A Grane of Tyme.

    Chapter I, Tyme, not the man.

Tyme is a man. No he’s not; he can’t be a man anymore. He has no last name, no first name but simply a middle name.  No one knows how old he really is. Some say he’s just a soul moving to new bodies. Some say he’s simply immortal. I know what he is. I know who he is. I know him. Tyme’s known by all in Meased. He is feared, no one likes him. No one knows him. At night he terrorized citizens, not that they’ll notice when he’s done with them. Tyme has a collection, he collects souls. He stores them in labelled jars. He snatches away souls and stores them forever. He’s been doing it for thousands of years and his collection is huge. Every jar has a name, all names are alphabetically ordered. Tyme lives alone, in an underground cave. It is finely furnished, not a bad place to live. I myself have only been there twice. And once wasn’t pleasant. You see stealing souls can be easy or difficult. Young children are very easy, a small tap with his scythe and he can grab it. The older you get though the harder it becomes, to a point where strong willed people require their souls to be literally cut from them.  I myself am old. I am old and strong willed and I know what it feels like to nearly lose your soul. Tyme is a cruel and kind man. The two adjectives sound contradictory but are not. He is kind and we used to be great friends. Although he is cruel, he takes a soul and collects it simply for the fun of doing so. He’s nothing special to look at. Slicked back black hair, he has a long skinny face and he himself is very skinny. I would say he looks about thirty, although he’s really much older than that. He wears the same outfit every day although it never gets dirty. He wears a pair of simply dress pants, he has a long leather coat and of course his scythe, it is all black, so black it seems white. It is amazingly a bright black; the handle is carved with overlapping names of every soul he’s collected. The actual blade is dull and hardly sharp. Although dull it should be feared. It has powers beyond all you can imagine. Not just any person can handle a weapon that powerful and no one has yet been able to wield the full power of it. Unless they themselves gave it their soul, no one is willing to do that though, for if you did you would keep your soul, but be under command of the scythe. Tyme can wield some of it power but nowhere near it all. The longer you posses the weapon the more powerful it will get and the more powerful you will get. It certainly was tempting when I held it. I could hardly resist it. Once you posses it you will become addicted to it and not be enabled to break away from it. You could break away from it... although it would be difficult. Tyme is an outstanding man, a terrible man and not a man. He makes fantastic conversation although he certainly has an anger issue. He is not really a man any longer.

Chapter 2, Grane, the other unman.

When Tyme was only but fourteen years old; he got a job for as a farmhand with his older brother who was only eight years old. Only a week into the job the farmer sent them off into a barn to find a shovel. They found the shovel quickly but the elder of the brothers insisted they explore. The younger, after pointless arguing, gave in and followed the elder further into the old, run down building. They found something of a chest. It was more of a coffin though. They together opened it and stared curiously at its contents.

There were two weapons. One blacker than black, a common farm scythe, the other was a sword. The hilt of the sword was a shimmering gold and the blade was perfect silver. The older, who’s name must not be written yet but had the middle name of Tyme, slowly reached out towards the black weapon. The younger who’s first name must also not be mention but held the middle name of Grane, grabbed Tyme’s wrist. “No brother! Do not touch it! It isn’t ours!” He cried, Tyme rolled his eyes “Younger brother, do you not realize, I don’t intend to take it. I just must touch it. Here you take the sword and we will play battle!” He prompted.

Grane, after a moment of consideration, let go of his hand. Oh how I wish he hadn’t. How I wish he would have knocked his brother unconscious right at that moment. Tyme smiled and wrapped his calloused fingers around the scythe. He froze instantly and stared at it. Grane thought he must have been waiting for him so Grane quickly grabbed the sword, he felt a tingling sensation fill his arm. He gasped; he would have dropped the weapon but didn’t feel he could. He looked at his brother and panic filled his eyes. Tyme had changed. He wore, not a farm hands outfit but dress pants and a long leather jacket. His eyes were what scared Grane the most. Tyme’s eyes had gone completely black.

