necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

So in an effort to beat back a case of melancholy I wrote this for Z1, enjoy;

 

“More patrols. You know, when the horn sounded I thought we’d be under siege. The Zarconis haven’t even peeked out of the forest yet!” Kerul complained.

Zander glanced towards the smoking ruin of the forest. There were places that still smoldered, the smell permeated everything. They moved along the road that led beside the river, watching the other side. The silence was heavy, like something was waiting.

Zander shivered, tightening his cloak and stumbled over something stuck in the ground. He swore under his breath, gripping the oblong stick and yanked hard.

A loud crackling sound filled the air and across the river something flickered, then faded. Zander ducked behind one of the scraggly bushes and stared. Flickering in and out of sight was what appeared to be zarconis, constructing a rough wooden bridge.

“What in the hell?” Kerul hissed.

“Where did they come from?” Nadja hissed in Zander’s ear. She took the oblong stick from Zander’s hand turning it this way and that. The zarconis and the bridge they were building flashed in and out of view. Hayner reached over and grabbed the stick from her hand.

“You found this?” He asked, looking down at Zander.

“Tripped over it. What is it?”

Hayner turned it one way. The bridge and zarconis appeared. The zarconis seemed unaware of being seen. Hayner turned it the other way and they vanished. They looked at each other.

“A shield stick?” Bastien asked.

“There’s another one on the other side of the river I’d bet.” Valen said, frowning.

“They don’t seem to realize we can see them.” Bastien grinned.

“We should send a report back,” Hayner began.

“Now wait one damn minuet.” Nadja said, gripping his hand. “How long would it take? A couple of days? Then the city would dispatch a team and it would take time. The bridge might be done by the time another better equipped team showed up.” She took the stick and wiggled it back and forth.

“Nadja, last time we did something without orders,” Hayner pointed to the smoldering east bank. “They say there could be patches that will burn for years!”

“What would it take to bring that thing down? A well placed charge or two? Boom and it’s gone.” Kerul said quickly. “There’s really no more forest to burn down.”

“On that side.” Bastien quipped.

“And it’ll send a signal back to the city that there’s something going on, and we could continue upriver to see if there are any other hidden surprises.”

Hayner rubbed his face. “I shouldn’t be agreeing to this.”

 

 

Have a good Wednesday.

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

For some reason I started thinking about this old Avaria story which disappeared on a lost hard drive years ago. I decided to try to re-write the intro (I don’t remember how much of it I had actually written) and I have to say, rough as it is, I like this version. Have some slightly raw words;

(quick note, this story will actually pick up right where the prior story, The Darkening Marsh, left off.)

~*~

Time was suspended. Somewhere in the distance something dripped. A slow and steady sound, something to listen to besides ones own heartbeat. Zindith drifted in and out of consciousness, on waves of pain reminding him he was still alive. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing harsh. Whispers echoed in the dark caverns, memories of voices long since silenced. He heard a groan, realized belatedly that it was his own. He opened his eyes, fighting to stay awake. Darkness closed in around him, and he noticed a faint glow nearby. He frowned and turned to look closer at the glow. Pain shot through his body, a throbbing burning settled along the left side of his face and torso.

Memories rushed at him, who he was and how he’d gotten there, he groaned again. Trapped between enemies, he’d acted, tackling the Slayer, knocking them both over the edge of the ravine. How far had he fallen? The Slayer vanished, opening a rift and sliding into another realm leaving him plummeting towards the river below.

Zindith remembered hitting the cold water, the shock of it sent waves of pain through him. Then nothing. He rolled over, gasping for breath and fighting a churning stomach. Sand, he was on sand. He pushed himself up, peering around. He didn’t remember anything beyond hitting the water. He was far underground, deep in the Labyrinth, but where? How long had he been in the river? He didn’t know. He glanced back at the glowing. Thin ropes of pale green glowing things hung from above. The light they provided was faint, almost useless.

He ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. Musty, moldy, with the faint metallic scent that permeated everything in the Shadowlands. He coughed and groaned. His sides hurt, bruised ribs? Cracked? He hoped nothing was broken. There were no healers in this place.

“Thank the gods for being half telaxian.” He murmured. His voice was loud in the cave, echoing and joining the faint whispers in the distance.

