Thursday, September 10, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Hey, another idea, if you want to use the below idea or think it might work, here's an idea of how we could start the "movie" out:
there's music playing (something funny, like that christmas tune we were humming the other day, or something else, depending on what kind of atmposhere you're trying to create) and several people sitting at one of the lunchroom tables (this is just an idea remember). Two others walk over and sit down at the table (the two already sitting down are new students, the others 2nd semesters). The two veteran students welcome the others to the school (it's their first day or something), they exchange pleasantries. Maybe one of the new students could ask what life is like at RGBI, so the veterans go off, starting with "typical" stuff (bike theft, pizza pigs, etc), then moving on to the rules to watch out for (shoes, room checks, food, etc.). :-D Of course that's all just a vague idea, but it could work, and we would be talking (which is important). It would also, probably, work out better than narrating (in this idea we could just introduce the scenes with a line, as I said below) or actually acting out each scene with talking and stuff. Idk, tell me what you think after you read it.
there's music playing (something funny, like that christmas tune we were humming the other day, or something else, depending on what kind of atmposhere you're trying to create) and several people sitting at one of the lunchroom tables (this is just an idea remember). Two others walk over and sit down at the table (the two already sitting down are new students, the others 2nd semesters). The two veteran students welcome the others to the school (it's their first day or something), they exchange pleasantries. Maybe one of the new students could ask what life is like at RGBI, so the veterans go off, starting with "typical" stuff (bike theft, pizza pigs, etc), then moving on to the rules to watch out for (shoes, room checks, food, etc.). :-D Of course that's all just a vague idea, but it could work, and we would be talking (which is important). It would also, probably, work out better than narrating (in this idea we could just introduce the scenes with a line, as I said below) or actually acting out each scene with talking and stuff. Idk, tell me what you think after you read it.
sorry about that, I was so used to writing with Andeo as the character that I forgot I changed his name :-P
Anyway, my idea was somewhat like what Madison said before. Instead of actually giving a skit, we could "label" the scenes. I know we thoguht of it before and rejected the idea, but it could work, if we make the "labels" wordy enough :-D Here's what I was thinking, I'll write it in English for convenience sake,
example:
"Since we students never get enough sleep, what with studying and all, we catch up on it elsewhere" - chapel scene
"And then, of course, there are the rules" - music
"Rule #1: no taking food from the cafeteria"- comedor charge
"Rule #2: no sugary drinks or snacks in the buildings"- invasion of the ants
"Rule #3: no opened food in the dorms"- pizza bust
"Rule #4: no girls are to wear open toed shoes" - duct tape patrol
"Rule #5... etc. etc."
Of course, that was just a general idea, but it might work :-P
Oh yeah, and for the end, we could be like, "did we forget to warn them about anything?", then have the fishing scene :-D but of course that's just a rough idea too.
Do you think, what with stating the rules, we'd have enough talking to have it work? Because it would be tones easier and probably turn out better that way.
Did you see the hilarious videos at the "party" last night? That one with all the guys dancing and singing was hilarious!
Well, gotta run! TTYL.
Anyway, my idea was somewhat like what Madison said before. Instead of actually giving a skit, we could "label" the scenes. I know we thoguht of it before and rejected the idea, but it could work, if we make the "labels" wordy enough :-D Here's what I was thinking, I'll write it in English for convenience sake,
example:
"Since we students never get enough sleep, what with studying and all, we catch up on it elsewhere" - chapel scene
"And then, of course, there are the rules" - music
"Rule #1: no taking food from the cafeteria"- comedor charge
"Rule #2: no sugary drinks or snacks in the buildings"- invasion of the ants
"Rule #3: no opened food in the dorms"- pizza bust
"Rule #4: no girls are to wear open toed shoes" - duct tape patrol
"Rule #5... etc. etc."
Of course, that was just a general idea, but it might work :-P
Oh yeah, and for the end, we could be like, "did we forget to warn them about anything?", then have the fishing scene :-D but of course that's just a rough idea too.
Do you think, what with stating the rules, we'd have enough talking to have it work? Because it would be tones easier and probably turn out better that way.
Did you see the hilarious videos at the "party" last night? That one with all the guys dancing and singing was hilarious!
Well, gotta run! TTYL.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
-Micah, I don't know exactly what kind of things you want Rynn to do, but I just feel like writing, so here's something- an idea for the story of how Chante became Rynn's "pet/mount" (for lack of better words):
"Give it back, swine."
