Project - Arcade

Rock And Dust - Origin

News had made it to the ears of the victim's houses, houses with life, no more there, dead, in ruins were the houses left in, this is the story of Mozeé, The Gastly Muze...

The silence was loud and harsh, as the ruins of a beautiful residence crumbled, piece by piece, Kris Samual Grads, the oldest son of the once-alive family stands on the debris of the destroyed estate, crying and yelling as only his voice can be heard above the debris.
Lights of red and blue colours filled the air, Kris felt the weight of his remorse suffocating him.

-"Why did they have to go, why was I not there to help them?" Kris called out

His voice cracked up, his eyes were filled with tears of sorrow.

-"I was the fault, was I not?"

But as Kris sat atop the rock and ruble with only his sorrows keeping him company, a nearby neighbour calls out to him.

-"Kris Grads, for the love of whatever you accept get down from there! I know it's hard for you to hear me, but please get down."

Kris didn't respond, he was silent like the none existing wind, he curled up into a ball and put his broken mind to rest, as the stone beneath him grew colder and colder...

A day has gone by, but Kris felt the same, with not even a wisp of air to come out of his mouth, he felt his own body giving up.
And as the winter cold grew harsher he truly felt one with the gravel and stone, slowly as the snow fell from the cloudy sky Krise's mind fled to memories, memories that kept becoming foggier as the years passed.

24-th March 1867

-"Wake Up SLEEPY HEADS" Screamed Krise's mother without a care in the world.

-"Mom, please I don't want to get up, but I think Kris would love to get up, right big brother?" slowly turning her head towards Kris

-"In your dreams Linda, get up" Kris answered back nearly half asleep

-"Now now kids, I don't remember saying who is getting up, I SAID GET UP SLEEPY HEADS, THATS AN ORDER SOLDIERS"

The kids with fear controlling them, get up and start their day off with a literal blast...

12-th December 1869

-"Linda where are your doll kids?" Asked Lilac(Mother)

-"Well they are in a boarding school, they behaved exceptionally mean towards me and my man, so I punished them, but don't worry they are coming home tonight with their beloved uncle, isn't he the..." as Linda was about to finish her word, out of nowhere someone knocked on the so-called "front door",

-"Your children are back!" Kris spoke behind the wooden door.

Lilac giggled lightly at the fact that she heard Kris playing with Linda

Slowly Kris opened the door with a hair net on his head.

-"Well champ, I would have never imagined you playing with your sister"

-"Mom, as much as I hate her, I love roleplaying, it's in my actor's spirit"

1-th February 1872

-"Now this is embarrassing," said Kris in a monotone voice

-"Come on you know you love this outfit, it's like.. like... . LIKE MAGICAL" shouted Linda with happiness

-"I might say this is quite dandy, but it's too MAGICAL for me Linda"

-"So this outfit is too MAGICAL for you, but have you seen what you publish to the world?" Linda raised her eyebrow

-"What is that supposed to mean? Are you accusing me of hypocrisy?!" bewitched Kris felt

-"This was my hypothesis, but I guess you are a hypocrite" proud was Linda of her answer

-"Okay then, I shall leave... With a refund Miss Grads" Kris retrieves his money, slowly pacing towards the "front door" to make his grand exit, but Linda steps in the way

-"Sir, my apologies, I take everything back, it was very foul of me to call you something that you are DEFINITELY not, please forgive me for my misbehaviour"

-"No" Kris happily hopped out of there with a smile, knowing that Linda would be left speechless, what a brother.

But as the memories passed so does their life span, after Kris snaps back to reality, he felt worse than before, so for him to feel better, he takes a piece of paper out of his school backpack and started writing on the cold, hard concrete.
Samual Kris Grads was and is one of the youngest book publishers in the Museum of Young Inventions, he published about 3 books which were all beloved by the public, everyone calls him "The Small Muze" as his work is very inspiring, but as well listening to him can bring you a lot of knowledge about the path of storytelling, as for what his reputation is now, it's unknown.
Kris never liked the fact that he was praised and sponsored more than his work, he never liked the spotlight, so the offers given to him were rejected if not to show off his sweat and tears.

As time passed, Kris felt weaker and weaker to the point that he could write no more, but had the power to stay on the mess beneath him, weaknesses to him were a form of laziness, a form of giving up, but the body works differently from the mind, and what the body wants, the mind does not.

Spirals of lights and colours started to appear in front of Kris, spinning in flawless movements, blinding the one that sees it, compressing the one from breathing, over the sky and into the water, under the roots and up to the surface, in and out did the shapes go.

-"Is this what death feels like, is this how I go out?"

As time flew by he felt his body lifting above the concrete, as light as a feather did Kris feel, the stress that was once there was forever gone, as the body felt calm, and without feeling a thing a ghastly body was carrying him towards the light that gradually shined stronger and stronger, and in the final act, it threw him into the...

Hello, Mozeé