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Category Archives: Dragonspark

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!

 
26 Comments

Posted by on 16 September 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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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!

 
14 Comments

Posted by on 14 September 2014 in Dragonspark, Epic Co-written Story

 

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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!

 
28 Comments

Posted by on 2 September 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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DS YW176- Desolation

Everything hurt. It seemed every nerve in my body felt like the best way to hurry me back to consciousness was to scream pain at my brain. The cockpit was mostly intact, but the sheer strength of the impact is what got me. As I looked to my right, I notice my peripheral monitor was shattered. At least that explained why the right side of my body was covered in blood. Shrapnel is the bane of mechanised armour.

Heartbeat- slow. Pilot has regained consciousness.

I grunted as I sat back in my seat. No time to waste. I brought a status report of my mech up on the screen. Looks like I wasn’t the only one in bad shape. Hydraulics for the right leg were badly damaged, perhaps beyond repair. The left arm was basically torn off. Thrusters won’t be able to reach maximum efficiency. At least there were no leaks. Thank god there were no leaks.

As far as weapons went, my rifle was god knows where, my assault knives forgotten in the armoury during the scramble, and my magnum was low on ammo. The only weapons that were still fully operational were the wrist mounted light machine guns. Talk about firepower. I turned on the main camera, grabbed the joysticks, and powered my robotic armoured suit back to life. I felt my eyes widen, as the rest of my body froze in a mix of surprise and terror. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t turned the camera on. To say the moon base was annihilated would have been an understatement. Those bastards took a whole chunk of the moon with them. All that was left of the sprawling military complex was a couple floating rocks. In the lunar sky, cadavers of ships where slowly drifting down to the surface. Hundreds, if not thousands of destroyed mechs lay on the surface, lifeless. A quick glimpse at the comms told me I had lost the signal of all my squad, including Commander Carter, as well as mission HQ. The sensors couldn’t pick up a friendly signal for hundreds of kilometre. I had been very lucky.

Heartbeat- normal. Pilot focused.

I threw my mech into combat speed, pushing what was left of the thrusters to their limit. Unable to achieve flight, I found myself leaping from crater to crater, some of them eons old, some very recent. I was headed for the equatorial comms relay. Earth had to know something had attacked us, clearly with the intent of leaving no survivors. They had taken us by surprise, and had the ability to do so again. The distance to cross was phenomenal, but despite missing some thrust, space armours were fast. The sophisticated inertial dampeners and the genetic modifications I had received at birth easily allowed me to surpass sonic speed, without turning me into a milkshake.

Heartbeat- fast. Adrenaline levels rising

The situation didn’t improve though. As I got further away from the battle field, the sky began to clear. The Earth was piercing the horizon. My sensors were able to extend their reach, no longer impeded by the leftovers of the battle. Quickly, my radar started to send alerts to me. I was picking up a number of large heat sources between me and the Earth. I focused my sensors on it. The image appeared on my screen. My blood froze in my veins.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands of huge ships doted the sky, their silhouette invisible without a filter. They were headed to earth at battle speed. Their architecture wasn’t earth-like. They could not have been built under the constraints of gravity. This wasn’t a rebellion from the colonies. No. This was a full-fledged invasion force.

Heartbroken.

:…………………………….WEAPONS//warfare…………EMOTIONS//driver.of.will…………………..::

Man what a great summer. It’s good to be back, though. To start the school year off with a bang, here is a quick sci-fi piece, stepping away from the action heavy pieces and trying something a bit more on the descriptive end of the spectrum. Hope you enjoyed! Comments, criticism, random thoughts, and advice is welcome!

 
16 Comments

Posted by on 25 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Metal and Rain

The air around me was cold, yet I didn’t feel it. All I felt was fear. Fear, and the adrenaline pulsing throughout my body. I was out of breath. My shoes fell heavily onto the floor as I ran, accompanied by a cold, watery sound as they hit the wet pavement. He was hurrying me along, his hand in mine, his face invisible in the dark night, my sight further weakened by the heavy rainfall.

Through the constant sound of rain hitting ground, an engine, a big one, roared somewhere behind. He spat a cuss and ran faster. Just as my resolve wavered, headlights illuminated the street from behind, causing another pulse of adrenaline through my body.