Rynn turned his head away from the man's foul breath, choking. The cold edge of the blade pressed harder against his throat. "Never." he spat.
The man's beady eyes glistened as he leaned closer to snarl, "I will take it from your dead body."
The threat gave him pause. It would do no good for the man to kill him, and so long as he held the charm, he could not summon fire. "Lets not get hasty now."
Perhaps sensing his sudden change of mind, the man eased back with the knife. "That's right." he growled under his breath, "Noone steals from Gor. He keeps what's his and leaves what ain't."
Rynn twisted his arm at his side and slid it along the rough wood of the door towards his belt. Gor, too absorbed in his momentary gloating, saw nothing. His fingers were closing around the pouch when the man's wrinkled face jerked downwards.
"Hah." he barked, ripping Rynn away from the door as if he were a child and hoisting him into the air, muscles bulging in his arm. The point of the knife rested on Rynn's throat, just below his chin, pressing hard enough to draw blood, his boots dangled a foot off the ground. "Trying to trick Ol Gor are you?" Gor bore his yellowed teeth and nodded towards the bar. "If'n I give the word they'll string you up, boy."
Rynn gritted his teeth. Why did the old man insist on insulting his age?
"Now, where'd you put me jewel? it be all I have, and I don't aim to lose it."
Rynn swallowed, knicking his throat against the chill metal of the blade. "I have it here, at my belt."
Gor's gaze flicked from Rynn's face to his belt and the pouch hanging there. The vein on his forehead throbbed. If he wanted to grab the pouch he would have to set his victim down, but to do so risked losing his precious jewel. He hadn't caught the theif only to lose him by some trick.
"Take it off."
Rynn stared down at Gor's face with a blank expression.
The wrinkled face twisted into a scowl. "Take off that there pouch and open it up."
It took all his will power to control the speed at which he reached for the pouch. His fingers fumbled as he loosened the strap, and Gor's scowl deepened the longer it took. Finally it came loose.
"Dump it out, on the ground there, so's I can see."
Rynn raised the pouch, undid the drawstring, and moved to dump the charm onto the ground. Before he could turn the pouch upside down, however, Gor dropped him back to the ground and closed his fist around pouch. Rynn winced, the old man's hand crushed his own about the charm, causing it to dig into his palm.
Fixing his gaze on Rynn's face, the old man sneered. "Think I'm a fool?" With agonizing care, he twisted Rynn's wrist upwards and emptied the pouch into his bruised palm.
"What's that?" The charm lay sparkling in the moonlight.
"Nothing." Rynn grunted, clenching his jaw.
"It has the look of magic." Gor closed Rynn's fingers back over the charm. "You be from the mountains."
"No." Rynn struggled to free himself, but with the charm clamped snug in his fist he was as helpless as any man.
With a snort Gor snatched the second pouch from Rynn's belt and dangled it in his face. "You'll hang for theivery, bo-"
A deafening screech interrupted his threat. Something struck the man on the side, throwing both he and Rynn like rag dolls. They landed in the mud near the door.
The impact had knocked Gor's grip loose and Rynn rolled away from the man before leaping to his feet. He had to reach out a hand to steady himself against the barn side before he could stand without swaying, the force of the blow had affected him as much, if not more, than the angry stable hand.
Gor rose out of the mud spluttering, face distorted by rage. His wordless bellow brought men rushing out of the bar. Before he could slip away Rynn was seized on both sides by tall sturdy men.
"What is the meaning of this, Gor?" The bar tender spoke from amongst the crowd.
"The boy's from the mountains!" The stable hand roared. For a moment the crowd was silent. All stared at the captured theif. Then they erupted in a deafening stream of angry shouts, mixed in a chaotic jumble. The men holding Rynn propelled him through the crowd towards the barn, their shouts merging with the others.
Someone produced a rope. Rynn fought to free himself, but the crowd was mad, and with the madness strong.
It fell from the sky. One moment the crowd was pushing to get inside the barn, and he was in the midst of them, then they were scattering in all directions, screaming. A black shape looped overhead, and a familiar screech rent the night.Rynn stood his ground, ears ringing. The gust of wind as the thing again passed by just overhead almost knocked him over. The men holding him ducked, releasing his arms.
He dashed away from the barn. Whatever had attacked them would be distracted by the crowd. The charm cut into his palm but it would be foolish to drop it now, when he could not hope to recover it. Without it he had no hope of blending in at the town.
