Tag Archives: fantasy

(un)welcomed guests?

Angel’s dagger was lodged into a strange contraption of Elvin origin that had just tried to maul a pale and panicked Marisa. She pulled her blade out of its target and took a second to examine her surroundings. The small tunnel in the cave had emerged into a small home. The furniture, like the strange trap they had just disabled, was built with Elf technology; the intricate mechanical movement of some pieces of furniture gave that much away. Behind her, the others were emerging from the tunnel, first Nikke, then Arthur, and last of all Harry, dragging a bag full of armour and supplies he had yet to distribute. Marisa was crawling out from under the table where she had instinctively hid when the trap was triggered. Angel sighed, sliding her blade back into its scabbard. The rumbling sound of battle rattled the walls. A massive army complete with a supporting fleet of airship and artillery was attempting the incredible feat of invading the city by the mountains. Meanwhile the city was protecting its walls with an equally impressive military apparatus.


Angel quickly stepped to a window overlooking most of the battle. Flaming airships belonging to both sides were slowly sinking to the ground, fire spreading amidst their hull. Flashes of light indicated wizards and riflemen had begun exchanging fire with one another. Angel walked from one window to the next, making sure no imminent threat was about to discover the location of her party. The house was within range of a group of riflemen, but they seemed notably indifferent of the little home, although it would offer them better cover than the rock they were currently hiding behind.


They gathered in the house’s biggest room. Harry spilled his supplies in the middle of the room, hoping to finally equip his young comrades. Arthur picked up a light chain mail and broiled leather armour and a medium sized, thin blade, curved at the end.


“What’s up with this blade? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s called a Katana. It’s commonly found in the castles of the eastern princes.”


Arthur swung the elegant blade in through the air, testing it, then grabbing the circular grip with both hands and staring down an imaginary enemy. Meanwhile Marisa walked up to the pile of weapons and picked a set of knives which she stored in scabbards spread throughout her body. Essentially where she could squeeze a belt, she put a knife in it. It left her with little armour, but, when questioned, she simply answered “Why protect myself against blows that won’t reach me anyway?” She completed her equipment by grabbing a leather quiver, wooden bow, and several arrows. Marisa tried as best she could to reconstruct her regal equipment. The armour she found was too big, so Angel and Harry combined their knowledge and magical abilities to re-forge the metal then and there to fit the small princess. “It’s provisional” assured Angel as she fit the patchy breastplate on the little girl. Sighing, Marisa picked out a rapier from the pile, missing the beauty and elegance of her own weapon. Angel stepped away from her lookout role by the window and picked the largest piece of armour and again set to re-forging it. Having re-forged many men’s armour to fit her own size, she was used to the process, and did a much better job than she had done for Marisa. She donned the armour and grabbed a rather large straight bladed double edged sword from the pile, seemingly at random. Her stare never left the windows.  As Harry was donning his usual, enormous piece of armour, a loud thud rang on the roof of the house. Loud mechanical noises were heard, and Angela shielded her eyes as the group of riflemen was apparently vaporised by some kind of magic.


After a few seconds of tense silence, the door of the hut opened calmly, letting a slender elf, equipped in battle armour and all, stroll into the house, closing the door behind him. He turned to the makeshift party and outstretched his arms.


“Welcome, honourable guests!”


Hello internet. Forgive my rusty bones. Its been a while since I have written anything. Hope this addition to the co op story is a satisfactory one. Your turn Banzai.



… And into the fire!

Arthur awoke as the sun streamed into the cave. He squinted his eyes at the bright light, trying to shield himself from it while his hands freed themselves from the tangle of his sleeping bag. His muscles awoke one by one, most of them reporting dull sensations of pain and stiffness from sleeping on the rough, uneven stone of the cavern floor. It had been a long time since Arthur had been forced to sleep on anything harder than hay, though he felt the experience was a formative one. Complaining was useless at this point. He eventually got up, grabbed his shirt from a nearby stalagmite, and walked out of the cave.

It was a beautiful day. Mountain birds chirped and flew from bush to bush, hunting the few insects that were at this altitude, always seeking a berry or two to round out their food supply. The morning air was dry, but not cold. Around Arthur, the bare rock followed the noticeable slope of the mountain. He stepped across the relatively flat, narrow path they had used the preceding night, looking down the ditch. Bellow, in the distance, the city could still be seen, it’s greatest buildings now the size of specs in Arthurs vision. On the horizon, the plains stretched as far as the eye could see. “These plains will soon be ripe with fire and death”, he thought. After a few minutes of uninterrupted silence during which he let his mind flow freely, Arthur was brutally brought back to reality by the panicked screeching of a little girl.


