I'd never much liked unfamiliar places at night. True, I'd been along this road hundreds of times, but not usually alone and never after dark. I shifted my bike one gear higher and felt sweat slip between my hands and the handlebars. My dad had once bet me five dollars that I couldn't go out alone to the pole barn behind our house at night. Ever since the age of four I'd been too proud to admit defeat to anything, whether it was a race against someone five feet taller than me or my own (incorrect) choice of key that would open the garage door. I'd taken him up on the bet. Getting to the barn at a reasonable pace wasn't the problem. Turning my back to it on the return trip was.
I'd received my five dollars and never turned my back on the dark since. Willingly.
But I couldn't stay at Wednesday night youth group forever. So. That meant at some point I would have to turn around and go home. I'd never been a particularly irrational person, so I knew not to be afraid of the bug-eyed boogeymen every normal person (probably) imagined in the shadows. But those terrible rabbits along the road, just waiting to grab me and --
I grunted in frustration, suddenly reminded of a very cheesy Monty Python clip. The handlebars were getting slick. I felt rather than saw the steep, deep ditch next to me and considered the possibility of paying it a visit if I tried to wipe off that sweat...
I shouldn't have seen it. The moon was a faint, pathetic blotch of light behind soupy clouds and there was no one else on the highway besides mosquitoes, and they aren't known for generating any sort of light to glint off anything. But glint something did. My hands forgot their job of steering and flew up to my mouth as I stared into the blackness of the trees beyond the ditch. And, as any bicycle veteran knows; where you look, you generally go. I had a very bad habit of looking in the wrong places.
I had often imagined what it would be like to fall into one of those ditches. It would be nice to say that my imagination was right and more, but all I really remember is a lot of "Oof" and mouthful after mouthful of grass and assorted insects. As I landed at the bottom and began the customary procedure of gasping, groaning, and searching for whatever limbs had gone missing, the sharp, cold tip of the glint rested at the hollow in my collarbone.
"Light, please?" said an oddly familiar voice, sharp, accented, and distinctly male. My heart went ker-thlunk.
"Blast the light," growled someone else to my right. "Can't."
I edged my hand downward toward my pocket and grasped a tiny flashlight with a texture like snake scales. The thought didn't help much at that particular moment, lying in the rather squishy grass at the bottom of the ditch, but I had more pressing things to worry about at the moment.
"Hold still," said the first voice, sounding oddly frightened. "Don't try anyth --"
I flicked my light on and beamed it upward.
The shiny blade of a broadsword angled from my collarbone to the hand of the man who held it. "Um," I said, feeling the light slip in my shaking hand, and shone it where I guessed his face would be. I almost fainted.
He winced and moved backward. I flicked the light to the side, where it came to rest on a young, fair-haired girl shifting nervously from foot to foot, then a broad-shouldered man leaning against a tree and trying to look nonchalant. I didn't fall for it.
I knew him too well.
The light landed back on the man holding the sword. He squinted into it. I swept my gaze over his face, once, twice. It didn't change. High, proud features, untidy black hair, and four scars across his left cheek.
"You might get that out of my eyes," he grumbled.
"What?"
"That hurts," he said patiently, glowering. "Get it off me."
"Oh," I said, still eyeballing the sword. "You might let me up."
"Might I?"
"Give it up, Aaron," said the other, shifting from his stance against the tree. His entire body radiated tension.
"I wish Smoky was here," whimpered the girl.
"That's it," I said, dropping the flashlight. "I'm dead. Maybe unconscious. Lord, help me, I want to wake up now."
"What makes you say that?" said the shape in the darkness.
"You. You can't be here. You're in Carseld, chasing whats-his-name."
Silence from the unlikely trio.
"Iri," I said mechanically. "Irivel Fairbrow, only son of Fairivel Fairbrow and Varia Moonchild. Forty-one, birthday June 23, height 6 feet 1 ½ inches. Gold ring on the third finger of your left hand. Am I right?"
"Um," said Iri.
"Thought so. Aaron. Naryn Darkstar, firstborn son of Kherin and Vialyn Darkstar. Forty, birthday March 5, height 6 feet 2 inches. Rider pendant with red stones around the rim. Wyn. Arionwyn Genevieve, raised by -- "
"Enough," Aaron snapped, the sword trembling in his grip. "Who are you?"
