Asthmatic Nerd with a Sword

It’s been three months… Bear with me.

Last summer in Ropecon (an annual Finnish RPG convention) I saw a sword fighting show held by the Greywolves, a history re-enactment and live action role playing (LARP) group. At the end of the show they answered questions from the audience and I found out that they organize weekly combat training close to where I live.

I joined the Greywolves a few weeks later. I wanted a hobby which would get me off my bottom and to get an idea what fighting with medieval weapons feels like. Right now my battle scenes are magical badassery plus claws and teeth. I was a bit nervous at first because I’m not exactly the fittest person and I have exercise-induced asthma. But so far I’ve only needed to take my medicine once, after a warm-up running.

We use an array of weapons from several periods, but the main focus is on Viking-era weapons. Of course, safety comes first: no stabs, no quick strikes unless the fighters know each other well, only strike the armoured parts, don’t hit the knees. And we only use blunted weapons.

So far I’ve wielded swords, spears, sabres and also a spear and dagger combo. Swords are still a bit too heavy for me and my arm tires before the three hours is up. For now I prefer sabres and spears. One ‘opponent’ said that I used a “where’d she go” style. I was supposed to push my opponents shield up, step out of the sword’s way and bring the sabre to his neck. Instead I pushed at his shield with mine, stepped quickly to his side and brought the sabre to his neck. My arm was already aching from holding up the large wooden shield, and I suspect I would’ve had trouble even at the beginning of the session, but my feet weren’t tired.

We’ve used spears only twice during my time, but I’ve had fun on both times. I especially like the move where the opponent grabs my spear, I step to the side and press a wooden dagger to his neck.

Yes, you get smacked with a sword every once in a while, but it’s still fun.

LINKS

• The Greywolves

• Viktor Berbekucz - A Hungarian swordsmith. I’m thinking of ordering a sabre from here.

• Steel Mastery - Medieval armour.

• Cold Steel: A Practical Treatise on the Sabre, an 1889 book about sabre techniques by Alfred Hutton. We’ve practiced some of the techniques from this book.

The Walking Dead by Telltale Games

You’re in a police car on your way to jail for murder. You’d think things couldn’t get any worse, but if you happen to be the main character in a zombie game, chances are you’re wrong.

The Walking Dead is a point-and-click adventure game by Telltale Games. It takes place in the world of the comic book series of the same name, but has a different plot and characters. As a zombie game, The Walking Dead is quite unusual. It really isn’t about zombies; instead, it focuses on the characters and how they cope with the zombie apocalypse. This isn’t a game where you slaughter hordes of undead (for that, I recommend Left 4 Dead 2, it’s fun!) If you see a horde of zombies approaching, you run.

Another unusual feature of the game is that it’s episodic. The first season consists of five episodes, of which three have been released so far.

The game progresses mostly through discussions and lighting-speed decisions you have to make. In discussions, you only have a limited amount of time to choose your reply, and what you say has a significant effect on the route the story takes. Occasionally, you find yourself facing hard decisions. Whose side do you take in a fight? Do you put an infected out of their misery? And worst of all, who do you save from the hungry zombies?

In the game, you take the role of Lee, a convicted killer who, in the face of the zombie apocalypse, ends up taking care of a young girl called Clementine. She’s the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen in a game; she’ll melt your heart. While playing the game, I ceased thinking about the game and found myself worrying about Clementine and how she’s coping.

Clementine's going to be a badass when she grows up.

The other characters are great as well. They’re agonizingly human and don’t always act rationally. At times you find yourself torn between two friends, and no matter what you do you will hurt someone’s feelings. Staying neutral will often backfire.

All of the three episodes released so far have been great, and will have you on
the edge of your seat. In my opinion, Episode 3 is the best so far, but also emotionally the heaviest. I found myself reaching for the tissue box several times, and I can’t say that for many games.

I'm Not Dead...

...just a very inactive blogger. I really needed a summer holiday from blogging, but I'll start blogging more actively soon. Lately most of my time has been occupied by resistors, conductors, hydraulics, pneumatics, and other things not related to fantasy or writing whatsoever. I've made progress on my WIP, however, and am currently rewriting a large portion which just sucked.

This weekend we're going to Tracon, a role-playing and anime event held in Tampere, Finland. It's good to meet fellow nerds every once in a while.

#DiceGames: Day Two

My second DiceGames prompt is: “Write a love story. Blood and gore is mandatory.” I first started writing a Mr. & Mrs. Smith type of story, in which lovers try to kill each other. But then I came up with an idea that was more along the lines of what I write.