Marissa had awoken painfully from a frightful night of troubled sleep. Every time the pain reached the threshold she was willing to tolerate, she shifted her weight and her body, then only staying idle for a few minutes, until yet another source of discomfort forced her to repeat the process. Eventually she ran out of new positions, and her body ran out of energy. She fell in a sleep filled with troubled dreams of burning buildings and oncoming daemons. The sight of light streaming in from the cave entrance was a welcome one, signalling the end of this ordeal. She pulled herself from her sleeping bag and headed out the cavern. Immediately she felt something was off… Something important was missing. Then it hit her: The wagon! It was gone! Someone had been here and taken it! She screamed out these realisations as they streamed in to her mind, slowly wrapping her head around the possible implications-

“In the name of what god are you screaming like this?” It was a feminine voice, intense and angry. Marissa turned around to find Angel, still in her night gown, glaring at her with a fire in her eyes. “Can’t you see some of us where sleeping?” As she spoke, a still shirtless Harry and a half awake Nikke stumbled out of the cave.

“Somebody stole our wagon! They must have come when we were sleeping! We have t-”

“Nobody stole the wagon” Marisa turned around to the sound of Arthur’s voice. He was standing on the edge of the path, looking back at the cave, calmly cracking his neck. “In the Hollow, favours are the main currency. The merchant we got this from owed me a favour, a service, not a permanent mode of transportation. That would be insane. One of his lackeys was probably sent overnight to recover what was rightfully his.”

Marissa turned around once again to evaluate the reactions of the rest of the party. Angel was nodding in approval, clearly well aware of the practices of the shadier side of town. Nikke was supressing a laugh at the thought that her regal friend was unaware of what surely seemed to her like an evidence to her. As for Harry, he seemed slightly worried.

“I had cargo in the back. Did they take it back with them?” As an answer, Arthur raised his chin in the direction of a bush near the entrance of the cave. Sure enough, all of Harry’s cargo was hidden within the vegetation. The band soon settled for a rudimentary breakfast, mostly composed of leftover supplies and a bird Angel shot down easily with her arrow. Harry took advantage of the situation to empty the components of one of his bags in between the bunch. Armour and weapons spilled out as the smithy spoke up.

“If you lot or going to actually pull your own weight during this little escapade, you need to be equipped. Thankfully, I brought some spare gear with me. Here you have padding, mail, rudimentary-”

Angel had risen her hands, signalling everybody to stop talking. Silence instantly fell on the small party. Her face seemed intensely concentrated and worried. Instants later, Nikke breathed in sharply, her face growing pale. Almost at the same time, Arthur and Harry’s facial muscles clenched, their fists tightened. “I heard it too” Arthur whispered.

And then Marissa heard it: A war horn. The band hurried back to the edge of the path to survey the city and the surrounding peaks. The entire mountain across from theirs was covered in red figures, all in formation, banners flying above them, dust rising in the air from the marching. Amidst the army were catapults and ladders. It was the invading army, approaching from the mountains.

“What kind of sorcery-” Angel was interrupted by another war horn, this time much closer. The members of the group sent panicked looks to one another, and, without a word, hurryingly gathered the equipment and rushed inside the darkness of the cave. Soon after, the light from the outside was dimmed by rows of passing soldiers. The air was filled with the constant drumming of thousands of armoured feet stumping the ground in rhythm. The occasional roar of the war horn resonated into the cavern. Marissa was struck. How could they already be here? How come even they didn’t see them approach? More importantly still, how was she to escape this new threat to her freedom, to her life?



And once again, Hannibal crosses the Alps 😉 And yes, my job in this collaboration is to make everything more complicated for our heroes… Though I must say the preceding title kinda forced my hand. This one is just over 1000 words, and definitely one of the longest pieces I’ve written for this site. Hope you don’t find it too boring.


Posted by on 28 August 2015 in Dragonspark, Epic Co-written Story



DS Hooded conspirators

The streets of the Hollow had changed drastically since Marissa’s last escapade. At first she wandered a bit randomly, somewhat lost. Guards were everywhere, preparing the city for the invasion. Marissa hid under her wide hood to avoid being recognized. Eventually she spotted the familiar landmarks of the neighbourhood, unchanged despite the years. She came upon the narrow back alley with the vines she and her friend Nikke used to climb, the gateway to their childhood hideout.

Muscle memory kicked in. In a few surprisingly swift movements, and despite her bags, she grabbed onto the edge of the roof. She pulled herself onto it and made her way through the rampant vegetation. Marissa was caught off guard by a voice.

“If that is what you want, then I suppose I am the best person to ask.”

The princess froze. The voice was that of a woman, and yet it had an edge, an intense confidence to it that made it intimidating. Marissa breathed deeply and took careful, quiet steps towards the voice. She came upon a beautiful woman in a dark green dress shelving a dagger in a hidden scabbard strapped to her thigh. Kneeling in front of the woman was a small figure. Marissa immediately recognized her childhood friend. A smiled forced itself onto her lips, not that she had any will to fight it. She thoughtlessly ran from her hiding spot, dropping her bags and cape on the way, screaming Nikke’s name gleefully.

