Lions and Ravens

The boy seemed happy; his life was simple and agreeable, there was always good company around and new stories waiting to be heard. But sometimes, when he was alone, he would think back to those stories heard in the warm safe tavern by the fire. He would sometimes wonder what it would be like to actually be there, in the wild outside where anything could happen but he would quickly dismiss these foolish dreams of adventure. The town was enough for him, its unexplored streets called out to him, speaking of stories begging to be heard, people itching to be met, things waiting to be found. For even the darkest nights were fully alert and the place was never completely dark or silent.

Truly the Shining Citadel was a beautiful and enchanting place full of mysteries. Arthur lived in Lionsden near the Lion’s Gate and every morning after his chores in the tavern he would watch the City Guard open the majestic gate. There were never less than ten soldiers guarding the gate at any time though often there were more. The Lion’s Gate was huge, bronze, and golden – the doors were made of thick, strong wood covered with many layers of bronze and on that bronze was a roaring lion, looking as if it could jump out at you at any moment, beautifully carved in gold. The bolts and chains that held the doors were forged from steel and iron.

From the Lion’s Gate ran the Lion’s Road: into Lionsden and then further into the place all the way to the castle. On this road stood Arthur’s tavern: Kings Rest, further on at the first crossroad lay a giant stone lion on a pedestal watching all who pass through his gate; at the next crossroads was the beautiful fountain where Arthur watched the blond girl and all the way at the end of the road, as it passed through different parts of the citadel, was the castle in Angels’ Keep. All along the road were merchants and artists, with many things to show and on busy market days in the crowds you could be sure there would also be thieves.

Raven’s Hollow was two districts away, it was the secondary military district after Hummingbird Bay and it had barracks and the primary Quest Hall of the citadel; all districts had quest boards but only Raven’s Hollow, Angel’s Keep and Eagle Steep had an entire hall dedicated to quests. It was only in these places that you could be tested to acquire the right to take higher ranking quests. There were 7 levels of quests: the first was more errands than actual quests, all you had to do to get that badge was swear honesty and loyalty to those who issued the quests and to the king himself. To reach the second level you had to have completed 20 first rank quests, if you were only interested in a certain type of quests you could be tested only for that but you always needed a minimum amount of self-defence; for example if you were a mage only interested in quest that required magic you could become “rank II specified mage” and each level had it requirements. Of course, as a general rule, the higher ranking the quest the less there were. The level seven board was almost always empty and no-one knew for sure how many rank VII questers (the general name for those who quested) there were but all knew they were very few and there would sometimes be rumours… some said they had seen an old hag take a level 7 quest, some said they had seen a dragon take the form of a man to take such a quest, one man would no longer go into the hall because he said that the statue near the last quest board was actually a level 7, waiting for a quest to come up so that he could get it first. “He winked at me I swear he did!” this man would say. And there were people who had been seen at improbable hours: a young and beautiful woman stride in, take one look at the empty rank 7 quest board and leave. It was not a good thing for a woman to take a quest. It was well seen when it was to escape poverty or do something useful but if a woman were to get a higher rank it was less well seen and for a woman to have obtained rank 7… it was unthinkable. Which is why Nikke was pretending to be a boy while waiting for her to turn up again. She was already rank II but didn’t know anyone who would teach her enough to go higher, she hoped this woman could help her but for the moment she was stuck in and around the hall waiting for an opportunity to see her. So Nikke pretended the young man checking out rank IV quests at that moment wasn’t attracting her attention. He looked stupid anyway and she was too tired to bother actually getting up to talk to him. So she ignored him and focused on not falling asleep and looking for a woman.

…………………….epicstoryofgoldgloryandpinapples… becausepinapplesneverdisappoint………………………

This is the third and most recent part of our joint story (DragonSpark and I) so far. If you want the last part you can find it here and if you missed all of it here’s the first part.
Right back atcha DS 😉

Here’s the next bit: Encounter

 

DS Daily Post-Neglecting Brevity

I am the victim of a common plague in writing noobies: I write a lot of useless words. Of course, they don’t seem useless to me, however I am often told they are.