He closed his eyes fighting a wave of dizzy, and heard the singing. A woman’s voice, echoing through the tunnels, singing a song in a language he’d never heard. The tone was haunting, full of loss and deep longing. It tugged at him. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. He was tough. Like his brothers and sister. Like his father. A little fall wasn’t going to stop him. He gritted his teeth, his stomach doing dangerous flops. What little he’d eaten before needed to stay where it was. He had no rations, no idea of what was edible in this place. He couldn’t afford to lose his lunch. Then the song changed in pitch, lower, angry. He listened, focusing completely on it, willing his body to obey. Now was not the time to be ill. He wanted to find the singer. No, he needed to find her, though why he wasn’t sure.

He quickly took stock. His pack was gone, lost in the river no doubt. With it were the torches and the healing salve for his burns. His belt pouch, though soaked, was still firmly secured on his wide belt. He unfastened it and opened it, swearing.

He put his hand over the top and flipped it upside down, letting the water pour out. Everything in there, the herb packets, the small parchment for writing notes, all ruined. He let them drop to the sandy ground, keeping ahold of the small light orb his brother, Auron, had given him. He hoped it still worked. The glowing ropes didn’t provide enough light to see. He wiped it on his tunic, and tapped it as he’d been taught. It flared to life, sending rays of light dancing over the cave walls. He finally got a good glimpse of where he was and his stomach did another dangerous flop.

He stood on a narrow sandy beach beside the river that coiled away, disappearing into the darkness. How far from the bridge and ledge was he? He shuddered, afraid to know. He looked upriver, trying to get an idea for where he was. There wasn’t a riverbank except the strip of beach he was on. The river had carved a tunnel through the rock, sheer cliffs on either side made going back the way he came impossible. He wasn’t about to try to risk walking in the river itself. Who knew what might be lurking beneath the surface? He edged toward the sloping walls, ducking under the ropey-glowing moss. It glowed brighter the closer he got, reflecting the light of the orb. He frowned, peering at the walls. Deep in his mind he felt a tug, faint, but persistent. He moved closer, lifting the orb, hoping to get a better glimpse. There was a jagged tear in the rock, a passage leading up and away from the river. He leaned against the edge of the entry letting another wave of dizzy pass. He needed to get out, to find the singer. He dared not guess what sort of creepy crawlies were in the passage.

The tug in his mind was insistent. He needed to go into the passage. He nodded. So far it hadn’t led him wrong. It guided him to where the Slayer had hidden Mayhren, it had guided them back to the surface before the fireball. He swallowed, aware of the tightness in his left cheek, the pain that he was getting used to. He glanced back towards the river and took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his sides, and stepped into the looming darkness.

It pressed against the orb light, closing around him, blocking off all view and any hope of escape. It felt alive in some way, a malevolent presence that wasn’t willing to let him leave. He forced one foot in front of the other, trying to think of anything other than the dark. His companions, his brother, they probably thought he’d died in the fall. He’d find a way back to the surface and back to Avaria. He’d get beyond the reach of this darkness and find a way to let them know he wasn’t dead.

The passage wound its way upward, in some spots he had to tuck the orb in his tunic and climb steep slopes. With each step the tug got stronger, a pressure in his head that was almost painful.

The passage ended at a stone carved doorway though the door itself had long since rotted away. Zindith stared, disbelief and awe blocking out the pain. How long had it stood silent in the dark, waiting for its masters to return? The tug pulsed, pain shot through his head. He gasped for breath, and edged closer to the doorway. He stepped through the doorway, wishing he had a weapon. Who knew what might be in this place? Stepping away from the door, the light of the orb illuminated an ages old walkway carved into the sides of immense cliffs. Guardrails once stood along the far edge, but most of those had long worn away. All that were left were posts that would have held the railings. Overhead he could see the orb’s light glinting off of what might have been metal chandeliers or some sort of lighting devices.

“Impossible.” He murmured, his voice bouncing off the walls. In the distance, to his left, a stone bridge spanned the chasm, the far end concealed in the blanket of darkness. The tug pulled him in that direction. Bemused and in awe he went where it led, noting the archways that dotted the sides of the chasm, and the passageway. Who had carved these ways? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The rahaun hadn’t lived underground. He didn’t recall any other legends that hinted that these passages existed. His heart pounded and the tug became a pounding at his temples. It stopped, as suddenly as it started, when he reached the bridge.

