#writing exceprt

[starkemaus]

A to Z Aesthetic Challenge: The Hawthorn Throne

[dumplingwrites]

Shadow of the Moon

Round two of dungeon and dragon inspired high fantasy story (I’ll never finish)!! This time the story follows the tale of a half aarakocra-half human wizard who seeks to remove the curse on him.

--

Ballah Chandra walks in the light of the moon. Though none can say they know his appearance beneath his feathery cloak and mask or any specific details about his story, there are many tales about the the “Shadow of the Moon.” At one point everyone has heard his tale tale through whispered stories and broken songs. They say he is a man who transcends time for his tale is a very long and very old one at that. But, in fact, it is a simple legacy of ages passed from old to young. The young moon now walks carefully in the footsteps of his predecessor, humming a lullaby to the moon along his journey. A dark and heavy cloud quickly chases after the travelling adventurer, though, for people of the moon do not live long… “This,” Ballah whispers, “is a fact.”

--

A cold wind blows in from the south, making the night a bit chiller than most. In the darkness, the moon hovers solemnly above releasing only a faint glow of light onto the dimly lit streets of the small town. Candle wick lanterns flicker in the breeze, and for a moment, the streets go almost dark. The woman stops in her steps as the light diminishes from around her, her breath held tightly in her mouth. Clutching onto her wicker basket, she dares to take one step forward. She sees from the corner of her eye the dim glow of a light, and as she turns her head she blinks at the sight of of a glowing ball in the middle of a patch of darkness.

On an almost broken bench placed in the depth of the shadows, a young man dawned in a clock of pitch black feathers sits with a glowing crystal ball neatly placed in his lap. He shifts slightly as he feels the pair of eyes land on him, and the woman gasps, a step taken back, as he lifts his head to reveal a long-beaked mask. A featherthy design shoots outwards from the eyes and in the metal that neatly holds in the shimmering color of light, the woman is entranced in the intracuit design. The man smiles. It catches the woman’s attention, and a deep chuckle comes out of his parted lips, resonating through the silence. Bandages cover his arms and palm as he raises on hand. He taps the crystal ball on his lap with long metal talon claws. The smile is still on his face.

“Would you like your fortune read, child of the sun?”

x.x.x.x

x.x.x.x.

The little boy is barely covered, the rags he calls clothing torn and ripped so much there’s more skin than cloth. He shakes as he bathes in the rays of the sun, not feeling the heat at all. A dull pain throbs in his head and he curls into his body even more. He’s near the main street, a dangerous place for an orphan boy like him, but he’s so cold, like death with its icy hands is cradling him, wrapping a cold embrace throughout his body. Just as thoughts of death begin to plague him, a sudden chill sends a different kind of shiver throughout his body. The young boy jerks his head up. A figure of an old woman is stopped on the street. She’s facing forward, eyes somewhere off in the distance, hunched over her cane. Her skin is wrinkled, and as she turns her head, the boy can see that her eyes are pale--she’s blind, but it somehow feels as if she’s looking right at him. With a creak in her bones, the old woman raises a single finger and points to the boy. A cackling laugh comes out of her mouth, and the boy is surprised there’s not dust spraying out with how rough it sounds.

“You,” she says in a crackling voice similar to what he thinks death might sound like, “are moon blessed, child of the night.”

[dumplingwrites]

Shadow of Requiem

A former hero turned deamon goes on a quest for revenge against the people who mutated him. A DnD inspired high fantasy story.

----- I thought up a cool idea for a male protagonist awhile back and got the idea for this story after watching a dnd pdocast. Really trying to hit that high fantasy vibe. -----

The winds pushed at the rain, and in the pressure it poured sideways. Thunder clapped in the distance. A fire cracked in the small room, the only source of light that barely provided. By the window, a large man stood up, arms cross as he leaned next to the window, staring out of it. No one could see his face from behind hm. Near the fireplace, a frail woman sat. The bones in her shoulders stood out as she reached for the ball of yarn at her side. She wore a long, white gown that heavily contrasted with her pitch black hair. Her bangs swayed over her face just enough to not see her eyes.