You see, most of my short stories originate from visual sequences in my mind, filled with insane amounts of detail, each adding a tad of splendour to the scene. If it weren’t for the SpeakEasy’s (Weekly writing challenge) word count limit, many of my posts could be twice as long as they are. It’s rather easy to end up writing at length when trying to describe a three dimensional movie in your mind, filled with sights, smells, sounds, touches, and tastes. Not only that, but writing about sci-fi/fantastic plots often requires much more context then the real world’s, as foreign concepts/objects that are well defined to me need to be summarized and explained to a reader.

Despite this, I strive to edit the not-so-important stuff out, just to keep whoever is reading from falling asleep. Sometimes it’s tough, saying goodbye to a good sentence, one that deserved its place in the final story, just because it didn’t fit. Pressing “delete” can sometimes be a hard thing. That sentence probably had friends and family… It’s in a better place, now.

To sum it all up, on the brevity/verbosity spectrum, I definitely am more akin to the latter category. However, with efforts, I hope to be able to naturally write crisp, concise pieces, without having to put down good material, fruits of lots of mental work.

Thanks to Daily Post for the fun prompt. First time I submit to you guys! Hope you liked this brief (dem puns) piece. Comments much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

 

DS Speakeasy 179-Void

I’ve come to love the silence. Only out here in space can one enjoy such peace. Unfortunately, this peace was soon to be shattered. I had abandoned the unmanned resource satellites yesterday,  following the asteroid belt back to the colony. The empty void of space, the predictable, familiar mechanical hisses and clicks of my armoured suit were going to once again give way to the unpredictable chaos of the crowd, the overly natural environment, with its animals, and its trees, with branches trying to grab you, imposing themselves upon you. How could anyone like this? The colonies, they say, were built to provide a home for Earth’s growing population, attempting to reproduce a familiar environment in the process. If Earth is as noisy, chaotic, dirty, and unpredictable as the colony hub, then I’d much rather stick to spatial duties. Humans are horrible to be around. They’re all rude, and violent, and egocentric and….

… I need a break.

I cancelled out my mech’s velocity relative to the asteroid belt, put my helmet on, switched off the hydrogen core, and opened the hatch, letting myself float out into space, a mere cable holding me to the seat of my cockpit. The distant sun was illuminating the millions of rocks that composed the belt, the rays playing and dancing on the metal of my suit. I held my right hand in front of me. Four gloved fingers and a thumb were moving in my field of view. Deep breath. Why do I exist? Why are clones necessary to Humankind? They have too many people to start with, so why add more mouths to feed? Sure, we’re more adapted to 0-G environments, what with the fancy genetic augmentations and all, but why go through all the trouble of creating a new species? Why didn’t they just genetically modify some of their own people? Are they that lazy? Willing to create a new life form, just to avoid doing some dirty work?

I sighed. My HUD indicated me that I wasn’t supposed to be back at the spaceport for another six hours. The colony was very close. I was surprised it couldn’t be seen yet. Without thinking it through any further, I turned towards the sun, and let the vague sense of heat drift me to sleep…

…until a metallic click against my visor woke me up. Something bright and golden was spinning slowly right in front of me. A bullet casing. Startled, I swiped it away with my hand, only to realize I was surrounded with the little golden metal tubes. Hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, drifted all around me.

I felt my stomach drop. Something was horribly wrong. I returned to my mech, turned the main power on. It had been 1H since I last checked the time. Meanwhile, I had drifted closer to the colony, yet it was nowhere to be seen. My mech slowly burst to life. Screens turned on, engines revved, and electricity flowed. Music to my ears. After a few moments, the sensors went crazy. It seemed the asteroid belt was filled with huge chunks of metal and steel and organic matter where the colony should have been.

As I got closer, signs of battle became evident. Fragments of ships were drifting about, crushing asteroids in their wake. Mechs similar to mine were torn and lifeless, floating in the empty void of space. Soon, carcasses of skyscrapers and civilian homes floated about, dotting the sky with eerie images. As I got closer still, bodies started to appear. Some of them were disfigured, maimed and partially annihilated by the battle, but others were too well preserved, almost as if they were about to start moving again. Once I had reached what was supposed to be the heart of the colony, I had already seen horrors beyond count.