Unfortunately I can't complete the challenge because I'm going to Menorca for a week's holiday, and I didn't have time to write the third story. I'll post the story and visit the other participating blogs once I get back.

They had followed the trail of blood and prints through the woods, and found the deer in a clearing, an arrow jutting from its haunch. He watched her as she stepped lightly ahead of him, leaving shallow prints in the snow. As always, she wore a coat of grey fur with darker shades running along her sides.

A drizzle of frost fell onto her back, revealing yet another carrion bird had arrived. The crows clutched spindly branches with crooked claws. Their thick beaks opened and closed as they squawked, awaiting a true predator to open the carcass.

He snorted in contempt at the presence of the foul birds. Should any of them dare attempt to steal, he would run them off.

A ripping sound caught his attention. Skin and fur came loose as she revealed their prize. Her long face disappeared amidst the carcass of the stag. She gorged on the dark red flesh, reveling in its taste and texture. He padded over to her side and joined the feast. Once they had their fill they would call to the others; there would be enough food for the whole pack.

He watched her with pride: her belly was round with their unborn pups. They would enter the world in the den their ancestors had found decades ago. They would be greeted and raised by the ruling pack of the Weeping Woods.

Gently he nudged his mate. She looked at him, yellow eyes glinting with joy. They lifted their snouts to the sky and howled in calling to the other wolves.

#DiceGames: Day One

Timony Souler's DiceGames challenge: three days, three dice rolls, three prompts. My first prompt is: “A red-haired vixen is trying to kill you. Deal with it.”

Auburn slammed the young woman against the wall. She lifted a hand to her victim’s throat, resisting the urge to finish her writer. Maybe she had a good reason for torturing her and the other characters.

“I’m sorry about what happens to you. I’m sorry about what happens to your… uh, family and friends.” Emilia peered over crooked glasses. She lifted a hand to push them back, but the though died under Auburn’s glare. “But you’re in a story and a story needs conflict or it suc—”

“Shut up!” Auburn’s fingers twitched. Her nails grew longer, sharpened into claws. “I don’t care what the parrots of writing blogs are repeating.” The shapeshifter lifted a hand from Emilia’s throat and set it on her shoulder. After a moment’s pause she continued through gritted teeth, “First you sent me to anger management and now you’re doing horrible things to me and the other characters.”

“I’m a writer! That’s more or less what we do.” She tried to shrug.

Auburn rolled her eyes. That was her writer’s excuse for everything. Why couldn’t she write something nice like children’s books? Then again that would mean no profanities, bashing heads or seducing people.

“Then stop writing.” She arched an eyebrow. “Or I will stop you.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “I can’t…”

Auburn lifted a finger and drew it slowly across Emilia’s throat, leaving behind a white line. “Then I’ll have to kill you.”

“I know you, I created you. You don’t kill unless it’s necessary.” She pressed against the wall, trying to disappear between the stone’s seams.

“Try me.” The shapeshifter grabbed her hand and lifted it before her face. “And I can always cut off your fingers. We’ll see how you write then.”

“If you stop me from writing you’ll kill yourself. You only live on the pages and in the readers’ imagination.”

Auburn’s finger went lax, allowing Emilia to wrench her hand free. She stared at her writer, or tried; the smudges on her glasses almost hid her eyes. On impulse Auburn wiped her glasses with the sleeve of her dress. There, now she could see her writer’s fear better.

“You have a point.” She stepped back. “And the thought of hurting someone nice, it just doesn’t feel good.”
Emilia sighed and pushed her glasses up again.

Auburn crossed her arms. “You’re going to make this up to us. I want a happy ending for everyone.”

“Even the villains?”

“What? No, of course not.” She leaned against the wall. Anger tightened her features as she spoke, “The villains deserve my fist in their face and a life in a dragon’s gut.”

“If a happy ending makes sense, then I’ll write one, but I can’t annoy the readers.” She lifted her hands as Auburn opened her mouth to object. “You want your part of the story to be read? If I had you ride off into the sunset on a white fool’s dragon, with a strapping young lad, while chomping down a chocolate pastry…”

“All right! But if you kill me off, make it a big scene.” Auburn spoke the words slowly, “No off-the-page death.”

“I don’t think I’ve created anything capable of killing you, but all right.” She lifted her glasses off her nose and stared at them in disbelief. “Did you just spit on my glasses?”

The shapeshifter gave her a flat stare.

“Never mind, just go back to Verannia.” She waved her hand in dismissal. Auburn turned to leave. “Wait, how do you know about blogs?”

The shapeshifter shrugged as she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder and grinned. “I go through your mind when I’m bored.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped. “Just go. I need to plan a scene where you knock the marrow out of a skeletal demon.” She buried her face in her hands and muttered, “Pihkura*, what did I get myself into.”