All eyes of the patrons of the inn were on the two strangers. No a word was said, and the sound of the rain and thunder were only that much louder in the deafening silence. A barmaid from downstairs threw the door open. She was a heavier set woman with a glow in her squishy cheeks, but a frown in her brows. In her arms, she carried a bucket full of candles, willfully showing the bucket at someone as she went around and placed them all about.

“Men and the dark, I tell you.”

She shook her head, pulling a small box of matches out of the top of her dress. The men laughed as they saw, giving her pats on the arm as she walked passed to the light the candles she had decorated all about. As she stood near the man by the window she glanced up at him, waving the last match in her hand as the candlelight flickered across his face. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Quite a pair o’ eyes you have there,” she mumbled, taking a step closer.

The man turned his head slightly. His eyes were as red as blood, and as they fell to the woman, she stepped back. He didn’t say anything, and when a moment passed without the woman saying anything, he turned back to the window, not giving a hint of acknowledgement as the woman excused herself.

Once the barmaid left, the rest of the patrons went quiet again. It stayed like that for a few hours. The moon was high in the sky by now, and the shadows of the few people who still resided in the small rest room grew long on the floors. Most of them were cozied up to a stein of beer, drifting in and out of sleep, when the door is once again slammed open. A somewhat small figure stands in the doorway. They wear a cloak that casts a dark shadow over their face, making it an unreadable mask. Noticing the complete attention of everyone in room except for the petite woman knitting by the fire has been cast on them, the cloaked figure made their way to the woman and sat beside her. The woman stopped  knitting for a moment as the cloaked figure sat by her then continues to knit at her own pace.

.

It was still raining an hour after. The thunder had rolled back in and a loud clap sounded closer to the inn. By now, there were only three people left in the room. The man by the window and the woman knitting had not moved an inch; it was only the cloaked figure that had wandered around the room. A bolt of lightning lit up the room, sending a loud crack through the air. The figure jumped, and the man by the window turned his head.

“A young woman shouldn’t be so scared of a noise.”

His voice was on the deeper end of the spectrum, though there was a calming tone that made it pleasant to the ears. The hooded figure tilted their head, turning just a bit too much that a face stuck out of the darkness cast over. Light from the fire caught her skin, and a light green tone stuck out. She blinked upon noticing the peculiar gaze that the man was sending her, and with a glance to the side, hastily pulled her hood closer to her face. She turned for the door.

“You have nothing to fear.” The woman in front of the fire spoke. Her voice was monotone, each word drug out and spoken slowly and gently with a bit of air behind them. “We do not chastise the unfortunate.”

The cloaked woman stopped. She turned to the woman knitting. “The unfortunate? I am not—”

“Calamitous events are outside of our jurisdiction. They are always followed by the unforgiving and the misunderstood. It is unfortunate, and when it elapses, we become the unfortunate. So rest your wary head, child, you are under magnanimous eyes.”

A moment of pause passed, filled with the sound of breathing and rain. Then the woman lifted her cloak. She looked straight to the man standing by the window. He didn’t so much as blink as the fabric gently folded on her back. Her skin was the light green shae of leaves, but her hair was a darker color that glistened a green hue when the appropriate light would flicker over her.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.” She bowed her just a bit. “My name is Lima Valehart. I am travelling to—”

“Find the goblin marshes,”the man said..

“Yes, yes,” the knitting woman followed. “We are well aware of your particular oddities, for we each have our own. Dear child, you may address me as Banshee for I have forsaken my identity of the past. The man over there, he is called Shade. A peculiar existence.”

Caw. Caw.

There was a slight rustling from Shade’s shoulder. A bird jumped onto the window ledge. It took a few steps and shook its body, flapping its wings. Shade held out his hand for the bird, and it climbed straight back up onto his shoulder. He glanced at Lima, the red in his eyes glowing in the darkness that surrounded him.

Banshee tapped the two knitting needles together. “Introduce yourself, stupid bird.”

“Caaw.”

The bird shook its body again. A feather dislodged itself from its wing and floated to the floor. A rather high pitched masculine voice came from the bird, and Lima flinched.