He stared up at the steps leading across the chasm, his heart loud in his ears. The steps led to a wide flat platform, then a walkway arched back downward to a second platform from which another set of stairs led, he hoped, to the other side. He couldn’t tell. The orb’s light cut off, unable to penetrate the wall of dark ahead of him.

He took another look around. The archways, with their passages gaping at him, gave him the shakes. He could almost imagine things just on the other side of the dark, watching him, waiting to strike when the orb flickered out. He shook it off, looked back at the stone bridge. He felt it, briefly. The tug, gently pulling him towards the bridge. He stepped onto the stone bridge, testing it. Who knew how long this had stood, alone, in the dark underground of the Shadowlands. It felt firm.

He  went up the steps, wishing there was a rail of some sort. When he reached the first platform he got a glimpse of the other side and smiled. Another passage, but it veered upward towards steps coiling towards the distant ceiling. His ticket out, perhaps? He hesitated, glancing back the way he’d come, listening. His own breathing was loud in the hush. No echos, no drips, no bodiless voices lamenting in a dead language. Silent. The caverns were holding their breath, the darkness waiting for a misstep. He shook himself. Too many knocks to the head.

Zindith wiped his hand on his breeches. He felt clammy, ill, and dizzy. He hurried across the wide arch toward the second platform. He felt the tremble through his boots, and swore. A cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chasm. He swore darting towards the platform as he felt the bridge beneath his feet crumbling. He jumped, landing on his stomach on the platform the air knocked from his lungs as the arch crumbled, clattering far below. He barely caught his breath, starting to pull himself up when the platform shuddered. He swore, the crack of shattering rock deafening. The platform dropped out from beneath him and he was falling again. He closed his eyes, there was no river below to save him. The fall halted and pain exploded across his jaw and nose as he hit the stone face first. Darkness wrapped around him.

 ~*~

 Part 2

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

For some reason I started thinking about this old Avaria story which disappeared on a lost hard drive years ago. I decided to try to re-write the intro (I don’t remember how much of it I had actually written) and I have to say, rough as it is, I like this version. Have some slightly raw words;

(quick note, this story will actually pick up right where the prior story, The Darkening Marsh, left off.)

~*~

Time was suspended. Somewhere in the distance something dripped. A slow and steady sound, something to listen to besides ones own heartbeat. Zindith drifted in and out of consciousness, on waves of pain reminding him he was still alive. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing harsh. Whispers echoed in the dark caverns, memories of voices long since silenced. He heard a groan, realized belatedly that it was his own. He opened his eyes, fighting to stay awake. Darkness closed in around him, and he noticed a faint glow nearby. He frowned and turned to look closer at the glow. Pain shot through his body, a throbbing burning settled along the left side of his face and torso.

Memories rushed at him, who he was and how he’d gotten there, he groaned again. Trapped between enemies, he’d acted, tackling the Slayer, knocking them both over the edge of the ravine. How far had he fallen? The Slayer vanished, opening a rift and sliding into another realm leaving him plummeting towards the river below.

Zindith remembered hitting the cold water, the shock of it sent waves of pain through him. Then nothing. He rolled over, gasping for breath and fighting a churning stomach. Sand, he was on sand. He pushed himself up, peering around. He didn’t remember anything beyond hitting the water. He was far underground, deep in the Labyrinth, but where? How long had he been in the river? He didn’t know. He glanced back at the glowing. Thin ropes of pale green glowing things hung from above. The light they provided was faint, almost useless.

He ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. Musty, moldy, with the faint metallic scent that permeated everything in the Shadowlands. He coughed and groaned. His sides hurt, bruised ribs? Cracked? He hoped nothing was broken. There were no healers in this place.

“Thank the gods for being half telaxian.” He murmured. His voice was loud in the cave, echoing and joining the faint whispers in the distance.

He closed his eyes fighting a wave of dizzy, and heard the singing. A woman’s voice, echoing through the tunnels, singing a song in a language he’d never heard. The tone was haunting, full of loss and deep longing. It tugged at him. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. He was tough. Like his brothers and sister. Like his father. A little fall wasn’t going to stop him. He gritted his teeth, his stomach doing dangerous flops. What little he’d eaten before needed to stay where it was. He had no rations, no idea of what was edible in this place. He couldn’t afford to lose his lunch. Then the song changed in pitch, lower, angry. He listened, focusing completely on it, willing his body to obey. Now was not the time to be ill. He wanted to find the singer. No, he needed to find her, though why he wasn’t sure.