*Emilia likes to use obsolete finnish swear words, such as “pihkura”, “pahkura”, “kehveli”, “himskatti” and “himputti”.

Lucky Seven

I’ve been tagged for the Lucky 7 meme by the lovely ladies Claudia Schiffer and Rebecca Clare Smith—both ages ago. I’ve been rather inactive with my blog lately, thanks to exams and a programming course, which will luckily end soon. In two weeks’ time I’m going to Menorca, Spain for a week's holiday. Looking forward to that :)

Anyway, here's the seven lines from page 77 of my WIP, starting from line seven. Looks like we landed in the middle of a conversation:

“The boys ran off terrified, but I recognized something in Lheyr. It was the spark of magic—I was drawn to it like a gossip bird to a blabbermouth.”

“We all know the story of Mount Noir. Humans say it shows how evil we shapeshifters are. Shapeshifters say it shows how evil humans can be. I was spared from the worst, but my younger brother was raised as a mutt because he refused to take any other form. He was kicked around, chained to the wall and if I hadn’t fed him half of my meals, he would have died.”

Some of the people I meant to tag have already been tagged, so I'm just pointing you to their Lucky 7 entries:

1. Lena Corazon

2. David A. Ludwig

3. Meg McNulty

And here are the ones I'm actually tagging:

4. Timony Souler

5. Lissa Bilyk

6. Stevie McCoy

7. Sonia Lal

P.S.
Please take part in Rebecca Clare Smith’s SatSunTails blog challenge. Challenges begin every Saturday and end Monday 1 pm GMT.

Also take a look at Timony Souler's new DiceGames challenge. It was a lot of fun last time!

Servant of Sana - Part I

The forest had fallen silent, the stillness broken only by the soft squish of wet moss under Vret’s paws. He lowered his snout down to a root; dots of red stained its rough surface. The scent of blood filled his mouth with saliva, but he swallowed and snorted the smell out of his nose. He had to keep the wolf’s instincts at bay.

Vret walked onwards, following the smell and the dots of blood. Behind him the other hunters followed, Bhair trailing right on his heels. The others had forms bigger and stronger than his; even Bhair’s hunting form, a fellow wolf, stood taller than him. Luckily his wolf form had the best nose, otherwise he would’ve been useless.

“Vret, stop.” Bhair walked next to Vret, fur bristling, ears flat. “The deer’s headed for a cursed place.”

Another hunting party had passed the area months ago and noticed the change. The feel of the woods was wrong: the wind died there, animals were quiet, and a foul stench wafted through the air.

One of the trees surrounding a little clearing now housed a demon. A summoner who served the God of Death Vixi had stamped the being there, a trap for powerful shapeshifters. But Vret wasn’t powerful.

“The demon won’t bother with me.” He broke into a run before they could stop him. Broken branches and faint tracks led him on a winding trail. The deer had faltered; he’d find it lying down soon. Then he could finish the animal and drag it back.

Silence deepened around him. The smell of rot mixed with and soon overpowered the scent he followed. Vret stopped, the green streak of fur on his back bristling. The deer had bed near a willow in the clearing that opened before him. Its sides were still, the fur matted with dark blood, a gloss had slid over its dark eyes.

Though an eerie feel permeated the clearing, nothing outright threatened him. Vret slunk nearer to the dead deer. Ears perked up, muscles tense he waited for a sign of the demon.

A rustle caught his attention. Vret froze. He drew breath, ready to call to the others, but the howl died; they wouldn’t step anywhere near the clearing.

Suddenly a bear ran from the bushes. Its eyes darted between Vret and the carcass. Vret sought the few words of bear he knew, but found only insults. Calling the bear a stumpy clawed flatfoot would only anger the animal.

The bear rose, a throaty roar bursting from its maw. Vret stood still. He looked at the deer, and then at the bear. The kill belonged to him. A growl rumbled in his throat; hackles raised he spoke to the insolent animal.

Mine.

The bear lunged forwards. Its round taloned paw arched through the air and struck Vret’s shoulder. He staggered back, tail between his legs, head held low. The bear attacked again, striking the side of his head. The edge of his sight blurred, and he stumbled backwards. A piece of moss slid loose beneath Vret’s foot, causing him to tumble onto his side.

Carrion breath filled the air, teeth pressed against his neck. He let out a whine, a plea of mercy. The bear’s jaws snapped shut. Vret fell limp and slid over the roots of a pine.

The bear sniffed his face for a moment, but soon lost interest. It lumbered over to the deer carcass and began dragging it into the woods.

