Sunday, December 30, 2012

Mahz Falls

Nonnah laboured hard in the auxiliary tent tending to the wounded, when a blood-curdling screech came from without.  One of the internal guards exited the tent, but was slain with a sickening splatter of blood on the canvas wall.  Hooves were heard and Nonnah ventured to peek outside the tent to see a creature of horrendous proportions and an awful shape hobbling over toward the tent, looking straight into her eyes.  The sound of hooves, she saw, came from Mahz, who galloped toward the tent at a great pace.  It didn’t take long before he reached the creature, and sliced through its neck with his claymore with ease.  He looked at Nonnah and shooed her into the pavilion, but as she turned the ground beneath her shifted violently and out of it rose a creature of equally brutal but not similar shape and size as the one outside.  Many more burst from the ground around the pavilion like ugly birds from their shells and promptly hacked to pieces with utter brutality and numbness the women and the wounded.  Mahz burst inside and began hacking the brutes, and they all turned on him, who was the greatest, and only threat among those in the healing tent.  Nonnah hid behind a side-turned table and in horror watched as the creatures tore at her father’s flesh with their sinister claws with looks of glee upon their malformed faces.   Mahz fought valiantly and slew many, even as they crowded around him and bore down heavily and mercilessly, obviously joyed by his struggle and his agony.  When one only stood, he rose to cleave its neck, but this one was quicker than the rest.  It dodged his claymore strike with ease, but then turned and drove his claws into his side, and Mahz fell.

So, this is the climax of Book One.  I wrote this in a Word Sprint challenge with my family on December 29, 2012.  It was a great bonding moment with my family, and many quirks were revealed, as we only had time to write what our semiconscious impulses dictated.  We had also done a 5-minute Love Haiku challenge, a 3-minute Riddle challenge, and a 5-minute Limerick challenge.  Part of the Limerick challenge required that we played a random song of whatever genre that matched the limerick, and did interpretive dancing to match it.  It was glorious madness, and much fun was had.  I feel this begins a new Earle tradition, and one I will certainly pass on to my future children, if the Good Lord decides to send me down that path.  

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Visual Dare: Up (Pride St.)

Courtesy of the wonderful Miss Angela Goff

“I have a newfound appreciation for the desert,” Daurian said, peering down into a filthy cistern beneath Walkjöra. 
Drismatir grunted.
Daurian felt a jabbing in his rump.  He spun around to face a little boy standing behind him, a smirk on his dirty face.
The boy said, “I don’t think you’re as wise as Halvardr says.  Adults aren’t as smart as they think.  The only reason children are called stupid is because we don’t have age to cover it up.”
“Yes, but children lack the wisdom that comes with age.”
“How d’you know?”
Daurian laughed.  “I was a child, too.” 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Visual Dare: Peeking

The statues carved into every tree and stone peered down at Daurian, forbidding his advance into the Vitasbæn Woods.  Most of them were large and commanding, some were small and eldritch, and a few looked like frightened children.  As he passed each one, he examined their faces – the spiderwebs in their mouths and empty eyesockets, the moss clinging to their cold skin, and the dead leaves caught in the deep crevices of their bodies. 
Beside Daurian, Borisdar’s movements were rigid.  Drismatir tried to calm the horse’s unease, but her own agitation prevented such success.  The horses of Kieran, Lyreth, and Lorendel – who led the procession – were even more nervous.  
Narri’s brows were beetled, his eyes narrow, and his breaths short.  He allowed Daurian to come up beside him and said, “I feel as if the statues’ eyes are trained on us.”
Drismatir interjected, “They are gargoyles – their eyes are trained on you.  But they look not at your physical forms, but your spiritual.  They decide whether or not one deserves to pass through alive by scrutinising the soul.  If one is deemed unworthy, they will kill him.”

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Visual Dare: The Odd Couple

I must use this image in one of two ways:

*Incorporate it into my current WIP - literally or figuratively
*Use it as a 100 word flash fiction to get the brain going in a different creative direction.

Elenora and Eris argued much; Elenora usually won.  Eris told himself that Elenora’s cat eyes, black hair, and gracefulness were not the only reason he married her, though her snobbish, fickle attitude was hard for him to ignore.  Elenora thought similarly of Eris.  He seemed always to flee at the first hint of Elenora. 
Elenora awaited Eris’ return, hoping to remind him of his wrongness.  He barged in and flew up the staircase to his laboratory; Elenora followed. 
“Drink this wine,” Eris said.  Elenora did and yowled like a cat as it burnt her throat.  Eris uttered a raven’s cackle.

Photo prompt courtesy of Anonymous Legacy's Visual Dare

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Just A Few Words about Nothing in Particular

  Okay, so I've created a blog series separate from my "Spiel-blog" called "I Have Some Words for You..."  Originally, "Some Words" was just going to be about my current WIP (Work In Progress), but I wasn't careful and consistent with my topics, and it turned into a Spiel-blog.  However, his series will be exclusively about "Fables of the Kirmakor," my current WIP.  Not this post, though, because it's just an orientation.

  Those of you who read my first blog, which I neglected to name, have already had an overview of "Fables," so y'all are familiar with my ideas.  However, my story is ever-changing, always maturing and going in directions I never thought it would go, so y'all are going to have to unlearn some things as my story evolves (for instance, I've already taken Daurian's Orondíl-hood away from him...  Poor kid).  In fact, the only time I'm not contemplating the inner workings of my iceberg of a story is when I'm riding Atlas. When I'm riding is when all that goes through my mind is some song or other on an endless loop.

  Actually, y'all deserve a picture of Atlas, because he's a great horse, if a little stubborn and slow to love a person:

   Yes, he's my best bud.  If he and Saphira (from the Inheritance Cycle - I'm an Era-nerd) were competing for the Best Non-Human BFF Award, Atlas would win, hands down.  Saphira wouldn't touch him.  He has little to nothing to do with my story (though his name is used in my father's book, The Eye of Telerion), I just thought y'all should meet him.  :)

  That's all I have for y'all for now.  Y'all should be proud - I didn't go on a rant this time!  I'm determined to make this blog a no-rant zone.

  My dear Atlas...  He carries the world upon his shoulders.  He's too fat to shrug though...  Sorry Miss Rand...