"Dead," I responded, close to tears or hysterical laughter, I couldn't tell which. "Or dreaming."
"She's not ... I mean, she can't be the Auth --" Wyn began.
"If I had a notebook I'd prove it. But I don't. Fresh out of pencils too." I began to giggle.
Aaron sheathed his sword, evidently deciding I was too insane to be much of a threat, which was probably true. "Is this Carseld?" he said slowly, clearly.
"Um ... no," I supplied, helpfully. "This is the United States ..."
"The wha --"
"Look," I said, sitting up carefully and checking for broken bones, "I think you'd better come home with me. If I'm not dead, we'll need somewhere brighter to sort his out -- please?"
"Lead the way," said Iri grimly.
Showing posts with label one. Show all posts
Showing posts with label one. Show all posts
Jan 16, 2011
Oct 15, 2010
Science Fiction for Friday
This is my first attempt at sci-fi. Tell me what you think!
I wiped my sweaty fingers on the slick fabric of my form-fitting Zangar outfit and positioned them over the smooth virtual keyboard.
“Commence infiltration,” muttered Karelei, behind me.
“Shush,” I ordered, reaching up to adjust my eyeband. “Here we go.”
I’m sure that without the technological sweat-wicking geniuses of the Zangar company, I would have been drenched. As it was I now wished I’d accepted the gloves offered me at the start of this endeavor. You don’t get sweat on the world’s top machine. No going back for them now, though.
Choking back my nervousness, I began pecking at the numbered keys, maneuvering quickly through the preliminary levels. The colors of each individual room flashed by, faded into a blur. White, black, green, orange–
Red.
Confirmation code required.
“Sayller?” I choked.
A combination of random numbers blinked into the corner of my screen. Except not. That was what I expected it to be. Instead it spelled a single word. Relax.
“Sayller!!”
“Chill. Kid, you have no sense of humor.”
The word relax faded back into the luminescent silver background. My favorite color. It was supposed to be calming.
Password: S45228G.
I keyed it in, double- and triple- checking each character. “You’re sure this is the right one?”
I felt the pulse of electric color and sound as Sayller’s solid frame touched the virtual wall. He had a bad habit of leaning on Detector substances. “Positive.”
“It better be, or we’re fried.”
“Like an egg,” Karelei joked feebly. “Sunnyside up.”
“Quit with the ancient history, sugar,” Sayller chuckled.
Affirmative, said the red room, and faded. Please wait.
I slipped off the eyeband and smiled weakly. Karelei turned to face me, clutching folds of her outfit. With a sigh, she let it go. It snapped back into its original position. “Thank you, Arely.”
“No prob.”
She pulled off her gold eyeband and blinked. Once again I was struck by the color of her eyes. My family couldn’t afford to use the bands on a regular basis, so none of us had the characteristic cream-colored pupil of the Weavers. Everyone said it had no effect on eyesight. Well, no known effect, anyhow. Most were too immersed in their virtual worlds to care. Some never even took it off.
Sayller included.
“Hang on,” he proclaimed, grinning. “Got an update.” He walked over to the far Receptor wall and began moving various invisible objects across it with his fingers. I knew that to him, it was the colorful, multi-layered surface of the Weave. To me, it was just empty metal.
I glanced back at the screen. “You’d think they would’ve had tighter security on that.”
Karelei rubbed a hand over her face. “They may. Wait till you see the next level.”
“Think we’ll get her out?”
“We have to try.”
Sayller keyed in the code for Illusion, and a shimmering film of color appeared on the wall. He’d been wanting a better quality machine for years, he said, but this one looked fine to me. ‘Course, I wasn’t exactly educated in the constant updates of the big-wigs. They’d only brought me along for my innate talent with the Equilibrium Complex.
The colors resolved themselves into the face of Tiral, one of our few tech experts. She was frowning. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Look, it was my idea to bring Arely along,” Sayller sighed. “And he got us in, didn’t he?”
“Not all the way. You have to be more careful. You have to –"
The please wait screen flooded from black to red and emitted a low, eerie warble of warning. It tore at the fabric of my mind, ripped my Equilibrium into a drillion pieces. I whirled to face it, my fingers digging into the metal of my eyeband. An orange laser streaked across my back. I crumpled forward onto the cold white floor. The last thing I heard was Karelei screaming my name.