The adrenaline of having a veteran quester accept to become her mentor was still flooding her system when Nikke heard a familiar, overexcited voice scream her name. The next thing she knew, the junior princess of the kingdom had tackled her to the ground. Nikke couldn’t help but laugh at that thought. She had finally been reunited with her regal friend.

Angel let the two girls laugh and talk and giggle for a while. At least now she knew for sure the girl she had talked to before the princess arrived was genuine. The princess and an orphan, childhood friends. Who could have imagined that one? After pondering that thought for a little while she decided it was time to once again focus. Angel cleared her throat. The girls immediately fell silent.

“Ok, back to business ladies. First things first, princess, where do you need to go?”

Marissa was caught off guard by the question. She hadn’t exactly planned it this far. “Well, anywhere safe really. I just need to get out of the city before the walls are closed and the army takes over in preparation for the invasion.”

“Wait, what kind of escort mission is this? Hasn’t the crown assigned you a drop-off point? Somewhere where the army can take you under protection and take you overseas?”

“To be perfectly honest, this isn’t official business. The crown doesn’t know I intend to leave the city. Nobody know I’ve even left the castle.”

Angel frowned and crossed her arms. She had walked into an illegal quest, commissioned by the princess no less. This job didn’t start once outside the walls, it had already started. In fact, those walls were the first obstacle. She couldn’t back down either. Admitting to taking an illegal quest had dark implications, for her own career and for the already very fragile place of women within the questing world. Not that she ever backs down from a challenge.

For a second, Nikke was scared that Angel would back away. However, after a few seconds, a new fire sparkled in her eyes, a fire of determination. “OK. I’ll take the job regardless. But we need to find a safe way out of the city. The main doors are all monitored by the army, even more than usual. We’d need someone with connections, someone who we could talk to without attracting attention. Someone-”

Nikke smiled and chimed in. “Someone like a tavern boy at one of the Lion Road’s most famous tavern?”

“Well, yes… That would be ideal. But do you actually know such a person?”

Arthur was laying on his bed, flipping a coin, dark thoughts in his head. All of the city’s underworld said it didn’t stand a chance against the oncoming imperial army, and Arthur had no way out. If the city was his grave, it was also safer than out in the fields of the nation. By now, the boats would already be crowded with refugees, so even that escape route was cut off. He was stuck, back against the wall, and that wasn’t a good thing. Arthur wasn’t used to being stuck.

He wasn’t used to people knocking at his door either. Few were those who knew where he lived, though most of the inhabitants of the Hollow knew him by name, and one of the sharpest lads in the city. Yet that Nikke girl had stumbled in that very morning. Arthur heard the knock of fist on wood from his bedroom. He glanced outside. The sun had just set. He took a dagger and hid it behind his wrist. At this time, anything could come knocking. However, the last thing he expected was three hooded women, one of them being the junior princess, another the orphan who he had welcomed that morning, and the third a woman too beautiful even for the most expensive brothels of the noble district. Arthur frowned, not exactly eager to trust these three women. “What is this about?”

“Hey Arthy! Remember me right? We met earlier today. I need to be snuck out of town along with these two fine ladies. We thought if anyone knew a way out of town, it was probably you”.

Arthur sighed, sheathed his dagger in a scabbard on the back of his belt, and rested against the doorframe, crossing his arms. He smiled. Arthur had never been called “Arthy” before. This seemed almost surreal to him. “The city is going to be burned to a crisp before the end of next month. I could sneak you out of town, but what do I get in return?”

Angel stepped forward. “Well, as you said, the entire town will probably be burnt, so money isn’t exactly a useful commodity in the long run, and neither is staying behind. However, we could take you with us. I’m a high level quester. With me, you’d be safe on the outside.”

Arthur smiled again. This may just be the escape he was looking for.


Huzzah! All the pieces are together, the action can begin…. Finally…. Ish. Dunno, depends if BW wants to set things up more or escape the city next time around, or something else entirely. Find out soon! And yea, these pieces do seem to be the longest ones we write. This one is just over a thousand words. It seems that is the minimum word count to make a coherent addition to an already rather complex plot (4 main characters, which is huge, a brand new world and society, an oncoming threat, etc…)

Previous chapter here.

First chapter here.