The pounding of heavy feet rose form behind him and he glanced back as he ran. Gor gave chase, and he was gaining ground fast. In his meaty hand was his knife. Rynn's pulse slammed agianst the base of his skull and rang in his ears each time his foot made contact with the ground. At any moment he expected the blade to plunge between his shoulder blades.
The shadow plummeted from above and whisked inches past his left cheek. From the corner of his eye he saw it swoop up and loop back, like a giant sparrow performing aerial acrobatics. Without thinking he shot out his hand as it rushed by again and caught hold of a handful of feathers. The ground was jerked away from beneath him and the creature rose, buffeting him with powerful wings, the speed of its flight barely inhibited by his weight. He hung by that handful of feathers, looking back over his shoulder as the lights of the bar grew smaller, and then the town as well, until they disappeared altogether, swallowed by the blackness of the night.
(Rynn had freed a gryphon in a market place where someone was trying to sell it and risked his life in the act, not realizing that the creature was far more intelligent than he could guess and followed him after that without his knowing until he needed its help, then it swooped in to the rescue and ever after they were the closest of friends. I think the word friend can apply here, because although Chante is an animal, he is smart and loyal, and would sacrifice himself for Rynn in a pinch if neccesary. Sounds like a better friend than most humans to me :-D)
"Give it back, swine."
Rynn turned his head away from the man's foul breath, choking. The cold edge of the blade pressed harder against his throat. "Never." he spat.
The man's beady eyes glistened as he leaned closer to snarl, "I will take it from your dead body."
The threat gave him pause. It would do no good for the man to kill him, and so long as he held the charm, he could not summon fire. "Lets not get hasty now."
Perhaps sensing his sudden change of mind, the man eased back with the knife. "That's right." he growled under his breath, "Noone steals from Gor. He keeps what's his and leaves what ain't."
Rynn twisted his arm at his side and slid it along the rough wood of the door towards his belt. Gor, too absorbed in his momentary gloating, saw nothing. His fingers were closing around the pouch when the man's wrinkled face jerked downwards.
"Hah." he barked, ripping Rynn away from the door as if he were a child and hoisting him into the air, muscles bulging in his arm. The point of the knife rested on Rynn's throat, just below his chin, pressing hard enough to draw blood, his boots dangled a foot off the ground. "Trying to trick Ol Gor are you?" Gor bore his yellowed teeth and nodded towards the bar. "If'n I give the word they'll string you up, boy."
Rynn gritted his teeth. Why did the old man insist on insulting his age?
"Now, where'd you put me jewel? it be all I have, and I don't aim to lose it."
Rynn swallowed, knicking his throat against the chill metal of the blade. "I have it here, at my belt."
Gor's gaze flicked from Rynn's face to his belt and the pouch hanging there. The vein on his forehead throbbed. If he wanted to grab the pouch he would have to set his victim down, but to do so risked losing his precious jewel. He hadn't caught the theif only to lose him by some trick.
"Take it off."
Rynn stared down at Gor's face with a blank expression.
The wrinkled face twisted into a scowl. "Take off that there pouch and open it up."
It took all his will power to control the speed at which he reached for the pouch. His fingers fumbled as he loosened the strap, and Gor's scowl deepened the longer it took. Finally it came loose.
"Dump it out, on the ground there, so's I can see."
Rynn raised the pouch, undid the drawstring, and moved to dump the charm onto the ground. Before he could turn the pouch upside down, however, Gor dropped him back to the ground and closed his fist around pouch. Rynn winced, the old man's hand crushed his own about the charm, causing it to dig into his palm.
Fixing his gaze on Rynn's face, the old man sneered. "Think I'm a fool?" With agonizing care, he twisted Rynn's wrist upwards and emptied the pouch into his bruised palm.
"What's that?" The charm lay sparkling in the moonlight.
"Nothing." Rynn grunted, clenching his jaw.
"It has the look of magic." Gor closed Rynn's fingers back over the charm. "You be from the mountains."
"No." Rynn struggled to free himself, but with the charm clamped snug in his fist he was as helpless as any man.
With a snort Gor snatched the second pouch from Rynn's belt and dangled it in his face. "You'll hang for theivery, bo-"
A deafening screech interrupted his threat. Something struck the man on the side, throwing both he and Rynn like rag dolls. They landed in the mud near the door.
