head marker next to that of his grandfather’s stone. It read simply:

Allen Douglas Carter

March 1, 1902 - August 3, 1924

Artist, Explorer and dear friend

A few weeks later, Jacob decided that every year on the anniversary of Christopher’s death, they should make it a point to get together as a family. So it was, on February 4^th of every year, they alternated between homes, in which to meet, and read aloud to one another their grandfather’s published work.

Seven months after, The Nephilim Age was released; Stewart and Casey became the parents of twins: a boy named, Christopher Jamison, and a girl, Miriam Savannah Townsend. Then, less than three months later, Jacob and Arlene celebrated the birth of their own first child, a son, named: Christopher Jereith Townsend.

The day after he turned six years old, Jereith woke his parents up with a nightmare about a red-haired woman -- drowning.

White House Party Crashers

I'm not crazy about Obama, but hey he is the president after all. The fact that party crashers were able to get close to him only means that the McDonalds security team could also allow terrorist to get through. Even the Cleveland Brown's football team, or State School Security could have done a better job.

Fallen Elf King

The slain body of King Ithel`Fay, in the flaming remains of Ra`More, the tree shrine.

The Rape of Velwyth

(Click picture above)

Calan withdrew his smelly exhaustion from atop his sister’s limp silence, and stood over her while securing his clothes. Being released, Velwyth violently fought to cover herself up. Catching a glimpse of him, smiling wickedly down at her, sent Velwyth’s skin into a crawl, making her brother’s eyes shine even more.

It was in that moment that Calan began to notice Velwyth’s tearing pout boiling as her eyes glared back with a fierce vengeance of their own. There was something frightful in them. An expression of defiance he did not see coming. Yet, her maliciousness quickly faded into submission under his unrelenting stare baring down on her. In her secret thoughts Velwyth began to plot his demise. But for now she was overwhelmed with shame, thinking of what he had just done, causing her to recoil deeper into her sheltered thoughts.

His sister hid her face and began weeping uncontrollably. Velwyth had always believed her home had been a refuge, but now even the dignity of her own mind had been defiled beyond repair. She thought her only salvation was pay back, but how? Half wrapped in the moistened gown, she gathered herself and huddled in the corner on the patio. He had crushed her spirit, and she knew for certain that no one would ever come to her aid...

Smoke of Mithar

Further inland, deeper within the city, was the Great Hall of the Stewards. It was a huge stone building, fashioned in the form of two great hands, made by the dwarves of old, to commemorate some forgotten event. Its roof was carved to resemble interlocking fingers. The space between the forefingers and thumbs were a lacing of stone-cut vines, painted green; through which dissipating wisps of scented smoke arose. Its mixture of lavender and sage incense lingered in the wind for miles. The Great Hall's double doors stood beneath those massive thumbs, with ivory unicorn horns for spiral handles.

Meeting Miriam...

THE WATCHER REQUIEM

Drifting away from his reassuringly soft pillow, Jacob found himself fighting the fatigue of the day. Dressed in a powder-blue tuxedo, he saw himself floating against the backdrop of a yellowish parchment-colored sky. Just as a wisp of purplish, creamy black clouds began to populate the scene, Jacob felt himself slowing down to a soft landing. He was standing on a huge moss covered stone, that barely broke the surface of a calm ocean by three feet.

The air was heavy with the taste of salt and the stench of rotting fish. As his eyes searched the horizon, the skies turned a royal sapphire, eerily giving everything a hazed-bluish tint. Then, out of that clouding-blue sky, a beautiful woman appeared. She was dark skinned, in her mid-thirties, with waist-length bright red hair. The woman wore a layering of wrap-around cloth, like that of a sari from India. Though her head was covered, Jacob could still see her unveiled face, and the detail of a small mole on her neck, just beneath her chin.

After she landed on the rock where he stood, they both faced one another and she began telling him about things that made no sense. She spoke passionately of a twisted-tree on a distant hill, pointed out a flock of white cranes flying overhead, and observed the brewing of a massive storm cloud in the east.

Suddenly the heavens boiled with rolling thunder and brilliant displays of lightning as that very storm approached. The bolts scampered on the water’s surface all around them as Jacob crossed his arms and seemed indifferent to their threats. He felt detached, like an unconcerned observer only. Yet, the woman flew into a state of sheer panic as the violent winds shoved her over the edge of the great rock. She struggled to regain her footing on top as Jacob simply watched her slide deeper into the crashing waves that lapped over the massive stone. Like a movie whose outcome was predetermined; he did nothing. It was her fate to die.

Moments later all he saw of the woman was a fear-stricken face, haloed in a fan of bright red hair, mingled with a curtain of silent bubbles. She slowly sank beneath the surface of the calming waters, leaving Jacob once again standing all alone. The stench of dead fish filled the air as a strange feeling began to gnaw into Jacob’s waking thoughts; that something very serendipitous was yet to come. Then he looked out onto the horizon and saw an enormous square ship with no sails.

TWR = The Battle

THE WATCHERS REQUIEM...

From out of the warm, unknown darkness his hazed vision grew as a lingering smoke rolled in across the land. The sight of a strange battle lay before him, and became a vivid scene. It looked like the carnage the day after a major combat on some ancient battlefield, or maybe the lull before its second wave was to attack. The grass was blotched with pools of blood that glistened beneath the smoldering haze. A putrid stench inescapably filled the air with the aroma of death. The realism of it all was beyond belief, no matter where Jacob looked, he was there in real time.

Whether it was near dusk or early dawn, he couldn’t tell from the blackened burnt-orange sky. Silhouetted heads mounted on pikes jabbed at the red glowing horizon, with their expressions glaring in silent screams. Beneath each pole were the mangled remains of the unfortunate victim. They had apparently lost their fight against a formidable enemy. The entire field was littered with mutilated and charred body parts of the half dead who beggingly reached skyward, for a mercy that never came. Their fateful demise had been cruelly sealed.

Jacob felt like vomiting as he could almost discern distant moans gaining in volume from behind him. Suddenly the ground underfoot had begun to vibrate with the approach of the advancing onslaught. As his panoramic view turned to the left, he saw the defending armies screaming and gathering strength as armored knights rode out onto the field. The army's eagerness to engage was in stark contrast to what had obviously been an earlier defeat, just days before.

Someone was beginning to shout a speech of encouragement, just as another group entered the fight. They bore down, against what appeared to be a barbaric horde of monstrous club welding beast. Without warning, out of the corner of his eye a shiny, black armored figure came rushing toward Jacob. The warrior’s green eyes were wild with rage, as both hands griped a huge bastard sword, raised for its killing assault. Jacob's heart pounded in his chest, as if it were about to burst. A voice called out to the running knight, "Barad, slay that creature!" When the sword came down a pain shot through Jacob’s entire body and everything went black.