Posted by on 24 August 2015 in Dragonspark, Epic Co-written Story



DS A Sinking Feeling

Morning streamed through the silk curtains of the royal castle. Marissa awoke from her dreams, where she had escaped from her regal life, and become a famed adventurer. In her dreams, she had a sword worthy of the kingdom’s greatest Dammes, worthy even of the army’s Valkyrie units. Worthy of her sister. However, the blade that lay against the wall opposite to her bed was a fine rapier the Smithy had made just for her. It was an elegant weapon, yes, but one not fit for a brave warrior. On a stand next to her blade was her armour. Behind the stand was her bow. It was also specially made for her, with a strong yet sturdy ebon wood and lined with Ivory. It was akin to a piece of art, but in her hands, it could rain death on any foe, that she was sure of.

Marrisa looked longingly at her equipment, already beginning to imagine alternate lives in which these tools led her to fame and glory, despite their frail nature. She was brought back to reality by the hollow thus of the drawbridge falling on the opposite side of the moat, directly below her room.

The castle was exceptionally busy this morning. Steps echoed up and down the hall beyond her wooden door and the distant clatter of horse and armour could be heard out of the window. Puzzled by this activity, Marrisa was heading to the window when her attendant, a kind old lady that had cared for her and her sister since her mother had died, many years before, burst through the door.

“Your highness! Get dressed quickly. An urgent matter has come up.”

Marrisa felt shivers crawl down her spine. Her sister had several counsellors for each task, from military to agriculture. What could be so urgent that even she was to bear witness to? Nervously, she put a gown on, and followed the halls and corridors she knew by heart until she came to the great wooden doors that led to the throne room. Two guards pushed them apart. Her father, the king, looked up at her with a sad look, even sadder than usual. Whispers echoed as she walked down the aisle at the centre of the room, leading to a large table placed at the bottom of the steps that led to the throne.

Placed on the table was a large map of the kingdom. Scattered all throughout the map where small wooden foot soldiers painted in blue, which she supposed represented the Kingdom’s humble yet efficient military forces, scattered throughout the few large cities within their borders. At the far side of the map, behind a line which represented the border with the neighbouring kingdom of Torei was a huge number of similar pieces, painted red, all looking ominously towards the other side of the line.

Marisa’s sister stood over the table, her usual dress replaced by her armour. Her jaws were clenched, as were her fist. An aura of rage was emanating from her. In between her fists was a parchment that bore the seal of Torei, which she was clearly in the process of reading. After a short while, she looked up at a man which Merissa recognised to be the Grand Master of Arms, a kind veteran knight, now in charge of all the armies of the kingdom.

“How many?”

“Too many” the knight answered, clearly worried.

The crown princess immediately followed up: “How much time do we have?”

“If they head straight for the capital, they’ll be at the walls within a week. If they assault every town they encounter, or even only the larger cities, that gives us anywhere from two weeks to a month, but not a day more.”

Even Marissa knew it. That simply wasn’t enough time to prepare for a large assault, or even to evacuate the populace. Her sister swiped her arm in range, toppling the red solders, and crumbled up the parchment, which Merissa guessed was a declaration of war. The crown princess started to walk out the room angrily. Several people fell in behind her, including the Grand Master of Arms. Before leaving the room she turned around.

“Summon the master of the guard and all members of the military council not yet present. From this moment on, we are at war!”

Marissa’s heart sunk. Given her sister’s attitude, this war wasn’t one the Kingdom was likely to win. Now she knew more than ever: She HAD to find Nikke Raven.


It’s been a long, LONG time since I sat down to add to this story. This morning I sat down, armed with coffee and music, and promised myself not to sit up until I had finished this piece… I broke that promise several times, but I got it done before sunset nonetheless. As I was rereading what came before and jotting down Ideas, I couldn’t help but feel the story was progressing slowly, the consequence of having two authors, I suppose. So I set out to write something that will push this world out of the relative status quo, and into the adventures ahead. I leave it now to Bookworm to craft the first steps of this adventure, whatever that might mean.

Previous chapter here. First chapter here.


Posted by on 8 August 2015 in Dragonspark, Epic Co-written Story



DS Encounter

Allow me to summarize our story so far: A young man, Arthur, once ambitious and yearning for adventure, has now become tame and satisfied with his humble life as employee in the local inn. However, a spark of his past self still glimmers in the depths of his soul, waiting to be unleashed.  Meanwhile, across town, a young woman, Nikke, is breaking the taboo of gender roles by taking up bounties to track down criminals, slay mighty monsters, and explore uncharted land, adventures usually reserved to men. As a matter of fact, she accomplishes this task in a disguise, so as not to reveal her true nature. Rumours of another woman-knight are being whispered in the deepest areas of the guild hall. This feminine blade wielder is told to possess formidable strength, dexterity beyond imagination, and superhuman speed.

For Arthur, this was just the start of another day in Lionsden, a humble quarter of the capital. He worked as tavern boy in the King’s rest, a cosy tavern huddled between two small shopes, on the side of one of the quarter’s bigger streets. He did all kinds of things in the tavern. He served meals, made the beds, cleaned the rooms, ran errands, tended to horses, and even cooked a little. It wasn’t an easy life, but a satisfactory one, with enough purpose to rise in the morning, and enough coin to afford a bed at night. Over the years he had built a solid endurance and was quite fit, though not enough to join the royal guards he once admired. His clothes were rough, his shaving blade blunt, his hygiene barely satisfactory, but he was happy… Or at least, most times he was.