The impact had knocked Gor's grip loose and Rynn rolled away from the man before leaping to his feet. He had to reach out a hand to steady himself against the barn side before he could stand without swaying, the force of the blow had affected him as much, if not more, than the angry stable hand.
Gor rose out of the mud spluttering, face distorted by rage. His wordless bellow brought men rushing out of the bar. Before he could slip away Rynn was seized on both sides by tall sturdy men.
"What is the meaning of this, Gor?" The bar tender spoke from amongst the crowd.
"The boy's from the mountains!" The stable hand roared. For a moment the crowd was silent. All stared at the captured theif. Then they erupted in a deafening stream of angry shouts, mixed in a chaotic jumble. The men holding Rynn propelled him through the crowd towards the barn, their shouts merging with the others.
Someone produced a rope. Rynn fought to free himself, but the crowd was mad, and with the madness strong.
It fell from the sky. One moment the crowd was pushing to get inside the barn, and he was in the midst of them, then they were scattering in all directions, screaming. A black shape looped overhead, and a familiar screech rent the night.Rynn stood his ground, ears ringing. The gust of wind as the thing again passed by just overhead almost knocked him over. The men holding him ducked, releasing his arms.
He dashed away from the barn. Whatever had attacked them would be distracted by the crowd. The charm cut into his palm but it would be foolish to drop it now, when he could not hope to recover it. Without it he had no hope of blending in at the town.
The pounding of heavy feet rose form behind him and he glanced back as he ran. Gor gave chase, and he was gaining ground fast. In his meaty hand was his knife. Rynn's pulse slammed agianst the base of his skull and rang in his ears each time his foot made contact with the ground. At any moment he expected the blade to plunge between his shoulder blades.
The shadow plummeted from above and whisked inches past his left cheek. From the corner of his eye he saw it swoop up and loop back, like a giant sparrow performing aerial acrobatics. Without thinking he shot out his hand as it rushed by again and caught hold of a handful of feathers. The ground was jerked away from beneath him and the creature rose, buffeting him with powerful wings, the speed of its flight barely inhibited by his weight. He hung by that handful of feathers, looking back over his shoulder as the lights of the bar grew smaller, and then the town as well, until they disappeared altogether, swallowed by the blackness of the night.
(Rynn had freed a gryphon in a market place where someone was trying to sell it and risked his life in the act, not realizing that the creature was far more intelligent than he could guess and followed him after that without his knowing until he needed its help, then it swooped in to the rescue and ever after they were the closest of friends. I think the word friend can apply here, because although Chante is an animal, he is smart and loyal, and would sacrifice himself for Rynn in a pinch if neccesary. Sounds like a better friend than most humans to me :-D)
Oh yeah, Chante is a mountain gryphon, so he's actually half wolf half eagle, as you can see in the pic :-)
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Rynn slumped in the chair, the crackling of the fire a comfortable whisper in his ear, the hood of his cloak pulled down to conceal his face. It wouldn't do to have anyone recognize him. Or remember him.
Shifting into a more comfortable position, he glanced at the door, which was opening for yet another customer. For such a small tavern, it was rather full. A fresh breeze rushed into the room and he savored the clean air. The night called to him; he never lasted long in inns and taverns. Unlike others he couldn't abide in the acrid, smoky atmoshpere that made his eyes burn and tore at his throat as he breathed. He preferred to sleep under the stars with his mount curled beside him.
The stench of rum, beer, and other liquid spirits was wafting from the tables and floor like the stench of death; putrid, overwhelming, nauseating. He despised the drink for what it did to those who drank it. It stole their minds and left them as slobering fools. He had never taken a sip, not one, and he never planned to let it touch his lips. It was dangerous enough for him to be nearby when it was sitting around in mugs and pools on the ground. One word from him and the entire inn could be incinerated in a giant explosion.
Shifting into a more comfortable position, he glanced at the door, which was opening for yet another customer. For such a small tavern, it was rather full. A fresh breeze rushed into the room and he savored the clean air. The night called to him; he never lasted long in inns and taverns. Unlike others he couldn't abide in the acrid, smoky atmoshpere that made his eyes burn and tore at his throat as he breathed. He preferred to sleep under the stars with his mount curled beside him.
