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.