I wiped my sweaty fingers on the slick fabric of my form-fitting Zangar outfit and positioned them over the smooth virtual keyboard.
“Commence infiltration,” muttered Karelei, behind me.
“Shush,” I ordered, reaching up to adjust my eyeband. “Here we go.”
I’m sure that without the technological sweat-wicking geniuses of the Zangar company, I would have been drenched. As it was I now wished I’d accepted the gloves offered me at the start of this endeavor. You don’t get sweat on the world’s top machine. No going back for them now, though.
Choking back my nervousness, I began pecking at the numbered keys, maneuvering quickly through the preliminary levels. The colors of each individual room flashed by, faded into a blur. White, black, green, orange–
Red.
Confirmation code required.
“Sayller?” I choked.
A combination of random numbers blinked into the corner of my screen. Except not. That was what I expected it to be. Instead it spelled a single word. Relax.
“Sayller!!”
“Chill. Kid, you have no sense of humor.”
The word relax faded back into the luminescent silver background. My favorite color. It was supposed to be calming.
Password: S45228G.
I keyed it in, double- and triple- checking each character. “You’re sure this is the right one?”
I felt the pulse of electric color and sound as Sayller’s solid frame touched the virtual wall. He had a bad habit of leaning on Detector substances. “Positive.”
“It better be, or we’re fried.”
“Like an egg,” Karelei joked feebly. “Sunnyside up.”
“Quit with the ancient history, sugar,” Sayller chuckled.
Affirmative, said the red room, and faded. Please wait.
I slipped off the eyeband and smiled weakly. Karelei turned to face me, clutching folds of her outfit. With a sigh, she let it go. It snapped back into its original position. “Thank you, Arely.”
“No prob.”
She pulled off her gold eyeband and blinked. Once again I was struck by the color of her eyes. My family couldn’t afford to use the bands on a regular basis, so none of us had the characteristic cream-colored pupil of the Weavers. Everyone said it had no effect on eyesight. Well, no known effect, anyhow. Most were too immersed in their virtual worlds to care. Some never even took it off.
Sayller included.
“Hang on,” he proclaimed, grinning. “Got an update.” He walked over to the far Receptor wall and began moving various invisible objects across it with his fingers. I knew that to him, it was the colorful, multi-layered surface of the Weave. To me, it was just empty metal.
I glanced back at the screen. “You’d think they would’ve had tighter security on that.”
Karelei rubbed a hand over her face. “They may. Wait till you see the next level.”
“Think we’ll get her out?”
“We have to try.”
Sayller keyed in the code for Illusion, and a shimmering film of color appeared on the wall. He’d been wanting a better quality machine for years, he said, but this one looked fine to me. ‘Course, I wasn’t exactly educated in the constant updates of the big-wigs. They’d only brought me along for my innate talent with the Equilibrium Complex.
The colors resolved themselves into the face of Tiral, one of our few tech experts. She was frowning. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Look, it was my idea to bring Arely along,” Sayller sighed. “And he got us in, didn’t he?”
“Not all the way. You have to be more careful. You have to –"
The please wait screen flooded from black to red and emitted a low, eerie warble of warning. It tore at the fabric of my mind, ripped my Equilibrium into a drillion pieces. I whirled to face it, my fingers digging into the metal of my eyeband. An orange laser streaked across my back. I crumpled forward onto the cold white floor. The last thing I heard was Karelei screaming my name.
Oct 7, 2010
Race No. 3 --- Tulirans
Here is some basic information about my race No. 3: Tulirans.
Tulirans are humanoid with a long, cat-like tail.
The Tulirans' eyes are gold and deep-set with a round pupil.
Their hair is coarse and thick with little shine, kept in waist-length braids or long ponytails. On the males, facial hair is mild, but most prefer to stay clean-shaven. The color is deep black or brown. When interbred with other races, a recessive gene often shows and they are born with silky, shiny gold hair. Among the pure-blooded Tulirans this is extremely rare.
Their noses are sharp and prominent.
Their skin is a deep brown (think African-American) to almost black. it is not thick, heals easily but also scars easily.