Vret drew a wheezing breath. He yelped as the bones in his neck began dragging into place. His magic healed him, but too slowly. Blood trickled down his face and neck; with each beat of his heart his magic and strength fled. As his magic faded, his body reverted back to his true form. Fur slid beneath pink skin, claws softened into fingers, and jaws shrank back into a human mouth.

Vret closed his eyes. He looked inwards into a time when Enna still lived. He’d lost the scent of a boar and tracked her instead; she’d burst out laughing when he told her. Later at the village she’d sought him out.

Vret gritted his teeth as the pain of losing her mingled with the pain of dying. Tears ran down his cheeks, disappearing into the blood. He drew another rasping breath, hoping it would be his last.

A movement caught Vret’s eye, but turning his head hurt too much. Coarse hands cupped his jaw. Elongated fingers webbed over his face and lifted it upwards. A blunt snout split into a toothless smile. Above thick bark-like skin stretched where the demon’s eyes should have been. A needled, dark-green mane ran along its back to the pine trunk where the demon still connected to the tree.

I am Sana. I can heal you… if you become mine. The words caressed his fading mind. His wounds began to knit shut, and the pain eased for a moment.

Survival, within his reach.

“No.” He spoke the words quickly, the answer he had been taught to give. Doubt circled his mind; demons made shapeshifters stronger, but enslaved their victims, slowly corrupting their nature. “I won’t betray my kin.”

I can wait for another one to wander here, but you… The demon twisted Vret's head, sending pain running along his neck. Its fingers held his mouth shut, muffling his scream. You will die. I can make you powerful. I can help you aid your kin.

He then saw his village, the small buildings, children darting between them, changing their form midrun to climb to a roof. One of the children disappeared amidst the trees. The vision followed the child as she jumped over roots and stones. Midjump she changed into a fox. Her tiny feet sent up puffs of dust as she shook off her clothes and darted onwards.

The little girl led Vret’s thoughts to his daughter, a talented shapeshifter unlike her father. Inis would be alone as well as his son Deri. Reet and her partner would care for them, but—

A shrill barking jolted him back to the demon’s vision. The child had backed against a rock, wolves surrounded her. Hackles raised they drew nearer to the child who pressed against the stone.

See what you could do with my help.

A roar drowned the shapeshifter child’s urgent calls for help. Branches parted as a monster emerged. Its skin bore resemblance to the scaly bark of a pine, and a dark green mane of needles ran down its back and along a thick tail.

The monster sprung forwards and grabbed a wolf with its elongated claws. The creature’s green eyes glinted with delight as its hand grasped the squirming and whining wolf. Slowly it tore the screaming animal in two.

The other wolves had fled. The shapeshifter child stood frozen for a moment, then darted in the direction of the village.

That could be you. Your kin may scorn you, but you could still protect them. The demon’s fingers pressed against his face. Tainted magic spread from them. With each moment he grew stronger. He could change into a big wolf, a bear, even a fool’s dragon.

Vret opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue didn’t move and his jaw hung slack. Numbness coated his body. The world began to fade, colors blurring into each other. His body began breaking under the strain of his magic fighting the demon. Pain dragged him unconscious as his feeble magic became part of the demon’s, devoured by the greater power.

Extending Vret's Story

I recently took part in Timony Souler's MarchMadness blog challenge. I've written a lot of short flash fiction, and sometimes I feel there's more to the story than can be told within the limits of the word count. I guess my problem is that I'm trying to stuff too much story into too few words.

For this challenge I came up with a character called Vret, whose story I couldn't really fit into those 4 x 200 words. After the challenge I began writing a longer version of Vret's story. It's currently around 4000 words, and the end is not in sight. I'll be posting the story in parts, starting next week.

BTW. Myth the purple (occasionally red) banner dragon got lost while migrating, which is why it's still snowing in the banner. Meanwhile in Helsinki, it seems like spring is finally coming: weather forecast promises 15°C (59°F) for tomorrow! Oh, and it smells like cows, a sure sign of spring.

MarchMadness Blog Challenge 4

Wet moss squished beneath Vret’s bare feet as he walked towards the edge of the woods. The branch of a willow pressed against his arm, leaving behind dots of moisture on his sleeve. He stopped, before him opened a clearing. The one where he’d met his demon.

She’d found him half-dead, offered to heal him if he allowed her to possess him. When her finger trailed along his skin he’d felt power course through him. His wounds had knit themselves shut and the pain faded for a moment. Then his own magic had begun to fight the demon’s.

His mind had blurred from the mix of pain and pleasure, but he must have spoken for he woke with the demon beneath his skin.