The stench of rum, beer, and other liquid spirits was wafting from the tables and floor like the stench of death; putrid, overwhelming, nauseating. He despised the drink for what it did to those who drank it. It stole their minds and left them as slobering fools. He had never taken a sip, not one, and he never planned to let it touch his lips. It was dangerous enough for him to be nearby when it was sitting around in mugs and pools on the ground. One word from him and the entire inn could be incinerated in a giant explosion.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Oh hey, by the way. What did you mean earlier when you said the word nasty was totally me???? Insulted!!! JK. :-D Yeah, you're right, I did sort of throw that scene out. I was rushed, althoguh I can't remeber why now.
By the way, in case you didn't notice, I changed the word to jagged.
I wish we could bring the kittens to school some time. They are soooo cute!!!
By the way, in case you didn't notice, I changed the word to jagged.
I wish we could bring the kittens to school some time. They are soooo cute!!!
What was the recital for? The graduation thing? Um... in case you didn't know Micah, I dropped out of the graduation.
About the word nasty. It does sound a little too... modern. Yeah, that's probably the right word for it :-D Perhaps grotesque would go better, but that word's a little too strong. I was just going for the "Ouch, that looks like it had to be painful" reaction. Revolting is too strong as well, not to mention deforming or repulsive. I'll search for a more fitting word :-) Well, gotta go. Writing class tommorow and I haven't finished the scene I wanted to turn in :-)
About the word nasty. It does sound a little too... modern. Yeah, that's probably the right word for it :-D Perhaps grotesque would go better, but that word's a little too strong. I was just going for the "Ouch, that looks like it had to be painful" reaction. Revolting is too strong as well, not to mention deforming or repulsive. I'll search for a more fitting word :-) Well, gotta go. Writing class tommorow and I haven't finished the scene I wanted to turn in :-)
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
T
Hey everyone!
Yeah, I'm back from Mexico. Viva Mexico!!! lol
Anyway, yeah. I love your writing style, aLane. One thing that jumped at me though was "she saw a long, nasty scar", or something to that effect. NASTY really jumps at one, don't you think, for a narrarator to say?
Sorry about that. I know that that was probably just your thoughts pouring out onto the page, and then you posted it. And it is very much you.
Thanx for setting the scene for us, it'll help a lot in the flow of inspiration.
If you catch this before Tuesday night at seven, please note that there will be a recital over at UTPA. It starts at seven-thirty...(7:30)...in the Fine Arts Center. When you're standing at the front door(looking at it) of the auditorium, you'll see a building off to the LEFT. There is NO roof over the doors, unlike the other buildings. Got it? Great. Then you find the door furthest to the LEFT, and it'll be either that door, or the one next to it. Or the next one? Anyways, there should be a sign of some kind, and if you arrive in time, there'll be people there to help you out.
Sorry for going so long. It's just that I'm SO bad with understanding other people's directions that I wanted to make sure that you understood me.
Hope to see you there, though I'm pretty sure that I won't (having an exam tomorrow morning and all). lol
Yeah, I'm back from Mexico. Viva Mexico!!! lol
Anyway, yeah. I love your writing style, aLane. One thing that jumped at me though was "she saw a long, nasty scar", or something to that effect. NASTY really jumps at one, don't you think, for a narrarator to say?
Sorry about that. I know that that was probably just your thoughts pouring out onto the page, and then you posted it. And it is very much you.
Thanx for setting the scene for us, it'll help a lot in the flow of inspiration.
If you catch this before Tuesday night at seven, please note that there will be a recital over at UTPA. It starts at seven-thirty...(7:30)...in the Fine Arts Center. When you're standing at the front door(looking at it) of the auditorium, you'll see a building off to the LEFT. There is NO roof over the doors, unlike the other buildings. Got it? Great. Then you find the door furthest to the LEFT, and it'll be either that door, or the one next to it. Or the next one? Anyways, there should be a sign of some kind, and if you arrive in time, there'll be people there to help you out.
Sorry for going so long. It's just that I'm SO bad with understanding other people's directions that I wanted to make sure that you understood me.
Hope to see you there, though I'm pretty sure that I won't (having an exam tomorrow morning and all). lol
Friday, April 10, 2009
Clouds like thin, spidery nets hung across the moon in the night sky as if to steal its light away. The pathetic tree in the stable yard moaned each time a faint breeze stirred. Spiders and beetles slipped in through the floorboards to take shelter, as well as a few scavenging mice. The cat sat outside the door, yowling for admission, and the dogs barked at nothing out back. The night reeked of storm. Bad storm. Nilko could hear the wind picking up, its icy cold fingers prying at the boards of the tavern walls. His guests seemed oblivious; untouched by the outside world. But he, Nilko, could sense the gathering tension even as he bustled about behind the counter; filling mugs and catching bits of gossip here and there.