Where I stood, bits of plants, cars, buildings, and bodies were all too abundant. I stood there, wide eyed, looking at the still death that surrounded me, motionless, breathless. Something moved into my field of view. A tree. One of the elements of nature I had grown to resent, floating, leafless, through the remains of the colony. It was revolving slowly. After a few seconds, it had completed a semi rotation, revealing the woman whose body lay impaled by its branches…

 

//……………………………………DEATH//SPACE=SILENT::SCREAMS//………………………………………………..//

First post in a while. Here, a somewhat sociopathic space colonist comes back from a mission, only to find his/her home destroyed. Definitely not my usual character! Comments appreciated!

 

Words Left Behind

I’ve come to love the silence. I have long since stopped talking to myself. It has become a part of me. But it is never an empty silence, it is full of words scribbled on the wall, phrased scrawled across the the room. “Thomas Warlow 1981-“, “love is gone”, “all that you can’t leave behind:

Love

Loss

Family

Friends

Strangers

Hate

Myself

MEMORY”

“Things not to think about:

Why

Where

Lisa

Kids

Friends

Chocolate

Cookies

Muffins

Ice-cream

Cakes

Steak

Chips

Nice food”

And then more: “to be wise you must first be a fool”, “there are no walls, this door is nought”, “I’ve come to love the silence”, “words are for the dead”…

And then there was a window, at first I couldn’t see much but as time grew by I saw mountains and lakes and a bright blue sky when I looked at it.I saw old trees as wise beings hunched from the weight of their knowledge and young innocent weightless girls dance by them. Outside, words of wisdom were scattered in the wind: “A wise man knows that he is foolish, he knows his advice is never absolute but it is always the least foolish thing he could think of. A wise man knows that he knows not much… A true wise man never calls himself wise, others do it for him.”

Foreign words on distant shores sprang out: “Il est interdit d’interdire”, “Errare humanum est”.

People call me The Madman. I no longer see these walls, there are no boundaries in my mind I am one with my cell and when finally I die as I know I will, it will keep me alive. “Words are for the dead”. The living have never as much use for their words as when they are dead. Because it is all that is left of who they once were.

Though my best words will always have their own wall, in front of the door, unmissable: “impossible is impossible”. A message for future tenants to ponder.

                                                            • † •

I was possessed, I killed a man in cold blood during a ritual people only do once in their lives. spirits possessed me and I gutted him like a pig, slaughtered his family and burned down his home. But this man had wronged me deeply and I had no part in what happened to him, my body tore him apart while my mind watched from the outside. I do not remember it well, it was dark and messy.

And so men came and took me away but I could not deny my body’s part in the act and so it was condemned to sit rotting in this cell as my mind roams free through the cement window. They say I am insane. I am starting to believe it.

…………………………………..dotsdotsandmoredots……………………………………………………………………………….

Looking AT the window, it reminds me of a funny old film about two Americans and an Italian in jail: the Italian draws a window and says “do you say look at the window or look through the windows?” and one of the other guy says “I’m afraid in this case you’re looking at the window”.

I probably wont be able to answer to your comments this week (I’ll get to them as soon as possible), I barely got this up

 

DS- Tavern Boy

We shall first focus on the young, skinny man, whose dream to become a valiant solider seemed to float away from him, replaced by the life of a tavern boy. On the surface of things, he seemed crushed, his very soul torn apart by disillusion. Nevertheless, deep within his heart, his resolve was unbroken, and perhaps strengthened by this extra challenge. He decided to work hard, and to dedicate every waking hour to doing his job correctly, and quickly. His boss, a large, bearded fellow, was so pleased he gave him a raise, only strengthening the young man’s will. Day by day, he watched as his body grew stronger due to the hard work. Eventually, it matched the strength his heart had once harboured… However, he no longer dreamed of adventure and romantic war at night.