Indeed, his dreams of adventure and fame hadn’t quite all gone away, and a spark still shone in his eyes every time the young boy saw military cavalry in the streets, or when his errands took him into the forger’s district, where steel blades of all kinds were on display.

Meanwhile, down in Raven’s Hollow the vaguely feminine figure that was showing interest in the quest board was starting to attract unwanted attention. Nikke was usually careful when scouting the quest board for jobs, and looking out for the near-mythical woman-knight. She was always swift, discreet, and cloaked. However, this time, she had stayed for too long. One of the guards of the quest hall approached her from behind.

“Hey lad!” he shouted, “You know it’s impolite to wear a hood inside public buildings right?” Taken by surprise, Nikke realised her mistake. She cleared her throat, trying to make her voice as deep as possible. “I’ve seen more bizarre in these halls. Why call out such a minute piece of cloth when other hunters wear full suits of armors. However, if so is your wish, I will be on my way. My business here is done.” She turned swiftly, making the end of her cloak revolve gracefully.

“Just hold on a minute!” the guard said, grinning, almost perversely. His hand grabbed the back of the hood. He yanked it back and Nikke’s face was exposed to full daylight. Her eyes widened in surprise and shock. She thrust her elbow in the guard’s face. The guard barely had time to realize what happened when Nikke followed up by jabbing her heel into the man’s abdomen, using him as leverage to dart forwards, as the gasps of indignation started to echo on the high walls.

She swiftly jumped off a bench and over the heads of the two guards guarding the entrance, and ran into the streets, hoping to lose any pursuers in the crowd. However, her hopes were quickly dissipated when she heard the steady beat of a horse’s gallop closing in behind her.

“Get her!” The guard on the back of the horse had his sword drawn, murder in his eyes. “All that just because I happen to have breasts!?” Nikke spat. Luckily the crowded and narrow streets of the neighbourhood made it difficult for the guards to move forwards. The mass of people were spreading to let the horses pass barely faster than Nikke was pushing and shoving her way through the crowd.

Her luck ran out as she turned the corner. Another patrol of guards on horseback were making their way towards her. She was effectively surrounded. As she was evaluating her options, a young man with a heavy looking bag opened the door of the small building immediately to her right. Nikke didn’t think. She jumped through the door and into the building, hoping the patrol in front of her hadn’t noticed her, and knowing the patrol behind her had yet to turn that corner.

Arthur didn’t really have the time to realize what had happened. His eyes hadn’t yet recovered from the sudden stream of sunlight flowing through the door that a mass had pushed him onto the floor. Arthur, thinking the intruder was a mugger, reached for his knife. He shifted his weight forward, from his back to his feet, planting his free palm on the ground, and used the three limbs to stand up quickly, his knife hand ready to defend any oncoming assault.

However, instead of attacking him, the person that had shoved him back into the inn turned around, bolted the door shut, and collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Arthur looked down on the strange, heaving figure at his doorstep, confused. He folded his knife, sheaved it and kneeled to the stranger, putting a hand on her right shoulder.

Nikke looked up at the young man kneeling in front of her, relief flooding her mind. Little did she know that this encounter was going to change her life forever.


Hello all! This is a continuation of our coop story, where BW and I take turns writing “episodes” or chapters. The ball has been in my park for a long time now, but my chapter is finally here. Where will BW take this? *dramatic voice* Find out next time!

For those whose memory needs refreshing, here is the preceding part, and if you are a new reader and missed all of it here’s the first part. On a closing note, this is my first story in months, so excuse the slightly rusty writing…. I have a few other rough drafts in the pipeline that I’ll try to polish before summer break. In the meantime, take care!

P.S: As an added bonus, I’ll include some of the sketches I did before writing this. I’ve been trying to get used to digital art. These are my first steps, but I’ll share them regardless:Coop episode 3- roughs


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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!


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!


Posted by on 4 August 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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YeahWrite Summer 2014-Nightime Runaway

I burst forwards, using the trees as leverage. Movement behind me. I turn around in mid air and release a wave of magical heat, vaporizing the vegetation, illuminating the night with deadly flames. I turn back around to face the right direction, ignoring the movement in my peripheral vision, renewing my momentum with the nearest branch. Screeches of rage erupt from the flames behind me. Shivers crawl up my spine. I mustn’t let fear take over. Focus! Focus on the trees before you, not the shadows behind!