The door opened with a groan of protest and a shadowed figure, hazy in the smokey room, slipped inside. Nilko glanced up from the conversation he had just entered and watched as the hooded stranger strode across the room to hide in the shadow of the fire. The door, which his new customer had not closed properly, banged opened, admitting the chill wind and drizzling rain, as well as a sopping cat. With a grunt Nilko nodded to his neice, the serving girl,"Mel, go take care of the stranger. And close the door." Mel, her hair hanging about her face in wispy tendrils, wiped her hands on her apron with a sigh, the exhaustion clear in her eyes. Without a word of protest she headed first for the door, and then for the stranger's table, the wet cat under one arm. The stranger sat motionless, the fire's light dancing across his cloak and casting strange shadows on the hidden face beneath. The hilt of a dagger just showed at his belt. He wasn't the type they usually got in their small town tavern.
Mell's clear voice drifted across the room to Nilko's ears, "Sir, how may I help you this evening?"
The stranger lifted his head to answer and the light of the fire fell on his face, revealing a long, jagged scar that ran from his left ear to his chin. Nilko saw his neice flinch. He couldn't help but shudder himself. What weapon could have caused such a scar? Or what creature.
The door opened with a groan of protest and a shadowed figure, hazy in the smokey room, slipped inside. Nilko glanced up from the conversation he had just entered and watched as the hooded stranger strode across the room to hide in the shadow of the fire. The door, which his new customer had not closed properly, banged opened, admitting the chill wind and drizzling rain, as well as a sopping cat. With a grunt Nilko nodded to his neice, the serving girl,"Mel, go take care of the stranger. And close the door." Mel, her hair hanging about her face in wispy tendrils, wiped her hands on her apron with a sigh, the exhaustion clear in her eyes. Without a word of protest she headed first for the door, and then for the stranger's table, the wet cat under one arm. The stranger sat motionless, the fire's light dancing across his cloak and casting strange shadows on the hidden face beneath. The hilt of a dagger just showed at his belt. He wasn't the type they usually got in their small town tavern.
Mell's clear voice drifted across the room to Nilko's ears, "Sir, how may I help you this evening?"
The stranger lifted his head to answer and the light of the fire fell on his face, revealing a long, jagged scar that ran from his left ear to his chin. Nilko saw his neice flinch. He couldn't help but shudder himself. What weapon could have caused such a scar? Or what creature.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Mel
Nilko watched as the hooded stranger entered his inn and hid in the shadow of the fire. "Mel, go take care of the stranger."
A humble server whipped her hands on her apron, tired from a hard days work she headed for the stranger's table. She paused for a second, looking at him, he sure wasn't the typical customer they had through their small town tavern, but she brushed the thought aside and aproached the table.
"Sir, how may I help you this evening?" she said.
A humble server whipped her hands on her apron, tired from a hard days work she headed for the stranger's table. She paused for a second, looking at him, he sure wasn't the typical customer they had through their small town tavern, but she brushed the thought aside and aproached the table.
"Sir, how may I help you this evening?" she said.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Something.
Continued...
The pitch black interior of the hall brought Braeden to a quick stop. He stood on the threshhold staring into the nothingness. Anything could be hiding in there, waiting for him. The hair rose on the back of his neck at the memory of the scream. Returning to the barroom, Braeden fetched a tallow candle from behind the counter and lit it. Holding the flickering light before him like a knight with his sword, he edged into the hall.
The rain began as a whisper from the night and rose to a deafening barrage upon the roof and walls. Braeden crept along, thrusting the candle forward, eyes alert for any unusual sight, any unfamiliar shadow. As he neared the end of the hall and his warm, safe bed, something caught his eye. The door just before his stood wide open. How odd. Who occupied that room? Mentally he shuffled through his guests. Ah yes, the stranger. Braeden had caught but a glimpse of the face beneath the lowered hood as the stranger paid for a night's stay, a glimpse of two dark, dark eyes that glittered in the firelight and a nasty scar that ran from the left ear to the chin. But there'd been something else as well, something curious that the barkeep had seen only once before... his hair. That was it. It was a bright, orange red like the flames dancing in the fireplace. He'd seen that sort of hair once before, thirty years back. It had struck him as odd then too. Real people weren't supposed to have red hair, only people in tales...