Their emotions can almost never be read on their faces. The forehead is high and broad, the cheekbones very prominent, the jawline strong and cleanly cut. This gives them a sharp-edged appearance.
Their build is slightly delicate, height averages from 6' 1" to 6' 8". The limbs are long but strong and slightly muscled. Their fingers are long and slender. Occasionally, among the less pure of their race, the skin under their fingernails, on their palms, and the soles of their feet will be pale.
Sense of sight rated at 4 1/2 (excellent), touch at 4 (very good), hearing at 3 (moderate), taste at 2 (poor), and smell at 2 1/2 (moderate). A weakness is sudden flashes of bright light. This can temporarily or permanently blind them.
Their movement is moderately quick, extremely graceful with very good agility, which enables them to climb even the most difficult of trees. Forest is their natural habitat. Their strength is moderate and their stamina poor. They can work magic and sustain it with moderate ease.
Their talent of gift from God is manipulation of wood, living or dead. Even the young ones can meld a piece of bark or a stick into a marvelous sculpture. The oldest and most skilled among them can make the tree spirits appear as visible beings and bend them to their will.
They hate wide, open spaces.
Their faith is strong but often twisted to reflect and serve their own ideals.
They are not known for their loyalty.
Their language is similar in sound and structure to French. They have fairly deep but sometimes nasal voices. If they learn English (called Lindian in my world) they will have trouble with contractions and many will drop them altogether. They usually speak fairly fast and loud enough for all to hear.
They have an affinity for fire and it is usually hard to enchant them unless they have been tainted beforehand.
Their leaders are chosen by royal blood or by a series of trials.
They prefer nocturnal hours.
Overall, they are a sharp, hard people. Their laws are merciless, and they often deal with others in the same manner.
Tulirans are humanoid with a long, cat-like tail.
The Tulirans' eyes are gold and deep-set with a round pupil.
Their hair is coarse and thick with little shine, kept in waist-length braids or long ponytails. On the males, facial hair is mild, but most prefer to stay clean-shaven. The color is deep black or brown. When interbred with other races, a recessive gene often shows and they are born with silky, shiny gold hair. Among the pure-blooded Tulirans this is extremely rare.
Their noses are sharp and prominent.
Their skin is a deep brown (think African-American) to almost black. it is not thick, heals easily but also scars easily.
Their emotions can almost never be read on their faces. The forehead is high and broad, the cheekbones very prominent, the jawline strong and cleanly cut. This gives them a sharp-edged appearance.
Their build is slightly delicate, height averages from 6' 1" to 6' 8". The limbs are long but strong and slightly muscled. Their fingers are long and slender. Occasionally, among the less pure of their race, the skin under their fingernails, on their palms, and the soles of their feet will be pale.
Sense of sight rated at 4 1/2 (excellent), touch at 4 (very good), hearing at 3 (moderate), taste at 2 (poor), and smell at 2 1/2 (moderate). A weakness is sudden flashes of bright light. This can temporarily or permanently blind them.
Their movement is moderately quick, extremely graceful with very good agility, which enables them to climb even the most difficult of trees. Forest is their natural habitat. Their strength is moderate and their stamina poor. They can work magic and sustain it with moderate ease.
Their talent of gift from God is manipulation of wood, living or dead. Even the young ones can meld a piece of bark or a stick into a marvelous sculpture. The oldest and most skilled among them can make the tree spirits appear as visible beings and bend them to their will.
They hate wide, open spaces.
Their faith is strong but often twisted to reflect and serve their own ideals.
They are not known for their loyalty.
Their language is similar in sound and structure to French. They have fairly deep but sometimes nasal voices. If they learn English (called Lindian in my world) they will have trouble with contractions and many will drop them altogether. They usually speak fairly fast and loud enough for all to hear.
They have an affinity for fire and it is usually hard to enchant them unless they have been tainted beforehand.
Their leaders are chosen by royal blood or by a series of trials.
They prefer nocturnal hours.
Overall, they are a sharp, hard people. Their laws are merciless, and they often deal with others in the same manner.
Oct 4, 2010
Music for Monday -- Epic
So, I'm starting a new feature: Music for Monday! Today, as with many days, I felt like some Epic.
I'm beginning with the song that started it all.