Tree. Right foot on the branch, left foot forwards. Eyes spotting for the next stepping stone. Burst of energy through the right heel. Left foot anticipating the next branch. Arms stabilizing the jumps and ready to fire death upon anything that gets too close. Spot. Land. Jump. Repeat.

How long I ran? Who knows? I came down to a stop when the trees did, at the edge of a cliff. It was too dark to see the bottom. My exhaustion could be heard in my breath. Soon, shadows landed around me, four colourful dots in each silhouette’s face. Their long arms nearly reached their feet. Their strange necks twisted around as they observed me. These things had haunted me, manipulated me ever since I escaped their lair, down in the depths of the earth. Then again, I had stolen something from them. Now they had cornered me, at the edge of a cliff, so far from civilisation that none will hear me scream. They waited, patiently. I spat a cuss, realising the predicament I was in. Slowly, I reached inside my pouch and took the artefact out. I laid the mysterious stone on the ground before me, the green runes eerily illuminating the grass.

One of the SoulEaters roared out of what seemed like satisfaction. The creature straight across from me stepped forward and grabbed the stone. I didn’t stop however and kept walking towards me. I tried to move away but I was paralyzed, held in place by a cold, invisible hand. It stopped before me. It rose the stone up to its mouth and breathed on it. The stone vaporised, revealing a bright green light within, like an emerald star encased a body of rock, floating in the monstrous palm of the creature. I shut my eyes.

I was fighting the dread rising within. Be logical. If it wanted you dead, you’d be dead! Then why keep you alive? Logic. Fear. Hope. Fear. Confidence. Fear…. Fear.

The familiar tingle of magical runes on my skin interrupted the mental ballet. The creature’s palm was next to my abdomen, the green light illuminating my doublet. Before I realised what was happening, the green star traversed my clothes, phasing through my skin and logging itself within me. A wave of excruciating pain crashed on my body. I heard myself scream. The invisible hand let me go soon after. My legs refused to obey my brain, and I fell to the floor. I saw the feet of the SoulEaters vanish. I wanted to scream, to move, but my muscles shut down, as if the pain had fried my nervous system. My eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. They shut despite my best efforts. I was drifting away from reality. The last sensory stimuli I remember came from my ears. “Am I dying?” a shaky, girlish voice said.

No. It wasn’t death. Dreams of terrible creatures chased me through my mind. Memories that didn’t belong to me flowed into my mental river. I saw a boat through a familiar explorer’s eyes. I saw a boy through the eyes of a mother. I saw a house through the eyes of an architect. I was somehow conscious of memories of those that had fallen prey to the SoulEaters. That green light gave me the collective knowledge of hundreds of people, as if I had a sensory library within me, one I could access at will. I was painfully floating back towards reality when I became conscious of the green star’s second gift: I felt a huge, distant reserve of dark power stored within my abdomen. I was focusing on it when the rising sun forced me out of the nightmare.

I realised the ground below me wasn’t grass but sand. The eerie silence of the mountain gave way to the quiet harmony of waves on a beach. The star within me produced a name: Egora, thousands of miles from where I fell unconscious.


Hello yeahwrite! For those of you not familiar with me (and the many of you who probably forgot), I am running a fantasy series on this blog. This is part three. You’ll find the previous part here, and the whole thing here. Thank you for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed! As always, your thoughts, criticism, and opinions are welcome.

PS: For those who remember the comment section of pt 2, yeah, I’m gonna make this character a girl…

PSS: Bookworm is gonna be at least less active, and at most completely absent from the blogosphere for the next two weeks. She’s out in what some people call “nature”. It’s a strange place where things happen without human intervention or wifi. Crazy right? So you guys are stuck with me for a while… Take that as you will.

PSSS: Isn’t it supposed to be PPS and PPPS, as in post post scriptum, and post post post scriptum?

PSSSS/PPPPS: If you are still reading, congrats! You have just received the Dwagon Seal of Awesome. Now you can brag in the comment section.


Posted by on 21 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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Speakeasy 169 – On the Outside

He had already been living on the run when she met him on an old town where Order was slightly more relaxed than in other places. But she despised Them all the same. Everybody did in every place that wasn’t Free. And everyone had a different idea of what free was. No one ever knew, they had never been told. The Free did not contact the enslaved; in fact these people didn’t even have a name to categorise them. Not even people. For others, they were: Them. Those out there we rarely heard about. The imperfections of our perfect world, hidden in the shadows, doing all the dirty work, or left Outside to die, or become enslaved by the Order. That was all there was: Outside and Inside. There were no windows, just an unreachable barrier that separated the two. They were worlds apart. The Unnamed, as they called themselves, had chosen this wisely as not only their caste was unmentionable, but most of them had no name, as they had been thrown out at an early age because of an imperfection: A missing limb or a malformed one, a misplaced organ, heart condition, cancer, mismatched eyes. Anything that was below their standards. Unsurprisingly, after a while the Outside was not so sparsely populated anymore.