Indeed, his heart had grown into this hard, yet very satisfactory life of tavern worker. He had grown fond of the tavern owner, and had gotten used to the cosy, quaint establishment. He had made good friends throughout the neighbourhood and with the regular customers. He was too attached to the old town to abandon those he lived with now, only to pursue his dreams of conquest and gunpowder. When drafting season came around, he was enjoying a day off, playing with young people his age, unaware of the clean uniforms and the oiled mechanics of the weapons waiting for courageous souls to join them in faraway conflicts. Really, his only concern that day was the beautiful blond hair of a woman he hadn’t seen before, and eager to go up and speak to her, to ask her name, and to tell her the funny anecdotes of the Tavern’s customers.

…………………………..///………….LIFE:::GIVEROFHOPE./……………..WAR:::GIVEROFDEATH///…………………

First post in a while… I’ve been busy. With a little luck, I’ll manage to turn something in for this Week’s Speakeasy, but I’m not making any promises. This is the second piece in a project/series we just started, in which we each take turns writing a part. First part right here. Comments and thoughts much appreciated!

The ball’s in your field now, BW!

Next part right here!

 

Revelations

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the stars. All she could see was his face. The way she’d gotten his trust, lured him out and rid the world of one more evil. Her purpose was to root out evil and put humans back on the right path. She had gone to this daemon, something they would call “vampire” and gained his trust until the day she convinced him to come outside. The Sun was rising and as soon as the light hit his face she saw his once bright eyes lose their lustre as his face become even paler. He was dead before his skin started to burn and there was no light in his bright blue eyes, she never knew daylight could be so violent!
Something had gone horribly wrong, she was supposed to purge the world but this man had not been the monster he was supposed to be; now that killing him was no longer taking up all her thoughts she realised that she had felt with him a closeness she had never experienced before and she knew then that she had been tainted. She tried to climb back to Heaven, the place with a thousand happy faces but she kept seeing his dead one with no light in those bright blue eyes and now she was stuck in that place between Heaven and Earth because she had pitied a man who deserved Hell. Now she vacillated between up or down, the world no longer making any sense. She had failed and now that she was no longer pure she must fall in turn. Her small hands no longer held on and her frail wings failed her as she plummeted, the long fall down to Earth made it impossible to think anything was real anymore. 
And yet, God decided to save her, and in a church so far down below choir boys gaped as they caught a falling angel…

………………………………… nolightnolightinyourbrightbleueyesineverknewdaylightcouldbesoviolent………………

Whoever chooses the music has good taste! And after having tried to sing “No Light No Light” I now respect Florence (and the machine but I’m not sure it sings) even more because I realised that the song is at that pitch between two voices (the quiet high one and the normal one, I know what they’re called in French but not in English) and she has a good control over her voice. I have already trained myself with “bring me to life” by Evanescence (which killed my voice after the first time I properly sang it) so I managed to sing this right after about three or four times; it’s never perfect though 🙂

 

Back Again

It was funny really… After trying to push the anxiety away it was actually kind of easy: coming back to school. On the way I had a nasty feeling, especially since I had heard behind me some girls I don’t particularly like, and I tend to be nervous when I’m alone in these situations (namely around people I know) then I saw three people just coming round the corner and one of them was waving at me! Suddenly it seems like we just all came back from any other holidays and I feel reassured. I’m also starting to acknowledge the fact that we are now at the top. There is no-one older than us, no higher class but for what is no longer “lycée” and therefore doesn’t count. We’re seniors right? But it doesn’t feel like it. 
Going up to check which class I’m in (something I’d been postponing until then) I meet some other friends and as we go down to B (me 206, them 204) it feels like any other day and when I finally went to class I decided it wasn’t that bad, I had three (maybe four) friends already and I would probably get more along the year. My timetable looks like swiss cheese. 
Later we were six classes in a hall, I was in the second row but I took the time to look at the row in front. First was a thin hobbit (looking a lot like Pippin) who kept leaning over his folded table (yeah because the chairs in the few front rows have fancy folding small tables) to speak excitedly to the girl next to him. 
Next to pippin and friend was an anorexic punk guitarist (or at least that’s what he looked like) and on Punk’s right was God: tall, big, imposing. His long curls complemented his shaggy beard. At one point he got out a comb he was using as bookmark to brush his long locks. 
Next to God was, of course, Satan with short bushy hair, a thick goatee and a black t-shirt which looked like it had a satanic image on the back but I couldn’t be sure. 
And next to Satan was a skinny Tony Stark with Ray-Ban seeing glasses… sure, why not?
Then I remembered something about them (punk up to Tony Stark): I’d seem them on a poster (an A4 normal printed sheet stuck on a wall) in another building before they came in themselves; they were in a band… metal I think. 
But you mustn’t judge people by their appearance, that’s just something to recognise them by. For instance the girl next to me: gothic with reddish hair a black metal band t-shirt and a black Fairy Tail sweater (which is pretty cool because either people know and like the manga or they just think the symbol looks cool). She was adjusting the black ribbons on her new trousers while we waited in the uproar. Sure she might look like a goth, she knows how to kill you and could easily restrain and hurt you if you upset her, but if you knew her you’d know that she is a fun, happy, bubbly girl who loves singing and hugs. She’s also my friend. So that just goes to show you: you can’t know a person until you know them. Which is why although I notice how people look, I know I can’t judge them solely based on that information. 