Those of you who know me are very familiar with the fact that I listen to Epic music extensively. For those of you who haven't been introduced to the genre, it's the type of music you hear in movie trailers and the like.
This was the first really Epic song that caught my attention:
Composer/Artist: Two Steps From Hell
Album: Legend
Impressions: Rollicking, rolling waves; throbbing heartbeat; marching army; grim cadence of a requiem; menacing strokes of an enemy's blade; dances of elusive forest creatures, sneaking through the underbrush; wingstrokes of a dragon; swaying of trees in a hurricane; hectic chase through crowded city streets; rubble flying as a cave roof collapses.
Give me your images! :D
I'm beginning with the song that started it all.
Those of you who know me are very familiar with the fact that I listen to Epic music extensively. For those of you who haven't been introduced to the genre, it's the type of music you hear in movie trailers and the like.
This was the first really Epic song that caught my attention:
Composer/Artist: Two Steps From Hell
Album: Legend
Impressions: Rollicking, rolling waves; throbbing heartbeat; marching army; grim cadence of a requiem; menacing strokes of an enemy's blade; dances of elusive forest creatures, sneaking through the underbrush; wingstrokes of a dragon; swaying of trees in a hurricane; hectic chase through crowded city streets; rubble flying as a cave roof collapses.
Give me your images! :D
Sep 17, 2010
Fantasy Fiction for Friday
Inspired by Meaghan Ward at http://thepatriotscall.blogspot.com/, I have written some music-inspired fiction for y'all. This was totally a new idea for me. My first try at this. I have never been in this world before, never met these characters before listening to this song, parts one and two: http://youtube.com/watch?v=z9G_imteJWI
Welcome to Dorua.
The soft rustle of silk filled the room as Alima turned away from the window. Thick crimson carpet muffled her footsteps. The Doruan sheik Rayhan watched her cautiously, disturbed by the absent look in her large black eyes.
The princess lifted one dark, slender hand. The long sleeve of her flowing dress fell back from it ike ocean waves from a cliff. “I told you that the Rebellion was centered in the far east portion of Dorua.”
Rayhan’s lips quivered. What does she know about the Rebellion?
“I told you that it was nothing to worry about. That it was a group of untrained peasants with nothing more than pitchforks to fight with. That no portion of it could ever possibly reach the streets of our” -- she gestured out the window at the crowded streets below, blanketed in the dusky light of evening -- “enlightened city.”
A drop of sweat trickled down Rayhan’s back. Alima glided closer, her long eyelashes fluttering slightly, her red painted lips parted. Her feathered headdress slipped a little to one side and a lock of hair the color of suns-set caressed her bronzed cheek. Her smooth, soft voice tickled his ear. “I lied.”
Rayhan clenched his fists, straining not to scream from frustration. From fear. “My Lady?”
“Come to the window.”
Measuring his steps, Rayhan walked with her across the lavishly decorated chamber to the west-facing cutout in the stone wall. The blade of his curved dagger felt warm and hard against the skin of his upper arm, where his robe’s sleeve covered it. It was comforting, but not in the way he’d previously hoped. I don’t want to do this. I can’t. I won’t.
But what if ... what if I have to?
Alima said nothing for a long five minutes, while the two suns, dancing around each other, intertwining purple and orange rays, sunk toward the horizon. Soft cries and noises of hooves on stone streets drifted up to the pair. The city looked perfectly contented, pleasantly busy, happy in their huts and cottages and tents in the shadow of the enormous palace. Rayhan knew better. It was swarming with buried hatred, like a blue-hornet’s nest just waiting for the right moment to attack.
“Rayhan,” Alima began, her voice still smooth as the Tilami river. She chuckled. “Naïve I may be, but I am not blind. I needed to wait … the time was not yet right. So I didn’t tell you the truth about how strong the Rebellion really is.”
Rayhan gulped. “How strong, my Lady?”
Alima’s face hardened. Her features, in profile, looked like a fair but completely invincible stone wall. The suns-set light played on it, teasing, testing. Rayhan’s self-control wavered.
“Four thousand trained infantrymen.”
Rayhan narrowed his eyes. Her guess was surprisingly accurate. Though, how he knew that, she would never find out.
At least, he hoped so.
“Imagine the sway I could hold over them if I captured the leader. If I had him in this very room with me.”