The opened door called, taunted. Braeden hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, and slipped inside. No mystery met his eyes, merely an empty room. The stranger had gone, gone without anyone noticing. Well, at least he'd paid his rent. Cupping his hand about the waning light of his candle, Braeden strode farther in, pushing the shadows back as he moved. The bed sat untouched, the blankets wrinkleless, the hard lump of a pillow in the same place it'd been that morning. How odd. Had his guest found the room unfit? With a grunt, he turned to leave, and half tripped over something on the floor.
So the stranger hadn't left after all. For sure he slumped by the fire at that moment, lulled to sleep by drink. Braeden leaned down to get a better look at what he'd kicked, and gasped. The pale face of the groom stared up at him, eyes white as milk. The foul odor of death emanated in repulsing waves from beneath the bed. Braeden staggered back, head swimming, then turned and fled the room.
Outside, in the hall, he paused. His murdering guest could be nearby at that moment, waiting for him to pass by. Bed again sounded good. Braeden's eyes swung up, toward his door, and his heart stopped. It too stood opened. No. No! Without a second though he rushed to it, threw himself at the bed, and plunged his hand through a hole in the mattress. Naught but straw touched his questing hand. No, it wasn't gone, it couldn't be gone. Maybe he'd moved it that morning and forgotten. Yes, he must have moved it to the chest.
Scrambling to his feet, Braeden rushed to the chest and let out a strangled cry. The lid lay seperate form its counterpart, ripped off, and the contents scattered about its base. No, no! Desperate hands sifted through the papers, the coins, the strange objects, every moment expecting to feel the cold smooth surface against rough, calloused fingertips. Nothing. Gone.
The pitch black interior of the hall brought Braeden to a quick stop. He stood on the threshhold staring into the nothingness. Anything could be hiding in there, waiting for him. The hair rose on the back of his neck at the memory of the scream. Returning to the barroom, Braeden fetched a tallow candle from behind the counter and lit it. Holding the flickering light before him like a knight with his sword, he edged into the hall.
The rain began as a whisper from the night and rose to a deafening barrage upon the roof and walls. Braeden crept along, thrusting the candle forward, eyes alert for any unusual sight, any unfamiliar shadow. As he neared the end of the hall and his warm, safe bed, something caught his eye. The door just before his stood wide open. How odd. Who occupied that room? Mentally he shuffled through his guests. Ah yes, the stranger. Braeden had caught but a glimpse of the face beneath the lowered hood as the stranger paid for a night's stay, a glimpse of two dark, dark eyes that glittered in the firelight and a nasty scar that ran from the left ear to the chin. But there'd been something else as well, something curious that the barkeep had seen only once before... his hair. That was it. It was a bright, orange red like the flames dancing in the fireplace. He'd seen that sort of hair once before, thirty years back. It had struck him as odd then too. Real people weren't supposed to have red hair, only people in tales...
The opened door called, taunted. Braeden hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, and slipped inside. No mystery met his eyes, merely an empty room. The stranger had gone, gone without anyone noticing. Well, at least he'd paid his rent. Cupping his hand about the waning light of his candle, Braeden strode farther in, pushing the shadows back as he moved. The bed sat untouched, the blankets wrinkleless, the hard lump of a pillow in the same place it'd been that morning. How odd. Had his guest found the room unfit? With a grunt, he turned to leave, and half tripped over something on the floor.
So the stranger hadn't left after all. For sure he slumped by the fire at that moment, lulled to sleep by drink. Braeden leaned down to get a better look at what he'd kicked, and gasped. The pale face of the groom stared up at him, eyes white as milk. The foul odor of death emanated in repulsing waves from beneath the bed. Braeden staggered back, head swimming, then turned and fled the room.
Outside, in the hall, he paused. His murdering guest could be nearby at that moment, waiting for him to pass by. Bed again sounded good. Braeden's eyes swung up, toward his door, and his heart stopped. It too stood opened. No. No! Without a second though he rushed to it, threw himself at the bed, and plunged his hand through a hole in the mattress. Naught but straw touched his questing hand. No, it wasn't gone, it couldn't be gone. Maybe he'd moved it that morning and forgotten. Yes, he must have moved it to the chest.