…………………………………..omnomnomnomnomnom………………..

The title was supposed to be a subtle reference to “there and back again” but it got me thinking about this song I’d kind of forgotten, it’s kind of old so I didn’t find and original music video but this video might be better in a way because that’s how I discovered the song: http://youtu.be/IEqvWiNQaG0
Of course I don’t play that well (and I have a microphone so I usually have the words and pitch scrolling on the screen too) but it’s a fun game with cool songs 🙂

 

Waiting

He waited for an hour. Some telltale sign that the world was ending. Anything abnormal or significant, striking, remarkable, different. Meanwhile, far away, a girl was yanking on her shoelaces a million thoughts in mind, disdainfully wiping away the unwanted tears and silently cussing at her converses, blaming them for the parents that couldn’t or wouldn’t understand her. Blocking out any sound or reproaches from her head she fumbled around for that swiss army-knife of hers to fix her headphones (a piece of plastic kept popping out) before she remembered that she wouldn’t go out with them anyway: by principle she didn’t block out the sounds outside when she was walking on the streets, what if she didn’t hear the car that could kill her? or a bus that she would then miss? (she had trained ears and could tell a car from a heavier vehicle), it was also just a matter of principle. And then she cursed her clip-on-the-ears earphones for getting lost. 
She was thinking about school which was creeping up on her slowly, she worried about what teachers she would have and, more importantly, who would be in her class. She could know but she was scared to find out because she knew that as soon as she looked the holidays would be a thing of the past and she would keep fretting until the day came. There was a swirl of thoughts and emotions going on in her head but all that could be seen from the outside was a frown. 
Somewhere else a 10-year-old worried about petty things he would later laugh at while worrying about other things he thinks to mean more in the world but really don’t. 
In another place a 7-year-old is dreaming of magic dolphins and Atlantis while kids lie dying in the streets or play soldier with real guns and live targets; while a man at work is thinking of work; while the world turns round and round and orbits the Sun; while the solar system has it’s own movement in the galaxy; which is slowly heading for collision with Andromeda and the universe keeps expanding it’s already infinite size… and while a boy waits. For an hour. For a sign. 
A sign that shows an ending, that might indicate his passing, that might communicate his feelings, that could establish the reason for him. He looked across the water, for some melancholy in the sunset, but the sky burned pink innocent ignorance and the clouds fluffed like candy, the bridge gleamed with the last rays of sun and the city lit up with a peculiar beauty. There was nothing to announce, to proclaim, to protest against what was about to happen. And that’s when the boy saw the nature of life; more than greed, money, power, strength; life was about self-centredness. Life was all about Me. 
But the boy was wrong, as are many; the answer is much simpler: the point in life, if there ever was one… is living. 

………………………..chuggachuggachuggachuggachoochoo!…………………………………..