Hearing the engine get dangerously close, he turned around, grabbed me, and leaped in a perpendicular alleyway. Too late. Being in front of him, I got through safely, but the side view mirror exploded against his left shoulder as the Hummer drove by, projecting the two of us to the ground.

After a few moments, I gathered the courage to stand up. Astonished, I found him standing above me, hand extended towards me. His shoulder showed no sign of damage. However, his jacket seemed to reflect light like the wet armor of a knight where the car had hit him. Failing to puzzle out the situation, I began to ask 100 questions at once. “How did you…. The car… Your shoulder… Are you OK?” Without a word, he pulled me up, and nudged me behind him. Just as he turned to face the alley, familiar headlights blinded us. Doors were opened and shut. Mechanical clicks echoed off the walls of the narrow alley. Guns.

Abruptly, the cold hit me. I was suddenly aware of being drenched to the bone. I fought the rising anxiety and tried to keep a cool head. We didn’t do anything wrong! What do these people want with us? This HAS to be a misunderstanding! Since when is going to the cinema a crime? Are these people even part of the police? Yes, they had gyros at the beginning. Why did he run away? What’s going on here??

My puzzled thoughts were interrupted by a booming voice ahead. “Alright, Shape-shifter, you’re coming with us. Come peacefully, and I can guarantee your safety, and that of the Telepath as well!”

Did he just call him a shape-shifter? Did he just call me a telepath?

I was about to voice my interrogations when he disappeared in a blur. The headlights went out, accompanied by a noise of shattering glass. It was instantly followed by the whistle of air flowing at high speed, and something that sounded like a knife cutting through meat. I ducked and closed my eyes instinctively. A moan of pain and a blind gunshot soon gave way to more brief whistles. I opened my eyes to find a silhouette landing on the hood of the car, crumpling the thin metal, triggering the alarm.

The orange blinkers lit up three figures collapsed on the ground, each with a rifle next to them, the metal shining in the night. I instantly noticed the eerie spike poking out of each body. It had the same metallic texture as the firearm. Pools of dark liquid were spreading around each cadaver, mingling with the pouring rain.

Frightened, I turned my attention to the car. I recognised his slender frame, yet…. Something was off. He stepped down from the hood and calmly walked towards me. That’s when I noticed the oversized talons on his feet, and the long, xiphoid shapes that prolonged his arms. They all had the same metallic texture as the spikes in the bodies, and his shoulder which, as it turns out, was his skin showing through a gaping hole in the fabric of his jacket, torn by the impact. He stopped perhaps a meter in front of me, avoiding my gaze, his expression nervous, almost tense.

His feet turned back to normal and the long blades gave way to five fingers that slowly lost their initial metallic texture. He began to speak, his voice hesitant, barely loud enough to overpower the falling rain.

“I didn’t plan on telling you until I knew you a little better but…” He sighed deeply and looked straight at me. “I’m not what you think I am. Fact is, you aren’t what you think you are.” He pointed towards the car. “However, these people know, and they’re very interested in us…”

::……..SHAPE//percieved……………PURPOSE//assigned………….DETERMINATION//stateofmind………::

 

 

 
34 Comments

Posted by on 17 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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Awesome Team Member Readership Award

I was still crazy satisfied of receiving the Liebster Award not so long ago when the amazing Celine JeanJean decided to bless me with another award. Ladies and Gents, I am proud to add this Wonderful Team Member Readership Award, to our humble blog trophy case!

Apparently, I have to describe what a good reader is in this post. I assume that means a blog reader. To me, a good reader is one that is willing to give feedback, one that will happily do the whole comment chit-chat with the author, and other commenters. Bloggers depend on the commenters, as it is the only reward they get for writing. One of my main reasons for contributing to this blog is the interactions with other members of this little digital neighbourhood. That orange speech bubble really can be an addicting thing.

Then again, it’s also our job and objective as writers to deserve those comments. We strive to write interesting posts, both for personal satisfaction, but also to cause a reaction in our audience, however small it might be, a reaction they will be willing to share. To add on that note, as a blogger, you cannot expect all readers to comment, as some will have nothing to say, due to lack of knowledge, interest, experience etc…

Recently, while visiting the blog of a great commenter, I said that multilateral interactions were what kept the blogosphere spinning, and I do believe that’s the case.