Scrambling to his feet, Braeden rushed to the chest and let out a strangled cry. The lid lay seperate form its counterpart, ripped off, and the contents scattered about its base. No, no! Desperate hands sifted through the papers, the coins, the strange objects, every moment expecting to feel the cold smooth surface against rough, calloused fingertips. Nothing. Gone.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Something.
The night hung heavy with storm; the humid air and distant forboeding rumble drove the livestock to pace and the shutters of the village to slam shut. The local inkeeper, Braeden, stood outside his front door, watching the clouds roll forward, his burly form shillouetted by an occasional flash of lightning. Why did that blasted groom dissapear every time he set foot outside? Probably behind the stables, drunk as a rat in a brewery. Again.
With a sigh, Braeden turned his back on the night and slipped into the dark interior of the tavern's barroom. Twelve stout, round tables, burdened a mere hour ago by full benches, sat empty waiting for the morrow, their rough edges blurry and indistinct in the hazy atmosphere of the room; the fire, roaring like a wild animal, defied the gloom and spit fiery sparks at the figures slumped in wooden chairs at its feet. Nothing to do. An unusual thing for a barkeep. Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, Braeden strode across the room towards the counter. The aroma of good beer permeated the wooden surface, assaulting his senses as he passed. His mind strayed to the door of the cellar, to kegs and bottles. No. He shook his head. Best to leave that to others. Yet, would one sip hurt?
As he hesitated, an unearthly moan shook the timbers of the tavern and rattled the door. The storm had arrived. The fire spluttered, daunted, and the heavy sleepers stirred in their chairs. Braeden shivered. Mmm, how a warm bed struck a pleasant chord at that moment. The groom could handle the tavern, it was his job after all, to watch it at night. If he'd only show up Braeden could sleep without worry.
Another moan scattered his thoughts, this time joined at the end by a skin curling scream. Braeden found himself gripping the edge of the counter as the scream trailed off and died. What could make such a terrible sound? Nothing he'd ever seen, of that he stood sure. Loosing his hold on the counter, Braeden glanced about and dashed for the hall door. Sleep alone could drown out this storm.
To Be Continued...
With a sigh, Braeden turned his back on the night and slipped into the dark interior of the tavern's barroom. Twelve stout, round tables, burdened a mere hour ago by full benches, sat empty waiting for the morrow, their rough edges blurry and indistinct in the hazy atmosphere of the room; the fire, roaring like a wild animal, defied the gloom and spit fiery sparks at the figures slumped in wooden chairs at its feet. Nothing to do. An unusual thing for a barkeep. Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, Braeden strode across the room towards the counter. The aroma of good beer permeated the wooden surface, assaulting his senses as he passed. His mind strayed to the door of the cellar, to kegs and bottles. No. He shook his head. Best to leave that to others. Yet, would one sip hurt?
As he hesitated, an unearthly moan shook the timbers of the tavern and rattled the door. The storm had arrived. The fire spluttered, daunted, and the heavy sleepers stirred in their chairs. Braeden shivered. Mmm, how a warm bed struck a pleasant chord at that moment. The groom could handle the tavern, it was his job after all, to watch it at night. If he'd only show up Braeden could sleep without worry.
Another moan scattered his thoughts, this time joined at the end by a skin curling scream. Braeden found himself gripping the edge of the counter as the scream trailed off and died. What could make such a terrible sound? Nothing he'd ever seen, of that he stood sure. Loosing his hold on the counter, Braeden glanced about and dashed for the hall door. Sleep alone could drown out this storm.
To Be Continued...
Hey Again.
Hey again, got a question this time. I put the wrong URL for your other blog, the discussion one. How do I delete a blog from my dashboard in my blog account and stick a new one in? What is the URL for that blog anyway?
Hey.
Hey, if this actually shows up then I've finally found out how to work this whole blog thing. If not, then I guess you aren't reading it right now :-)
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Nilko
Nilko watched as the hooded stranger entered his inn and hid in the shadow of the fire. "Mel, go take care of the stranger."
Teller
It was a dark night in the small town of Rykosh. The rain beat against the wooden shutters of the Midnight Rose. Inside the thick walls, a warm fire sat sparking in defiance against the cold wind and rain.
A dark man strode throught the oak door; his face was shadowed by his hood. He slid into a dark corner, and sat down to watch everyone else as he dried himself by the fire.
A dark man strode throught the oak door; his face was shadowed by his hood. He slid into a dark corner, and sat down to watch everyone else as he dried himself by the fire.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)