“You yearned for me to end your existence as a weakling.” Her words from his mouth jolted him from his thoughts. ”We are both stronger now.”

“Yes, we are.” He’d cheated death and the strongest form he could take was no longer a mere wolf, but a nightmarish creature this world did not bear. He had to bow to Sana’s will, but becoming a strong puppet was better than being weak and free.

MarchMadness Blog Challenge 3

Vret bowed his half-changed head before the bigger shapeshifter. A hand settled on the back of his neck. Fingers entangled with his hair and the remnants of a mane, a quick tug pulled his head back.

“Sana, couldn’t you curb your vengeance for a little while longer?” Brell stared through his eyes and into the demon’s. “Vret’s too weak to resist. It had to be you.”

Beneath his skin he felt his demon writhing. Sana’s curses echoed through his mind, her anger rang through the words he spoke: “She says she will rip your head off if you ask her again.”

“Then answer me Vret, what were either of you thinking?” Brell released his grip. His hand lifted to his temple. “Our task was to expose the cruelty that takes place within those walls.”

“We were successful.” Sana bared his teeth into a snarl.

“Your former tribe mate saw it all.” His demon shrunk beneath the tone of Brell’s voice. “She also saw you drag that man here, unconscious, but alive. Now he’s not. See how you’ve risked our work?”

Vret swallowed hard, and then nodded.

“Good.” Brell slapped his hand onto his shoulder. “To redeem yourselves you’re going to back to the village. I have a new task for you two.”

Leaving the Guise at Haunted Waters Press

Copyright © 2012 Haunted Waters Press

My flash fiction story “Leaving the Guise” is featured at Haunted Waters Press website. It takes place in Verannia, and tells the tale of a young shapeshifter who is deciding on his true form.

Also check out the beautiful Spring 2012 issue of From the Depths, the literary journal of Haunted Waters Press.

MarchMadness Blog Challenge 2

The weak wind carried the scent of resin mixed with rotting leaves. Vret turned his face to the breeze, its sound mixing with the steady breathing of the prisoner. Leaves rustled as the king’s man shifted in his spell-induced slumber. The thought of toying with his former imprisoner crossed his mind, but he cast it aside.

But the demon had already decided.

His skin thickened and its tone changed into mottled greens. Pieces of cloth fell off his growing body as he stepped towards his prey. Leisurely his claws grabbed the human and slammed him against a pine, breaking the spell. The man’s mouth opened and closed in a silent plead.

Maw hanging open he breathed in the fear the human exuded. He needed more. Gently his demon pushed him aside.

“Little human.” The words flowed from his mouth, in his voice, but they belonged to the demon. “My puppet shall enjoy watching.”

Thick needles pierced the man’s skin, growing trough his flesh. The screaming would alert the hunting party. They’d take him away, keep him alive for questioning. No, his fate does not belong to them. The tip of his claw rested on the man’s throat for a moment before piercing it.

MarchMadness Blog Challenge 1

Timony Souler has a new blog challenge again. Take a look at the prompts on her blog. Didn't have much time to write, but I managed to scrape this up.

The cell door opened with a groan. Vret lifted his eyes from a rat to the man who entered: he bore the King’s insignia on his clothes and in his hands he held scroll and a phial.

“I was possessed by a demon.” Vret’s mouth moved slowly, the poison he’d been forced to drink sapping away his strength. “A greater one.”

The man shoved the scroll into the shapeshifter’s hands. “Verannian law dictates that a shapeshifter must prove they were not aiding the demon.”

“No one can.” He shook his head feebly. “Some would allow a demon to possess them for power, but not I.”

“Your fate is sealed, shapestealer.” The stopper of the phial came free with a pop. Steps echoed in the small cell.

“Please, no! Mercy—”

The king’s man wrenched the shapeshifter’s mouth open. A growl warned him before Vret’s teeth sunk into his hand.

“Thought I was weak and helpless?” Vret’s hands curled around the man’s throat. He fell limp, sliding onto the floor where the rat still stood.

Vret knelt down. He placed a finger beneath the rat’s snout and lifted her eyes to him. ”They would have killed me. Tell the others what you saw.”

First Campaigner Challenge: Tainted

This is my entry to the First Campaigner Challenge. Here are the rules:

Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “Shadows crept across the wall”. These five words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), do one or more of these:

• end the story with the words: "everything faded." (also included in the word count) (Check)

• include the word "orange" in the story

• write in the same genre you normally write (Check)
  

• make your story 200 words exactly!

