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Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Thursday, September 6, 2012

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.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

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.

Friday, January 20, 2012

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.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

#DivineHell Extra

Cerberus ran along the empty streets, dodging packs of party goers and the odd passed out person. The huge hellhound stopped to sniff the air, he was near. The right head turned to go right, the left wanted to go left, and the middle wanted to go straight ahead.
After minutes of growling, biting and snarling, Cerberus raced onwards. Petty squabbling would have to wait. The grey asphalt flew beneath the hellhound as it closed in on the target.
A tall form, wrapped in a black cloak turned to face the hound. Cerberus stopped before him, scaly tail wagging.
“What is it lad… lads?” The Grim Reaper knelt down before the hound. “Did little Timmy fall into a well again?”
The middle and left head growled while the right head slapped its paw into its forehead.
“Come to think of it, Timmy never did fall into a well.” Grim patted the middle head of the hellhound. “What is it lads, tell me.”
Cerberus lifted its paws to the side of its head, forming makeshift horns.
“Lucifer, something’s up with him. Is he in trouble again?”
The three heads nodded up and down in unison. The hound stopped to think for a moment, then drew its legs against itself and laid down on the pavement.
“Lucifer is dead?” The bony jaw dropped.
“Arf!” The three heads bared their teeth.
Grim’s bony hand jammed his jaw back up. “Not dead, I take it. Hell would be in an uproar without its leader… bound?”
“Woof!” The scaly tail thumped up and down, sending up a puff of dust.
“Bound, probably in a confined place like a closet. But why?” Grim fell silent for a moment. He lifted a finger up towards the dark sky. “Did God try to order Lucifer to be kinder to the damned?”
“Woof!”
“Reapers are neutral, we don’t mess with God or Lucifer.” The black hood fell off as Grim shook his head. He lifted his hands up in protest. “It’s their issue, find someone else.”
Cerberus pointed at itself, lifted his paws into horns again, then patted the pavement. The hellhound’s faces looked around confused, one head barked at the other as if asking for direction. The shoulders of the hound lifted up, then down.
“Minion of the devil, up here, lost and confused… Edwin?” His jaw dropped to the ground this time. Grim picked it up, brushed the dust of and jammed it back. “The young sod’s got himself mixed up in all of this? He can’t even make his way through hell, what’s he doing down there?”
Cerberus merely shrugged. Three pairs of ears lifted up and three pairs of eyes lit up. “Woof?”
“I rather like that bloke, shame if something’s happened to him.” Grim lifted his hand to his brow and shook his head. “I’m going to make a dog’s dinner out of this, but I have to do something.”
“Woof?”
“No, not food. It means I’m likely going to make things worse by intervening. Follow me, I know what to do.”


On the corner of a street populated by young party goers a young woman stood on a wooden box, waving her hands and shouting: “You’re all going to hell in a handbasket—” The street prophet fell silent as a cold blade touched her throat.
“God, I’ve got a scythe on your favourite prophet’s throat!” The Grim Reaper gritted the teeth he still had. HQ would be furious again. “Call off the oddball angel and let Lucifer do his job. I’m sure you’ve made your point.”
“I’m a favourite?” The prophet’s face brightened. “Woo hoo!”
Clad in an orange and red outfit, the angel Rowan appeared out of thin air. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists!”
One of the party goers turned his head towards the scene, but saw only the street preacher standing silent, her head oddly bent back.
“Do I get a say in this?” The street preacher looked up at The Reaper’s skeletal face. The hollow eye sockets revealed nothing of his intent.
If Grim had had flesh and muscles to move them he would have frowned. “I recall that you hijacked Hell.”
“Lucifer didn’t follow orders!” Wings unfurled behind Rowan, filling the air with a warm light.
“You can’t order a fallen angel, especially the Devil.” The Grim Reaper waved his free arm in the air. “You coerce and threaten, but you don’t hit him over the head with a holy book and shove him in a closet. That’s just wrong, man… angel.”
Rowan crossed his arms and lifted his wings higher in attempt of intimidation.
Grim stood still; he’d seen angels before while taking souls to heaven. “If Lucifer agrees to give the damned a break every century, will you leave?”
Rowan looked up, then nodded. “Upstairs agrees.” He snorted. “If the old goat bottom agrees, all’s fine.”
“Blimey, God agrees?” The scythe fell from the street preacher’s throat. Grim took a step back. “You deal with Lucifer. I have a football riot to attend to.”


The closet door opened, the sudden flash of light assaulting Edwin and Lucifer’s eyes. Rowan stepped into the opening, his arms crossed across his chest. “If you allow the damned a holiday once every decade—”
“Hundred years.” Lucifer spat the words.
“Alrighty, every hundred years, I’ll leave and not come back unless ordered to.” The angel cocked his head and lifted his brow, waiting for an answer.
“If you ever show your face here again, I will have the demons chop off your wings and use them to clean the soot of the walls,” Lucifer’s dark eyes glittered as he imagined the scene, “and play basketball with that pretty little head of yours.”
“Fine.” Rowan pulled out a small knife and sliced through the ropes binding Edwin. He gave the youngster a dark look. “Shove me against a wall again and you will have no business knocking on heaven’s door.”
“I work for him.” Edwin glanced at the fuming Lucifer. “I think I lost the chance for eternal life in the clouds when I signed.”
“Ever heard of repenting? God forgives.” Rowan placed the knife in Edwin’s hand. “I’m off.”
Edwin cut Lucifer’s ropes and got up to leave, when the Boss’s cold voice made him turn around. “Edwin, what were you doing down here?”
“Oh, nothing, just stopping by.” He swallowed hard; now was not the time to point out the fact that he didn’t get paid enough.
“I doubt that.” The Devil flexed his sore arms, clawed fingers extended towards the roof. “Now, Edwin I have a job for you. Find a way to make that angel pay for what he did.”
All colour fled Edwin’s face and his jaw dropped. He’d do it, it was his job and Lucifer had gotten him out of the Loony Bin. Even Hell was better than that.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