Walker had come to her town with another, older boy but he had been found. Dreamer’s Walker had escaped and found her accidentally by hiding in the same place she did when the world got too real. Of course at ten years old she wasn’t fully aware of the reason, she just instinctively left when the invisible weight on her skinny shoulders was top heavy. He was Walker because he travelled; the boy with him was also Walker. They didn’t have names so they gave each other names. She was Dreamer. The names they had categorized people. A smart No-name would stay that way, or at least not give away their names too easily, but children are unaware of such silly things as they would see them, so they exchanged names and two days later Dreamer ran away with Walker.

Dreamer then became one of the few with more than one name. They travelled together from village to village, not lovers but instinctively kin and by the time they were 15 they got caught up in some trouble. By that time they were a little less knowledgeable about the world but it could be argued that they were not less foolish for they were at the age when the young mind thinks idealistically and everything is possible.

Our Dreamer and Walker understood more of the world they lived in and its workings, and they would stir unrest in the villages they went to, they would rouse anger in the villages they stopped at, and they would incite the people to rebellion in the villages they left.

Eventually they were reported in one such village and found before they could leave. Dreamer got caught and Walker ran away. She loved Walker dearly as a brother, they had travelled alone together for five years and knew nothing or no one better than each other. She never got to tell him how much she loved him. The next day at the stocks in front of everyone she said nothing but thought it so loud that she convinced herself he had heard it. She died with no regrets and Walker never knew. He could only guess and hope she felt that way because it was the way he felt for her.

Though they were the same age, he had always acted the older brother, protecting her. But it still hadn’t been enough. And he hated himself for that.

And Walker walked alone while Dreamer dreamed above. A lone wolf crying out to the moon. Wolverine. And suddenly, he had a new name.


The owner of this blog, B00kworm, is currently somewhere in England, with no wifi and a weak phone signal. It took her three tries to send this to me, one hour for me to type it all up, and god knows how long for her to write 600 words ON HER FREGGIN PHONE! Just barely making it on to the speakeasy Grid. GG bookworm!


Posted by on 9 July 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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DragonSpark Speakeasy 166 – Eyes and Magic

“He taught me how to read in people’s eyes”, the old man remembered, “despite not having any himself!” He then chuckled with the broken laugh of an old smoker’s lungs. I was sitting at his table, his humble home slightly isolated from the nearby village, after having barely escaped death in the depths of the earth. I was carrying important cargo in my sack, one that required me to stay incognito until I reached the Guild. Deciding against taking the King’s Road, I stumbled upon this village while following the rolling paths that traversed the country. People here were hospitable, and maybe a little too desperate for change or unexpected visitors, as life in the country was monotonous. When the old man saw a weary traveller, dressed in a heavy cloak, a ball of fire lighting the way, his curiosity was soon inviting me to stay the night.

He lived with his son, his son’s wife, and memories from a lifetime of adventure, tales from the past dying to be brought back to life by his lips, provided an open ear was near. Clearly, his son and daughter in law knew the tales already, as they gazed at the two of us with a knowing smile from inside the house. Indeed, we were having tea outside, a low wooden table as sole furniture, grass below, the heavens above. Whereas my cup had already been emptied three times, my host’s was still full. His mind had control over his mouth right now, not his thirst. He told me tales of adventure, travel and glory. The man had been an explorer all his life, traveling to the ports of the world until he settled with his son inland, in the very house I was in now.

Seeing that my host was finally drinking from his cup, I turned my gaze towards the wilderness. A few feet away, a tiny waterfall was fuelling a stream. The dim glow of the town’s lights could be seen in the distance, behind a layer of trees. I sensed so much wildlife bustling around me, and the town was still lively with activity despite the summer night slowly creeping on its residents. I breathed a sigh. This was heaven compared to what I had seen in that cave. Until the day I die, I’ll never forget those glassy, unblinking eyes, or the way those creatures chased me throughout the ruins like shadows, their figure only lit by four deadly drops of colour in their face. Finding an exit out of there had been miraculous.

A shiver crawled up my spine. Once you see these things, they stay with you forever. Thrice on the road I had turned around violently, hands before me, magic ready to shoot out from them, expecting one of those beasts to be behind me, ready to attack, only to find myself starring at a tree, or at a passing peasant, colour suddenly fleeing his face.

Another sigh. I poured myself another cup of tepid tea and heated it with my magic. After emptying the cup and saluting my host, I grabbed my cloak and headed to the guest mattress that the kind family had set up for me. That night, my sleep was plagued with memories of the cave, how I fought the creature, how its articulations were abnormal, how it had clawed at my cloak, before turning it into crystal.

….Wait a minute… I’m sleeping in that cloak… Right?