A great reader is one that offers the possibility of interesting, entertaining, insightful, and inspiring interactions, making both parties, as well as the blogosphere itself a more rich entity as a whole.

As far as nominations go, being relatively new to this world of digital writing and sharing, I have few people that can truly be considered regular readers (especially considering Celine was one of the few), so this list is quite short.

Zampano, the selfless, and, until recently, mysterious author of some great comments here, and part of our small audience for a long time (perhaps longer than me). The guy barely has time to himself, and yet writes amazingly over at his blog. Thank you sir!

JoeTwo, probably the biggest fan we have, and the owner of the most likes on this blog, also an occasional yet insightful commenter. He’s a poet, a writer, and has published two books, so clearly an experienced writer, yet willing to spend some of his time here, in our humble, cosy corner of the digital world. Thank you very much!

Patricia Riviera, an inspiring and creative writer, versatile blogger, and author of very flattering comments on many of my posts. I find myself visiting her blog perhaps most often of the ones I follow, hopping for another post that’ll get me thinking. She accomplishes the goal mentioned above perfectly. Congratulations, and thank you!

As well as few others whose blogs are unfortunately Award free…

And finally, thank you to the girl behind the BookWorm name, a true friend and great writer, for welcoming me in this strange world that is WordPress.

There are rules for this award, but I kinda ignored half of ‘em… Here they are in case you want to be very formal about it…

1.The Nominee of the Wonderful Team Member Readership Award shall display the logo on his/her post/page and/or sidebar. (I’m in the process of making a custom one (for those who know me a little, I like to draw… a lot), and hopefully I can scan it and display it here… eventually)

2.The Nominee shall nominate 14 readers they appreciate over a period of 7 days (1 week) – this can be done at any rate during the week. (screw that)

3.The Nominee shall name his or her Wonderful Team Member Readership Award nominees on a post or on posts during the 7 day (1 week) period. (Yea… sorry Celine, I was busy)

4.The Nominee shall make these rules, or amended rules keeping to the spirit of the Wonderful Team Member Readership Award, known to each reader s/he nominates. (Does “ignore” count as “ammend”?)

5.The Nominee must finish this sentence and post: “A great reader is…” (YAY I DID THAT!… kinda)

 
10 Comments

Posted by on 15 August 2014 in Dragonspark

 

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DragonSpark- Blueprint of a Legacy

I recently read a post that dealt with legacy. It was essentially a quote from the famous novel, Farenheight 451. To sum it up in a very non poetic way, it said we all need and deserve to have a legacy, the word being defined as difference in state of an object after our passage.

That quote got me thinking. Is that really what legacy is? A change we make that identifies us after our death? Do we really all deserve to have one? Is it even necessary to want one?

First on what legacy is (I’m not going to use any dictionary for this one, just good old Mr Rambles): To me, a legacy is indeed a change, but not usually a materialistic one. A legacy is a part of your life’s work or actions that is deemed worthy of teaching or passing on to the next generation, or, at least, to resist temporal erosion… for a time.

Indeed, a legacy has a lifetime of its own. Some, like Shakespeare’s or Da Vinci’s, are particularly resistant, some might say stubborn. However, I doubt that George RR Martin and Adele will be remembered in 400 years.

Speaking of time, a legacy isn’t created over an instant either. It’s generated over a lifetime, given shape over the years. It’s not a steady process. It can be strengthened by an action, and devitalized by another. Its importance and impact can change as society evolves. Legacies have all sorts of impacts, some of which aren’t very glorifying for those they represent.
That being said, do we all deserve a legacy? How does one rate the importance of an action or actions? To expand on that point, does our actions, good and bad, especially bad, not deserve to be forgotten, in order to give way to the next generations?

On a personal note, I’d say we all have a legacy, however small it might be. Whether they are physical things, like this blog for example, that will likely be around after we cease to be, or at least have the ability to, or more metaphysical things, like my over analytical tendencies, that will surely live out through the memories of loved ones after I kick the bucket.

If you do not know the amazing Celine JeanJean, you should definitely go check her blog out. She was kind enough to nominate me for a readership award (still working on that post BTW Celine, but I started this one a day or two before and didn’t want to let it sit in my unfinished projects folder for any length of time…), and is an amazing and entertaining blogger, as well as a great reader and commenter! This post is rather brief, so please, feel free to share any thought down below. What do you think about this legacy stuff?