Tainted

Shadows crept across the wall and along the floor, attaching to clawed feet and thick tails that scraped along the ground. Arre watched her kin pass. She wouldn’t take part in the search for survivors. A shudder ran along her spine; the creatures were like mirror images of herself. Stunted wings folded against drawn skin, black tongues writhing in their maws, awaiting the taste of flesh.

What a distorted, hated being she’d become, marred by the use of tainted magic. One time wouldn’t affect her, she had thought. She’d protected her village from the onslaught of monsters, but they never stopped coming. Each time she changed a little, until she became one of them.

She opened her maw wide, wishing she could devour herself and end her cursed existence.

Rays of light flowed along the earth, bouncing off the armor of a hired warrior. She’d killed him. Even he had failed to defeat her, not once had the blade touched her. Awkwardly her clawed fingers curled around the blade’s handle. She lifted it, pressed the tip against her chest, shifted it a little to the left.

Relief mingled with pain rushed through her. Everything faded.

---

If you enjoyed the story, please like it here. I'm number 163.

Tag!

I got tagged by Colleen Chen. Here are my answers to her questions.

1. If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?
I like Kyllikki, Mielikki and Mansikki, but those are traditional Finnish cow names… I’d go with Annikki, though it ends with –ikki, it’s not a cow name.

2. Which Greek or Roman (or other culture's mythological) deity would you be (either who you'd like to be or who you most resemble)?
Mielikki, the Finnish goddess of woods (yes, also a traditional cow name).

3. Would you like to marry a Vulcan?
I’m not sure how boyfriend would react if I said yes, so I’ll have to say no. Plus I kinda prefer elves.

4. Would you choose immortal life with the elves, or a human, mortal life with the one you love and a child-to-be?
Hmm… I want kids to brainwash into reading. I’ll have to go with the mortal life.

5. If you had to write fan fiction, what fictional world would you choose to write in?
My brain asploded. So many to choose from... Let's say Fillory from
The Magicians and Magician King by Lev Grossman. The place is so messed up I could do almost anything with it.

6. Do you believe in any conspiracy theories?
No *shifty eyes*, should I?

7. What do you consider your best quality?
I am kind and caring.

8. What do you consider your worst quality?
I am often too kind and sensitive. I’m no doormat anymore, but I still have the feeling that the world ends if someone gets angry at me.

9. Do you ever feel over-exposed on your blog?
I’ve posted mostly stories so far, so not yet.

10. If you were to reincarnate, what would you like to be?
A lap dog. My coton de tulear has it easy, she just sleeps, eats and begs for more food.

11. What is your biggest pet peeve?
I have trouble composing my thoughts in a coherent sentence when trying to comment on blogs. I try to say what the post makes me feel, but all I get is ”eeerr…ummm…uhh…” and the like.

I’m a bit late and everyone is probably busy with the first task so I’m not tagging anyone. If someone wants my 11 questions just ask and I’ll give them.

Fourth Writers' Platform-Building Campaign

Again it's time for the Writers' Platform-Building Campaign, “a way to link those of us in the writing community together with the aim of helping to build our online platforms.”

Read more about the campaign on Rachael Harrie's blog. You can join until February 15th.

Nightgale Blog Challenge: The Unfinished Tale

Fourth and last entry to Nightgale blog challenge. Thank you Glitterlady and other participants for the great stories. David A. Ludwig has written a summary of the challenge, read it here.

Emma sought the words her father would have chosen. Did the dragon’s scales glint or gleam as it shifted atop its mound of treasure? No, he would have first described the gold, rubies, and magical relics strewn into a pile and then revealed the dragon lying atop the fortune.

The words were right, now she had to write them down. She held up one of her father’s pages, studied the form of the letters. How the top of t’s curved, how the i’s were a little slanted and how the ink stains became more frequent when the pace of the story grew faster.

Like a muse, the memory of her father guided her hand. She worked throughout the night, studying the pages her father had written before death had claimed him. When her work was done she snuck back into her father’s study and hid the papers below a cupboard. As if they’d fallen there.

Come morning, she pretended to find them. She held her breath for a moment; she would have to sound surprised and elated at the “discovery”, otherwise they would see through her ruse.

“Mama! Lil’ brother!” Emma held one of the papers in her hand. “Come see what I found!”

“I’m not little!”

“I found some papers. The letters look like dad’s handwriting. ” She swallowed; mother had furrowed her brow. “And they pick up where father’s story left off.”

“Mama, read it to me!” Her brother bounced up and down, brown locks mimicking the movement. He’d believed the lie. Not much else mattered. “I want to know what happens next!”

“You’ll have to sit down and listen.” Mother had a knowing smile on her face as she walked in to the den holding the papers and began reading her daughter’s words.