DiceGames: Death on the Doorstep

A bit late, but here it is: my third entry to Lady Antimony's DiceGames challenge. Again, I rolled number one: "Death just knocked at your door - convince him why you shouldn't die yet."

Silence had fallen, the world outside held its breath waiting for the knock to be answered. The door opened with a loud creak, a round face peeked through. “Yes?”
A solitary hooded figure stood still in the doorway. Behind it thunderheads rolled in front of the sun, enveloping the world in twilight.
“My name is Reaper, Grim Reaper.” The air grew cooler with the words, frost gathering in the doorframe. “Jason Thorne, I have come for you.”
“Are you sure?” Jason furrowed his brow; his lifestyle was unhealthy, but this was ridiculous.
A white skeletal hand appeared from the folds of the black robe, fingers clutching an old parchment. A thin finger ran across the list of names before settling on one.
“Yes. The gates of hell lie open before you…”
Behind Jason the clock struck five.
“Oh, it’s tea time.” The Grim Reaper walked past, straight to the rickety table. “Pour me a cup will you, dearie.”
Jason rummaged the top shelf for his roommate’s mother’s tea set. They were pink and with lilac flowers; The Reaper seemed delighted.
“Oh, I love flowers; they die ever so quickly, mind you.” Jason watched as the bony fingers grasped the handle of the teapot and poured the brown liquid into a small cup. “So, how’s life been treating you?”
He stared for a moment as the Reaper poured tea into his mouth, all of it ending up on the front of his robe. The Reaper cocked its skull inquisitively. “Up to now, well. I have a roof on top my head, my health—”
The Reaper scoffed at this.
“Why did you come for me?” Jason hadn’t touched his tea. The Reaper snatched Jason’s cup and drank it, before pouring himself another.
“That’s simple. You’re dying.” A manic cackling borne from the depth of the robe echoed in the room.
“But I can’t be! I haven’t lived yet.” Jason stood up sending his chair on the floor with a loud thud. “You’ve opened my eyes, I must see more of the world, experience it in all of its glory. I want to give up this fruitless effort at life and really live. See the green of the woods, smell the salt of the sea and look upon on a sunset with a loved one!”
The Reaper listened, enthralled.
“I have never even been truly in love. I have felt a woman’s touch, but no one who could gaze upon me lovingly. They were all meaningless, but now I see that life is not meant to be lived alone. Please, I beg of you Reaper, give me another shot at life!”
“Well— Oomph!” The Reaper crumbled into a heap of black fabric and bones, behind stood a lanky young man holding a bent crowbar. Jason stared at his roommate, then at the unmoving mass of black and white. When the grim reaper failed to show any signs of life, they both erupted into laughter.
“Nice, we killed Death!” Ben slapped his forehead. “Should’ve been done a long time ago!”
“We killed Death, so are we immortal now?” Jason poked The Reaper with a toe.
“Guess so.” Ben scratched his back with the crowbar. “What should we do about that?”
Jason reflected on the situation for a moment. He didn’t want to do anything stupid like jump off a cliff to test their newfound immortality. Then he knew; “Wanna go rob a bank?”
“Sure!”
An ominous rumble filled the room. Lightning stuck through the dark grey sky, sending the neighbour’s cat flying off the fence. Birds fell silent once more, lighting struck again.
The Reaper rose, a scythe in one hand, the other holding the back of his head. A low moan emanated from his bony jaws, shaking the foundations of the house.
“You fools fractured my beautiful skull!” The scythe rose. “Prepare to pay!”
The blunt end of the scythe struck Jason in the face; then the Reaper turned and struck Ben in the back of his head. Both died instantly, falling prey to the dark magic of the scythe.
The Grim Reaper crossed his arms, threw back his head and laughed heartily. No one messed with the bringer of death. Then, to his horror, he realised that the roommate wasn’t on the list. He was supposed to live a long and healthy life.
“Darn!” The Reaper struck the end of the scythe into the floor, which rotted and collapsed under the wasting touch. “HQ is going to be furious!”
The Grim Reaper gazed upon the two dead bodies; their souls were already headed towards a warmer place. He truly needed to learn how to control his temper.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Tuesday Tale Challenge on Glitterlady's blog

Read the other stories here.

Cold gnawed her hand, yet she picked up the brittle flower from the snow. It was dead, as she should be. Envy surged through her; she crushed the wilted flower inside her fist. Her life had been an average one: she’d married, had children, then died calmly.

It was what came after the death that had frightened her; the realization that she was leaving her loved ones behind and stepping into a new plane of existence. Her feelings had been lugubrious, a clump of sorrow and fear lodged in her heart.

She should have been afraid of the offer of immortality instead.