His blood chilling, Rayhan glanced over at her. As usual, she was unreadable. Everyone believes that the leader of the Rebellion is female. How could she …
“I have that chance, Rayhan.”
Their eyes met, sparkling black and dazzling yellow, at the same moment. Rayhan felt as if he was falling into a glittering, shimmering black pit, bottomless, mocking. Her thoughts spun around him. With an effort he pulled back into the room. She knows. I have to act now – draw the dagger. DRAW IT! Kill her, NOW!
Alima moved first, and he lost his chance. Before he could blink, she was behind him with something sharp against his throat. The truth was unraveling in Rayhan’s hands, like a badly made rug.
“I have that power,” Alima whispered gleefully. “And I’m going to use it.”
Let me know what you think! Should I write more in this setting?
E
Welcome to Dorua.
The soft rustle of silk filled the room as Alima turned away from the window. Thick crimson carpet muffled her footsteps. The Doruan sheik Rayhan watched her cautiously, disturbed by the absent look in her large black eyes.
The princess lifted one dark, slender hand. The long sleeve of her flowing dress fell back from it ike ocean waves from a cliff. “I told you that the Rebellion was centered in the far east portion of Dorua.”
Rayhan’s lips quivered. What does she know about the Rebellion?
“I told you that it was nothing to worry about. That it was a group of untrained peasants with nothing more than pitchforks to fight with. That no portion of it could ever possibly reach the streets of our” -- she gestured out the window at the crowded streets below, blanketed in the dusky light of evening -- “enlightened city.”
A drop of sweat trickled down Rayhan’s back. Alima glided closer, her long eyelashes fluttering slightly, her red painted lips parted. Her feathered headdress slipped a little to one side and a lock of hair the color of suns-set caressed her bronzed cheek. Her smooth, soft voice tickled his ear. “I lied.”
Rayhan clenched his fists, straining not to scream from frustration. From fear. “My Lady?”
“Come to the window.”
Measuring his steps, Rayhan walked with her across the lavishly decorated chamber to the west-facing cutout in the stone wall. The blade of his curved dagger felt warm and hard against the skin of his upper arm, where his robe’s sleeve covered it. It was comforting, but not in the way he’d previously hoped. I don’t want to do this. I can’t. I won’t.
But what if ... what if I have to?
Alima said nothing for a long five minutes, while the two suns, dancing around each other, intertwining purple and orange rays, sunk toward the horizon. Soft cries and noises of hooves on stone streets drifted up to the pair. The city looked perfectly contented, pleasantly busy, happy in their huts and cottages and tents in the shadow of the enormous palace. Rayhan knew better. It was swarming with buried hatred, like a blue-hornet’s nest just waiting for the right moment to attack.
“Rayhan,” Alima began, her voice still smooth as the Tilami river. She chuckled. “Naïve I may be, but I am not blind. I needed to wait … the time was not yet right. So I didn’t tell you the truth about how strong the Rebellion really is.”
Rayhan gulped. “How strong, my Lady?”
Alima’s face hardened. Her features, in profile, looked like a fair but completely invincible stone wall. The suns-set light played on it, teasing, testing. Rayhan’s self-control wavered.
“Four thousand trained infantrymen.”
Rayhan narrowed his eyes. Her guess was surprisingly accurate. Though, how he knew that, she would never find out.
At least, he hoped so.
“Imagine the sway I could hold over them if I captured the leader. If I had him in this very room with me.”
His blood chilling, Rayhan glanced over at her. As usual, she was unreadable. Everyone believes that the leader of the Rebellion is female. How could she …
“I have that chance, Rayhan.”
Their eyes met, sparkling black and dazzling yellow, at the same moment. Rayhan felt as if he was falling into a glittering, shimmering black pit, bottomless, mocking. Her thoughts spun around him. With an effort he pulled back into the room. She knows. I have to act now – draw the dagger. DRAW IT! Kill her, NOW!
Alima moved first, and he lost his chance. Before he could blink, she was behind him with something sharp against his throat. The truth was unraveling in Rayhan’s hands, like a badly made rug.
“I have that power,” Alima whispered gleefully. “And I’m going to use it.”
Let me know what you think! Should I write more in this setting?
E
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