Emma smiled; father hadn’t told her the ending of the story, but it had been clear to her. The beggar boy would outwit the dragon, not slay it, and return to his family a rich young man. Her little brother liked simple, happy endings. They made him smile when nothing else could.

Nigthgale Blog Challenge: A Final Gift

My third entry to Glitterlady's Nightgale blog challenge. Takes place in Verannia.

The earth mage plodded through the woods, fingers touching rough bark of a pine and naked limb of a birch as he walked past his old friends. Snow crunched beneath his feet and clung to his boots.

Weariness forced him to sit under a pine. The tree was old, wounded by the years and twisted by the wind. The mage studied the signs of great age with mild envy; he had lost the opportunity to grow old.

He had healed the ill and lifted the spirits of those in need for ten years now. But when the plague had come to North, he had spread himself too thin trying to help everyone, and caught the damn disease himself. It was a mistake and he had to pay the price, but he refused to die behind closed doors, surrounded by sorrow and decay.

He would die in the pure snow; his body would feed the earth and the trees which stood sentry between his home and the Ice Barrens. Gently he touched the scaly bark of the pine. Perhaps he could help the tree survive a little longer.

He reached outwards, grasped the threads of life flowing beneath the smooth bark, and began binding his body to the trunk. The predators would have to find something else to eat; besides, his diseased flesh might sicken the animals.

Tears appeared along the surface of the tree, resin seeped down onto his shoulders. The golden resin flowed down along his body until it touched the ground, where it hardened. More resin covered him, reaching up to his neck. The mage sighed out his last breath as he left the world behind. But a part of him would stay in this world, feeding the old tree.

Nighgale Blog Challenge: The Sacrifice

This is my second entry to Glitterlady's Nightgale blog challenge. I'm sorry it's late, I had a busy week and hit a wall with the story.

PROMPT:

Immortality comes to you, you do not go to Immortality.

The sacrifice had ceased screaming. Blood from the tear on his throat trickled down the sides of the stone altar, dripping on to the white flowers laid around the slab. Gibbet smiled; the first victim had been hard, but the time he got to the tenth he’d gotten used to the pleading and the threats. All a part of his quest for immortality.

The deity of life had ignored his request for years, but he could not ignore the death knells of his followers for long.

The dead man’s hand twitched and Gibbet quickly stepped back. Was it time?

Slowly the corpse’s hand rose to the gaping wound on his throat. Pinching the wound close, the man sat up and stared Gibbet in the eyes.

”Stop killing my followers!” The corpse’s face was beetroot red from anger. “I’m busy enough as it is without having to resurrect them.”

Good, he had the deity’s attention now. “Give me what I prayed for and the slaughter will end.”

The man’s mouth twisted as the deity considered. “Eternal youth is only for the High Priests.”

Gibbet’s mind wandered to the painting he had walked past every morning. Men like him being ripped apart by monsters, drowning in waste, subjected to horrors beyond his imagination. He’d committed murder several times. It was either immortality or the Underworld for him.

“I will continue killing your followers until you strike me down.”

The deity arched an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t I do that right now?”

Gibbet hid his fear in false scoff, “What kind of deity of life would you be?”

“Hmm… you are correct. I cannot kill.” The deity lifted the man’s free hand to rub his chin. “Ah, if you will stop slaughtering my followers, then yes, I shall grant you immortality.”

The deity set the dead man’s hand atop his head and muttered in a low voice. For a moment Gibbet feared the deity would twist his head, snapping his neck, but the god of life couldn’t kill.

He felt the deity’s voice more than heard it. The words settled on him and slipped beneath. He could feel a change, something fundamental leaving his body.

“You’re now an immortal, bastard.” The deity spat the words.

Gibbet smiled as he bowed his head. “I will never grow old, I am forever young.”

The deity burst into laughter. “Forever young? Hah! No, you will rot, but you will not die. I was impressed with you, working and praying diligently. I would have answered your prayers and given you eternal youth, but you strayed from the righteous path.”

All expression faded from the man’s face. His hand fell from his throat; the deep wound had knitted shut, leaving behind only a thin scar. The priest’s eyelids slid down, then shot open widen.

“You slit my throat!” The man shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Gibbet, who just stared at him blankly. This had gone all wrong. Perhaps the god of death would grant him real immortality or at least take back his brother’s curse.

Character Anger Management

When I saw the prompt on Timony's blog, I immeadiately thought of Auburn, one of my characters :)

Auburn lifted her head from the table, mouth hanging slightly ajar as she stared at the odd man. So he was going to teach her how to resist the urge to threaten the other characters.