I woke up, startled, to find that, actually, I was not. The cloak I had carried with me was gone, leaving me in boiled leather shoulder and chest plates above a silk doublet. My breathing was quick and shallow. My brow was covered with cold droplets. Around me the house was dark, lifeless. I could not feel the presence of the old man and his family. I got up, determined not to let panic overcome me. Once outside, I sent my consciousness out again. The bustling wildlife was gone. The whole forest felt inert. I projected it farther, to the town, or at least, where the town had been. I found nothing. No lights, no life. I opened my eyes. Beyond the low table was an all too familiar figure. It was the frozen, lifeless, crystal-like statue of the man that had welcomed me into the cavern. Except its face now held extra significance to me: it belonged to the explorer who had welcomed me into his home moments ago.


This is the sequel to my first post for the speakeasy, last month. After you’ve read this, I’d like to know something: Do you guys picture the protagonist as a man or a woman? How old is he/she? Whatever you think, thank you for your time, I hope you enjoyed, and I hope to see you around. Comments that do not answer the question above are much appreciated nonetheless.
For those who haven’t read the prequel to this (or forgot the thing entirely), here it is.


Posted by on 17 June 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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DragonSpark – Speakeasy 164 – Tavern

“There’s no warning rattle at the door.” he said, his voice booming out of his ribs like a rhino out of a cage, “That means you can come in without knocking!” Gearan was a thirty some man built like a golem. He had shoulders like an ox’s and arms that could lift almost twice his own weight. His legs were hard as steel, making him more nimble than most. He had a large beard that covered most of his face and long auburn hair that fell behind his shoulders. Gearan had built and owned the tavern before the city grew and engulfed it. He had gone from fighting boars and raiders with his battle-axes to fighting scrummy kids looking for trouble with wooden clubs and a rusty firearm. His tavern was known throughout the city as being one of the safest, cosiest place to spend the night.
That night, Gearan’s booming voice welcomed an unexpected guest. Outside his door stood a small, cloaked figure, feminine of frame, the curves of her cloak revealing the fit and strong body of a warrior. She seemed puzzled, as if unaccustomed to the ragtag nature of a structure revamped to fit within the metropolis. She stepped in, obeying the bulky host. Gearan frowned in surprise.
The girl wore the imperial army’s Renova crest on the chest of her doublet. She was an elite solider, yet she couldn’t be older than 17. “Too young to be exposed to wars, the poor child”, Gearan thought, “Unless of course…”
“Hey girl”, he spoke out with his deep voice, “Do you know that wearing fake army gear is a felony in the eyes of imperial law?” The man’s voice was still echoing throughout the hall as the girl shot the man a dark look. At this point, most of the tables had gone quiet. Most of the eyes in the room were glancing between the small, cloaked girl and the massive host.
The girl sent the back of her cloak flying with her left arm, revealing a scabbard. With a gesture that seemed natural, she drew her blade gracefully. She walked up to Gearan, who stood his ground, not bulging at the sight of naked steel. She then silently spun her sword around, putting the handle in front of the giant host, holding the weapon by the edge of the guard.
“Gearan the weapon’s smith”, she spoke, her voice soft as velvet yet cold as ice, “surely your expertise in this field will confirm that my tool cannot belong to any other organization. Gearan grabbed the instrument after a moment of surprise. He didn’t like to remember that man, the young engineering genius that permitted some of the greatest advances in weapon’s technology since the discovery of steel. He didn’t like to remember the cold, cynical solider that developed tools capable of genocide and mass destruction. He didn’t like to remember the man he used to be, especially when the memory was forced upon him by others. This girl had done her homework well if she knew this.
He turned his attention towards the blade. It was a rectangular piece of black steel with a slot carved out in the middle. One of the narrow sides of the rectangle was forged and bolted onto an intricate red guard decorated with golden curves. “The army’s colours”, noticed Gearan. The guard protected a long leather grip. The three other sides of the rectangle had been sharpened into deadly edges.
He held the tool in hand. Even if, to him, it was more a battle dagger than a sword, he could tell the thing was amazingly well forged and better balanced than any street smith’s work. It could have been one of his own. Maybe it was. Maybe that’s why the warrior girl wanted him to hold it. Gearan chuckled at the thought. Little did she know that weapons didn’t have that kind of meaning to him.
“What’s funny?” the little girl said, badly hiding irritation, “I give you a blade, and you laugh?” The big man shifted his weight, relaxing his muscles. “I don’t know what you want little girl, but I am not stepping in those shoes again” He had just finished speaking when the city’s sirens went off. Explosions could be heard in the distance. “Are you sure?” said the little girl, her face hidden below her hood, her tone showing no surprise, yet infected with a hint of fear, “Because we’re about to need your skills desperately…”

Read the rest of this entry »


Posted by on 3 June 2014 in Dragonspark, Speakeasy


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