 
16 Comments

Posted by on 9 August 2014 in Dragonspark

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Drumbeat of Egora

I felt strange in my cloak and doublet, my naked feet bathing in the pearl white sand. I had been sent to the south-eastern nation of Egora by the guild in order to escort another mage back to the royal city. Being from the war-torn western coast, the culture of Egora was a truly fascinating thing to me. The people were dressed lightly, revealing their dark skin to the harsh sun, challenging it. The outfits themselves weren’t ragtag, battle hardened armors like those I used to wear as a young man, nor did they resemble the humble, practical outfits worn by the inhabitants of the central provinces. They were colorful, carefully crafted masterpieces.

Jewels were imbedded in the cloth. Precious metals made up the structure of the more complicated outfits. Cloth-of-gold stitching were made on the edge of the clothing. Rare dies colored the cloth in exotic colors and patterns. The people painted their bodies extravagantly, sometimes leaving no skin untouched. Women wore the feathers of birds of prey to ornate their hair. Men wore the skin of feline hunters to show their worth.

Tonight, the outfits and body paintings were particularly spectacular. Tonight was the eve of the Summer Solstice, a sacred day here. The sun was a red semi-circle sinking into the horizon before me. The sound of drumbeat started as soon as the last sunbeam fell beyond the horizon. I let the vibrations guide me to the town plaza. The space that had been empty shortly before was now dominated by a row of eight huge, elevated drums. A crowd was forming around a tall, ebony skinned woman. She wore a pearl white outfit lined with cloth of gold and ornamented with blue stones. Her abdomen and collar bone were decorated with azure body paint that also swiveled around her arms. That same blue paint ornamented her eyelids and cheekbones.

When she opened her eyes, I was struck by the cold blue light that lived within, like a piece of arctic sky imbedded within her dark frame. A quick look at the drums revealed the true nature of the musicians. They were magical beings summoned, animated and controlled by the blue-eyed sorceress. The same blue light lived within their eyes and the runes that ran throughout their bodies. The mage’s singing began than, her crystal voice amplified by magic, and accompanied by the drums as well as another sound, as if fingers of metal were plucking strings of lightning, summoned by magic, causing a deep vibration throughout my body. The crowd around me was dancing wildly, the only light coming from the village’s torches, and from magical holograms that appeared in the sky, animated by a familiar blue light. The air was fresh and alive with music and happiness.

Hours later, the music died down and the mage stopped her nimble and fluid dance. The flying lights died out, the black silhouettes disappeared from the drums in a cloud of blue particles. The eyes of the mage regained their natural color. The crowd was in awe. She then spoke the local language, her crystal voice reaching the edge of the village. I didn’t need to speak the exotic, fascinating tongue to understand that she was inviting others to join the spectacle with skills of their own.

I dropped my cloak from my shoulders and pulled up my sleeves. The people around me started to move away as my hands started to glow with a crimson light. I let magic flow from my palms, allowing a cloud of red-and-gold particles to form around my knees. I sent a flow of magic through my legs to levitate me and used part of the cloud to materialize ornate wings on my back. The circle the crowd had formed around me now rivalled that of the mage. I cracked my neck and breathed deeply as I pushed more magic out into the night, extending my consciousness, creating bright red figures of my own. I closed my eyes to better focus. Creatures of western myth materialized in the air, re-enacting the stories of my childhood on an epic scale…

… And I was only getting warmed up!

:……………..PARTY//tilyourlegsgivein…….DANCE//tilthesunstartsrisin……..:

Part four of my Souleater series, introducing a second character. Previous part here and all parts here.Trying a more descriptive approach this time around, perhaps less exiting, but something I need to get better at, meaning feedback is very welcome this week, and I’ll gladly take in opinions, and random thoughts as well! Thanks you for stopping by!

 
18 Comments

Posted by on 4 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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DragonSpark- Death’s Scythe

I walked through the desolated battle field, a spectre from another era. Scattered throughout, the golden cases of deadly projectiles lay, waiting for Time to give them another purpose, to return them to the ground, to purge the artificial shape Man has given them.

In the distance, beyond another bomb crater, the carcass of an armoured vehicle lies. A tank, they called it. The belly of the beast was torn open, its insides still black from hellfire: A piece of armour turned into an open air oven.