“Welcome to the Character Anger Management class of 2012. I’m Bert, your instructor. I’ve written many stories with placid characters and with my help you too can become calm and collected.”

It was her writer’s fault. She’d talked about how people made a resolution for every New Year. Hers could be to tone down the anger, since the other characters were afraid of her. No one had outright complained, though, likely because they were too scared to do that.

Auburn’s eyes wandered up and down his odd attire. “What the hell are you wearing? I’ve seen my writer in weird clothes, but…”

Bert frowned. “They’re called jeans. And where’d you learn the word ‘hell’? Aren’t you from a fantasy world?”

“My writer uses the word all the time. Oh, and ‘for the love of all that is good’ and ‘perkele’, although I don’t know what that means.” Her brow creased as she sought other words her writer used to describe her and other unruly characters. “Well, too many to list.”

“Uh, huh... Well, let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He nodded to a thing of muscle and horns. ”You can start.”

“You annoy me, I rip tongue out!” The ogre lifted a club above his head.

“If anyone annoys me, I will rip their tongue out, clean the window with it and insert it in their—” She fell quiet. Everyone stared at her. Even the ogre was giving her a wary glance. Didn’t they recognize creative threating when they heard it? “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The instructor’s mouth hung open, his pen dropped to the floor and rolled to the far end of the room. Silence fell again.

“Overkill.” The ogre muttered.

“Ahem, we’re trying to learn not to use such language.” He walked over to pick up the pen.

Auburn shrugged. “Well, I haven’t learned yet.”

“I see…” Bert gnawed the end of the pen. “Moving on, we’ll now discuss what pushes our buttons.”

“When people interrupt or try outdo me!” The ogre growled.

“Don’t blame others if you can’t come up with better threats than ‘rip’ or ‘tear’.” Auburn snorted as she brushed a curl of hair of her face. The corners of her mouth began to tug upwards, next to the ogre sat a rather handsome pale young man with dark hair. “Hello there.”

The man smiled revealing sharp fangs.

“Look at me when talking to me!” The ogre stood up, his club lifted high.

“No longing gazes here. I’m sure your writers have plans for you—” Bert’s word and possibly life was cut short by the ogre’s club.

“You interrupt me!”

“My writer was paying for this!” Auburn pulled her dress over her head as she changed. Coppery fur covered her body and fingers sharpened into claws as a shriek of fury escaped her maw.

She dodged the ogre’s clumsy swing easily. Her jump landed her atop the beast’s head, her claws scratched futilely the thick skin. The eyes would be vulnerable.

“Stop it!” She heard Bert shout, but it was too late. The rush of battle sang in her blood, nothing could stop her.

“Why is my character bound like Hannibal Lecter?” Emilia’s mouth gaped as Auburn was rolled in. The shapeshifter rolled her eyes. “I know she has a foul mouth, but a muzzle?”

“Your character started a fight with an ogre and almost killed the poor monster. Then she tried to… passionately kiss a vampire. When he tried to bite her, she knocked his teeth out. You’re lucky they have surgery for that nowadays and that the ogre lives,” he drew a deep breath,” otherwise you’d be in deep trouble, missy. Goodbye!”

“Sorry Auburn, I had a chat with my boyfriend and turns out you’re his favourite character.” She pushed her smudgy glasses back up her nose. “It got me thinking, maybe other people will like you too, and if you did tone down your temper you wouldn’t be you anymore.”

“Mmh.”

“I’ll let you go when we’re back in Verannia.” She gnawed her lower lip for a moment before adding, “I don’t want you attacking any characters on the way there.”

“Mmh!” Auburn’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And please don’t attack me when I release you?”

“Mmmh…”

“Thank you, Auburn.” Emilia grabbed the handles and began rolling her back into the story.

Nightgale Blog Challenge: Hemlock

Glitterlady has challenged us to write four stories on the subject of immortality. This is my first entry to the challenge.

When I look in the mirror I do not see my face, but a mask moulded by life and set upon my true visage. I wish the mirror was just playing a cruel joke on me, but I know it shows what others see. I lift a cloth to cover the mirror, but the peace it brings will only last for a moment.

The drawer slides open easily. Inside it in a brown bag is my escape: a phial, so small as to seem innocent. Poison is a woman’s choice; it preserves what’s left of beauty, while other means of death would maim it.

I’ll be found next to my mirror, dressed in my finest, my hair brushed, my makeup hiding the little time-carved marks on my skin. They will remember me as I am now, beautiful. Old age will never tarnish memories of me.

The stopper frees a sharp smell that wafts through the air. I lift the phial to my lips and swallow the foul liquid.

Immortality may come with a price, but I will gladly pay it in full.

I will never grow old.