Friday Flash: The Prisoner

Hmm...
2011: 44 blog posts
2012: 22 blog posts
2013: 2 blog posts

If the trend continues, this will be my only one this year. 

(I hope not.)

This is a new story based on a dream I had.

---

Are my dreams memories?

If so…

Why do I wake up here?

Grey walls, grey men and a grey sky. Only outside do I see other colors: the deep green of the woods and grass. But when I dream I see blue, the pale blue of the sky and dark blue of ocean depths. I dream of fire and darkness, the ways that lie beneath the earth’s crust.

Why am I here?

My feet lead me down the stone steps. Round and round until I reach the bottom of my tower.

They’ve hung a tapestry on the stone wall: red flowers against green grass. One of the grey men stands before it. He lifts the silver mask from his face and smiles. They’ve never smiled to me, the prisoner.

“Anything I could do to make you comfortable?” The smile doesn’t waver and his voice is warm. Odd, now that I think of it I haven’t heard them speak before. The only sound they make is the shuffle of their feet and the metallic clank of their outfit.

His voice jolts me from my thoughts. “I understand you’re not keen on speaking to us.”

“No,” I whisper. Though I’m not sure why. I can faintly remember anger and despair, but it was not at the grey men.

“You’re going to spend the rest of your life here and I thought I should make things more comfortable for you.” A hint of shame in the man’s voice.

“Why?”

“You’re the easiest duty I’ve had—”

“Why am I here?” The words come out as a snarl. I flinch at the anger in my voice; where does it come from?

“I don’t know.” His hand is on the hilt of his weapon. A shiver runs down my spine. I’ve felt the cold touch of steel before. “I just guard you.”

“Why?”

“I keep those who would harm others imprisoned or protect those who other would harm.” He straightens himself and lifts his chin. The pale light catches the metal skin he wears. “A high calling.”

“Which am I?”

I cannot answer my question. I remember anger, but is it of one wronged or of one evil?

I lift my arms, the fabric slides away, revealing pale blue hands, fingers tipped with blunted grey claws. Is there blood on my hands?

“I don’t know.” He looks down. “I follow orders.”

“You asked if there's anything you can do for me. Ask someone who knows, why am I here?”

He nods. Before leaving I glance at the tapestry. I like it; I’ve been there in my dreams.

I remember a picture in her likeness, in a book long ago. The book told our story, the history of the Grey Men.

The library is smaller than I remembered; we have little use for books here. A thick layer of dust covers the book I seek, obscuring the silver letters.

The book slides from the shelf, eager to be read.

The pages fly. Then, I catch a glimpse of her.

On the page stands the prisoner: a slender being wrapped in dark blue cloth. Silver hair flows past narrow shoulders. Pale blue fingers tipped with talons grip the cloth. The eyes hold a kind, almost shy gaze.

On the other page a blue-grey feathered creature rises through the clouds. Sharp snout split into a grin, fierce joy lights her eyes.

Beneath reads:

The guardians have four forms. One for each realm: one winged and one earthbound, one of fire and one of water. They rose against the Breaker and failed. The Breaker showed mercy to the survivors and they were imprisoned. The Breaker set the Grey Men to watch over them.

A chill runs down my spine.

The Breaker of the world. The one we serve.

The door opens with a groan. I pull my robe tighter against the chill he brings. The question catches in my throat. What if he says “I don’t know” again?

“You’re a prisoner until time ends.” I turn to face him. Metal skin covers him from head to toe. A silver mask hides his face, but I can hear shame in his voice.

“Why?”

“You rose against a god.”

“A god? But I am weak. Why would I do so?” I remember magic running through my veins. Maybe once I wasn’t weak.

“You did what was right. You tried to stop the world from breaking.”

“I cannot remember.”

“They stole your memories and your magic. You’re a shapechanger, one form for each element. One for fire and one for water. One for the sky and the one you’re in now.”

“Who did this?”

Quivering hands rise to his mask and remove it. Pain reads clear on his face. “Us.”

“I am alone then.”

I feel his arm on my shoulder. The metal skin feels cold even through my robe, but his voice is warm.

“No, you have an ally.”

A memory fills my mind, a field of green filled with red flowers. Laughter fills my ears. My sister’s hand holds mine. Don’t worry little sister. I’ll keep you safe.

For the first time I remember joy.

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”.