So DragonSpark and I have decided to start a new project where I start the story, he continues it then passes it back… like ping pong, but with a story. Right now it doesn’t have an official name or category yet and there’s only one part to its so far: Canvas
On other completely unrelated news I like to not be reminded that school starts tomorrow, but then again some people have already started so I guess I’m lucky to still be on holiday.
Speaking of which I hold a firm belief that the year really starts in September and I think calendars and the definition of “new year” should change accordingly, then everyone would start at the same time whether school, jobs, series… I’m not sure what else could be annual except for some magazines…
🙂

 

DS YW177- Shadow in the Snow

He waited for an hour, his hooded ear against the dusty wood. Around him, the abandoned Soviet library lay, filled with fragile bookshelves and still stacks of frozen paper, a solid block of concrete abandoned with many others in the middle of Siberia, an uncharted remnant of a dark era. The cold air sent shivers through his bones, shaking some of the frost off of his hair and teenage scruff. He held his trusted 9mm handgun tightly in his hand, a long silencer attached to the barrel. The bulletproof vest under the three layers of Alpine clothing wasn’t exactly comfy, and his patience was running out.

Suddenly, the heavy steel doors were thrown open, the loud metallic clang followed by heavy Russian voices. He grabbed his radio. “Delta here. The rat is in the den. Eagle clear to take-off,” he whispered. Deep breath. He checked his watch. Five minutes ‘till Eagle gets here.

A few seconds later, the metallic click of a briefcase hitting the ground resonated through the library. That’s the signal he was waiting for. Several months of investigation, all for that sound. He shut his eyes tightly, grabbed the detonator on the ground besides him, and squeezed the trigger…

… Thus detonating the intricate network of flash bangs laid throughout the library for maximum effect. Straight after the initial flash, he ran out of his cover, gun in hand, quickly spotting the eight people in the room, and sprinting towards the man with the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, while placing two precise shots in the skulls of the men carrying the assault rifles. His close combat reflexes basically took over for the next seconds.

He threw a kick into the briefcase carrier’s bodyguard while reaching for the knife strapped to the back of his belt, tipping the still dazzled man onto the hard floor. He promptly thrust the cold steel into his primary target’s throat, and fired a bullet at the small chain to free the briefcase from the man’s arm. As soon as he held the precious cargo, he sprinted towards the heavy door. Two of the men had recovered from the flash bang, and had already taken aim at the dark figure scurrying through the bookshelves. The muzzle flashes illuminated flying sheets of paper, thrown into the air by the bullets flying past his chest. Too close for comfort.

He continued his sprint through the heavy doors, the floor alive with sparks from bullet impacts. The chase continued through the obscure, concrete halls of the Soviet complex. Having not prepared to be ambushed, the men hadn’t anticipated to give chase, and quickly found themselves isolated in the dark.

He knew this, and hid behind a corner, quietly catching his breath, waiting for the predator to become the prey, drawing the dagger once again form his belt. As soon as the first man appeared, he stabbed the blade into his temple, leaving the weapon in the falling corpse. Without waiting for his accomplice to recover from the unexpected attack, he ran towards the nearest window, and broke through the already fractured glass, falling into the crunchy snow bellow.

Quickly rising up from his fall, he ran out towards the edge of the abandoned town, putting the library’s entrance to his back. Hearing the door open, he stopped and turned around, hoping the dark would conceal his silhouette, only to find a well-aimed bullet grazing his right shoulder.

“Hands in the air!” One of the four men yelled at him in Russian. He complied, checking the time on his watch in doing so. It had been exactly 5min. He smiled inwardly. The man had started to ask who he was working for, but was interrupted mid-sentence by a blinding light from above, quickly followed by the chopping sound of rotors, which had until now been overpowered by the whistling wind.

As he resumed his escape, disappearing into the night, he heard the radio on his chest burst to life. “Eagle has landed. Over!” Despite himself, a smug grin appeared on his face. Even if he would get no credit in the official report, even if his jobs required him to take lives, satisfaction resonated throughout his being.

Now all that was left was a trek through the windy Siberian tundra to get to his extraction point…

………………………OPERATION//HAILstorm//…………………………………//GRIMREAPERintheSNOW//…………

Had to stay up very late at night to complete this one… Anyway, another spy story for this week. Hope you enjoyed. Comments appreciated!