“Hello, pretty lady. Caaw.” The bird cocked its head. “Ho ho. Never seen a talking bird before? I do admit, I am one of a kind. I am Caim, and that is all you need to know about me, wench. Caaaaaw.”

“Tell me, child, what is it that you do?” Banshee asked.

“Well, right now I am a traveller… oh.” Lima placed her fingers on her mouth. “Oh dear. You meant my class. I most sorry. I focuses on summoning and creating magical arcane weaponry.”

Banshee hummed. “It would never hurt to have another with us. Think about it, dear child, but for now, the moon will wane soon, and the time for talk grows to its end. The witching hour is soon upon us.”

Picking up her knitting, Banshee stood up. She turned for the door and started to walk. Shade still looked out the window as Banshee walked out of the room. Lima had brought her attention to look at him. He did not flinch under her stare. After a moment, he pushed himself off of the wall and walked to the door. As he passed Lima, he placed a hand on her head.

“The witching hour is not a time to be awake. Seek the comfort and safety of your bed and close your eyes to the secrets of the night. You are still too young to see the truth.”

Lmia watched Shade walk out. She listened to each of his heavy footsteps as they went up the stairs directly next to the door. Then, when she could no longer hear them, she sighed and softly shut the door behind her.

[sammyfrost2]

“Four Corners”- The Beginning Part 1

(October 6th, 2015)

So, I’m going to start posting part of a story that’s been swirling around in my head.  I’m not sure exactly what it’s about, yet, but I know the characters, and I know it’s absolutely massive.  And I know I’m not writing it in order.  But I am fairly sure that this is where the story starts on the page, if not in chronology.  I hope you enjoy it.

“And how did you two meet?” the spice trader asked them in her sweet voice.

Grimm shrugged, “It was so long ago, I barely remember.”

“We didn’t like each other completely at first,” Gavin told her as he reached into his purse for the money to pay her with.

“And then he ended up killing me,” Grimm said thoughtfully.

“But that didn’t work out too well, did it, brother?” Gavin chuckled darkly.  “Still considering trying again, half the time.”

The spice trader blinked at them, clearly confused.

Grimm nodded, “But he won’t.  We’ve been through too much at this point.”

Gavin handed her the money.

“I mean, I’ve also got a few kingdoms to run, and they’ll notice if I suddenly disappear,” Grimm continued.

“Cad won’t miss you a bit,” Gavin scoffed.

“No,” Grimm was thoughtful, “Cad won’t miss me.  But that wouldn’t be the kingdom I’d abandon in death.”

“True, true.  Guess he’s stuck with you, then.”

Grimm laughed, “Unfortunately.”

The poor spice trader was lost.  She was stuck in the position of holding the money out in front of her.  What a strange conversation to hear between two people, she thought.  Can’t be real.

“Oh, it’s real,” Grimm assured her, as if reading her mind.

“Though you haven’t heard the half of it,” Gavin turned away.  “Come on, Grimm, let’s get back to Audra before she brings hell upon the tavern we locked her up in.”  Gavin left the little shop.

Grimm turned back to the trader, “I didn’t get your name, by the way.”

She blinked her thick, dark lashes a few more times, and then said, “Danny.”  She leaned forward, “Is all that really true?”  When Grimm nodded she asked, “Would you ever consider telling me the whole tale sometime?”

“It’s a bit long.  I don’t think I could ever really get it all done correctly.”

“Then just some of it!  You sound like a man of stories.”

Grimm smiled.  “So many stories.  You wouldn’t believe any of them.  And I haven’t always been this person,” he gestured at himself.  “One time I tamed a whole mountain range full of dragons.  The dragons and the mountains.  Of course, I had the help of Selene, but still, she couldn’t have done it without me.  And another time I saved the world.  Actually, I’ve done that a few times.  The most notable was when I was still a denizen of the hells and had to do all the work from beyond the grave- mostly alone, might I add.”

“You’re right,” Danny smiled, “I don’t believe you.  But I’d still love to hear your stories.”

Gavin barged back in, throwing the door wide.  “Are you coming, Grimm?”