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Thursday, June 7, 2012

#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.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

#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”.

Friday, May 25, 2012

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!

Monday, April 23, 2012

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.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

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.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

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.