The older boy looked at Grane with a confused expression. For Grane’s clothes had also changed, he now wore loose silk, white pants. He had a blue shirt on that was made of a soft and warm material. But most noticeable was that Grane’s eyes had turned a light turquoise colour, but the colour was bright and seemed to be lighting up. “Brother?" Grane squeaked in fear, Tyme turned and saw a mirror. He stared at himself; he turned back to his brother with obvious fear. Grane swallowed hard and ran out of the room with fear propelling him. He had seen himself in the mirror and had scared himself.

He noticed he was still holding the sword but couldn’t bring himself to drop it. He burst out of the  barn building and ran for home. Only half way there did he notice he was running on air, at least two feet off the ground. He screamed and fell to the ground. He knew he wouldn’t be welcomed home. He knew his brother would look for him and the idea of his brother sent him shivers and tears. He slowly got to his feet and walked not north to the farmer nor south to his home but to the east. Towards the unknown mountains. I know not what happened to Tyme after Grane left. Only that the brothers didn’t meet again for many years. Not for hundreds of years did their paths cross. 

Chapter three, Grane's happenings. 

 When Grane reached the mountain it was snowing softly but his loose and thin clothes kept him surprisingly warm. He still hadn’t put down the sword. He made himself a home in a small outcropping in a mountain. He slept there for nearly a year. He was all alone and terribly scared of his brother. He never felt cold although he would go for walks by ice and see his face to be completely pale and frozen. When he got dirty he would bathe in ice lakes. He felt the water but no cold. He wasn’t dead yet he looked it excepting his radiant blue eyes. He was terrified of his very being. He would look in water and cringe at the reflection. He ate nothing and felt no hunger yet if he ate anything it would still taste great and give him a full feeling. He ate anything he could find except animals. He used to love meat and now he couldn’t bring himself to eating it. He ate only plants he would find on the odd occasion. After one year of living like this he would weep tears of loneliness every night. He would wake up in the morning with tears frozen to his cheek. He still had his sword on him at all times. Not long after he arrived though he made himself a sheath out bending tree branches. He now wore the sword on his back as he trudged through the heavy snow. He walked and walked until he couldn’t walk any longer. He was at least halfway up the mountain when he collapsed into the snow. He slept for a long time. No one knows just how long but when he woke up he was a changed boy. He looked at least eighteen and had started to grow a bit of a stubble of facial hair on his chin. He awoke shocked. He looked into an ice lake and stared at the reflection. He had grown at least a few feet tall and besides his stubble his hair had grown down to his shoulders. Instead of black like it used to be though his hair had gone completely white. All his skin was a light coloured blue, like frozen water. Although he touched his face and it felt soft like living skin not hard like it would be if it were actually frozen. He felt a warm sensation coursing through him and he stood up with renewed hope. Surely he must be alive; otherwise his skin would be hard. He couldn’t die though for he had lain in the cold snow long enough to kill any eight year old. He forced a smile onto his face and climbed up the mountain. Since his sleep he had changed not only in size but in mind. He no longer felt lonely or sad. He smiled as often as possible. He finally decided to try his sword. He would swing it around and by the time he reached the top of the mountain he had gotten fairly good with the weapon. The top of the mountain was in a circular shape with a diameter of about one hundred feet. He smiled and claimed the mountain top as his soon to be home. Over the next year he collected timber from the village. He would, in the dead of night, sneak down there and get a cart of wood and nails. The next night he would return the cart and borrow a new one. When the house was finished he returned the last cart and walked home. Climbing the mountain grew very easy when he learnt he could walk on air if his sword was unsheathed and leading the way. He would simply draw stairs with his sword and walk up the air. His house was about fifty feet wide and had a bedroom and living room which had a kitchen in it. He loved his home and had furnished it nicely with furniture from the village which he would always pay for with something. Sometimes the payment would be as simple as some pinecones. But everything he had touched and left behind always had a renewed beauty to it. His house also had a large sheltered, but open area in it. This was for injured animals from the mountain that he would take to healing. He also had hundreds of books that he collected.

 **There may be editing issues in chapter three, didnt have time for editing :) **