I continued to walk on the shrapnel covered path. Up ahead, Time had turned a giant crater into a lake. The crooked, lifeless tail of an aeroplane pierced the surface of the still, grey water. One could tell, the landing hadn’t been pleasant. The fuselage was rigged with bullet holes of various calibre.

I kept on walking until I reached a vantage point. Before me was an eerie field of all things lifeless. Remains of guns, vehicles, cover, camouflage, and ammo plagued my field of view until the horizon… and beyond.

Regardless of why this battle was fought. Regardless of who fought it. Regardless of the cause each side fought for, and their respective righteousness. Regardless of the flag that, in the end, remained upright.

Then only victor here is Death’s scythe.

:…………………………GRIM…..::R34P3R//…………………………………L0V3P34C3//N0W4R::

Little anti-war piece for this week’s moonshine, experimenting with a different POV. Since there is no conflict or tension, this probably doesn’t really qualify as a story. It’s not a ramble either, and definitely not poetry. I’m not really sure what to call this… Anyway, hope you guys liked it! Your opinions and thoughts are always much appreciated! Thank you for your time and attention.

 
8 Comments

Posted by on 1 August 2014 in Dragonspark

 

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YeahWrite Summer 2014- Crack in the window

The green bar completes its journey across the monitor. The screen illuminates the room, the only other source of light being the thin rays that filter through the paper blinds. Outside, the sun is setting. Despite the relatively cool air, I am sweating. The air is tense. My muscles ache from exhaustion. I control my breathing to be as quiet as possible, knowing it is useless. Security will be here soon. The comforting pressure of a 9mm gun on my left rib helps me to keep a cool head. A strange thought pierces the surface of my mental stream: How many 16 year olds have infiltrated tight security compounds over the course of espionage’s relatively short history?

Hurried steps echo in the corridor. A short moment of silence is interrupted by the mechanical click of a loaded firearm. A nervous voice is muffled by the wooden door, the crack of a radio following the stereotypical “Over!” A message of completion appears on the screen before me. The data transfer is over

.
Just in time…

I snatch the USB key from the computer and stuff it in the inner pocket of my suit. The door explodes behind me as I burst into a sprint. The blast of a shotgun erupts from behind. I hear the burning metal pellets whistle by my skull as they crash into the window before me, cracking it. My job thus made easier by my pursuers, I dive elbow first into the glass obstacle, and fall through it. The still, artificially fresh air of the office gives way to the dry summer wind. Thirty floors of empty air separate my falling body from the hot pavement.

After a few seconds, I pull the strap hidden under my suit, releasing a parachute camouflaged within. My velocity is reduced abruptly. Overhead, voices shout in anger. I hear the explosions of a familiar shotgun crack through the evening sky. A quick glimpse downwards allows me to estimate to about 15 seconds the remainder of my fall. I take my small gun from its holster and quickly shift my weight forwards, making the parachute dip back. My line of sight now clear, I aim the deadly tool up towards my assailants, and pull the trigger. The recoil of the gun doesn’t help my muscular exhaustion in any way. One of the men’s silhouette tumbles back into the office, a scream of pain accompanying his fall. Once the distance between my feet and the pavement is reduced to about 6 feet, I cut the strings of my parachute and let myself fall to the ground.

A Porsche 911GT3 pulls up, the new girl, Sam, at the wheel. “Where on earth did you find THAT!?” I ask, a little startled by the beautiful German supercar. “Does it really matter? Get in here now!” She replies, her voice barely understandable because of the engine’s steady purr and her heavy Russian accent. I collapse onto the passenger seat, exhausted, and let the muffled roar of the engine drift me away from reality, and into sleep, as Sam’s expert driving gets us far away from any possibility of pursuit.

Man, who knew being a spy was so tiring? They forgot to mention that in James Bond…

…………………………………….ISPY//w//..MYLITTLEEYES……………………………………………………

Stereotypical spy story for this week, also the sequel to this post. I decided to write in present tense this week, as a sort of experiment. And sorry for letting my petrol-head ways show in this post, but if you’re going to escape, might as well do it in style right? Consider yourself lucky. I could have talked about the 3.7L, 475 break horse power V6 in AGONIZING detail for anyone who’s not into that stuff… But I held it all in. That’s dedication right there!

 
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Posted by on 28 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy

 

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