He quickly took stock. His pack was gone, lost in the river no doubt. With it were the torches and the healing salve for his burns. His belt pouch, though soaked, was still firmly secured on his wide belt. He unfastened it and opened it, swearing.

He put his hand over the top and flipped it upside down, letting the water pour out. Everything in there, the herb packets, the small parchment for writing notes, all ruined. He let them drop to the sandy ground, keeping ahold of the small light orb his brother, Auron, had given him. He hoped it still worked. The glowing ropes didn’t provide enough light to see. He wiped it on his tunic, and tapped it as he’d been taught. It flared to life, sending rays of light dancing over the cave walls. He finally got a good glimpse of where he was and his stomach did another dangerous flop.

He stood on a narrow sandy beach beside the river that coiled away, disappearing into the darkness. How far from the bridge and ledge was he? He shuddered, afraid to know. He looked upriver, trying to get an idea for where he was. There wasn’t a riverbank except the strip of beach he was on. The river had carved a tunnel through the rock, sheer cliffs on either side made going back the way he came impossible. He wasn’t about to try to risk walking in the river itself. Who knew what might be lurking beneath the surface? He edged toward the sloping walls, ducking under the ropey-glowing moss. It glowed brighter the closer he got, reflecting the light of the orb. He frowned, peering at the walls. Deep in his mind he felt a tug, faint, but persistent. He moved closer, lifting the orb, hoping to get a better glimpse. There was a jagged tear in the rock, a passage leading up and away from the river. He leaned against the edge of the entry letting another wave of dizzy pass. He needed to get out, to find the singer. He dared not guess what sort of creepy crawlies were in the passage.

The tug in his mind was insistent. He needed to go into the passage. He nodded. So far it hadn’t led him wrong. It guided him to where the Slayer had hidden Mayhren, it had guided them back to the surface before the fireball. He swallowed, aware of the tightness in his left cheek, the pain that he was getting used to. He glanced back towards the river and took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his sides, and stepped into the looming darkness.

It pressed against the orb light, closing around him, blocking off all view and any hope of escape. It felt alive in some way, a malevolent presence that wasn’t willing to let him leave. He forced one foot in front of the other, trying to think of anything other than the dark. His companions, his brother, they probably thought he’d died in the fall. He’d find a way back to the surface and back to Avaria. He’d get beyond the reach of this darkness and find a way to let them know he wasn’t dead.

The passage wound its way upward, in some spots he had to tuck the orb in his tunic and climb steep slopes. With each step the tug got stronger, a pressure in his head that was almost painful.

The passage ended at a stone carved doorway though the door itself had long since rotted away. Zindith stared, disbelief and awe blocking out the pain. How long had it stood silent in the dark, waiting for its masters to return? The tug pulsed, pain shot through his head. He gasped for breath, and edged closer to the doorway. He stepped through the doorway, wishing he had a weapon. Who knew what might be in this place? Stepping away from the door, the light of the orb illuminated an ages old walkway carved into the sides of immense cliffs. Guardrails once stood along the far edge, but most of those had long worn away. All that were left were posts that would have held the railings. Overhead he could see the orb’s light glinting off of what might have been metal chandeliers or some sort of lighting devices.

“Impossible.” He murmured, his voice bouncing off the walls. In the distance, to his left, a stone bridge spanned the chasm, the far end concealed in the blanket of darkness. The tug pulled him in that direction. Bemused and in awe he went where it led, noting the archways that dotted the sides of the chasm, and the passageway. Who had carved these ways? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The rahaun hadn’t lived underground. He didn’t recall any other legends that hinted that these passages existed. His heart pounded and the tug became a pounding at his temples. It stopped, as suddenly as it started, when he reached the bridge.

He stared up at the steps leading across the chasm, his heart loud in his ears. The steps led to a wide flat platform, then a walkway arched back downward to a second platform from which another set of stairs led, he hoped, to the other side. He couldn’t tell. The orb’s light cut off, unable to penetrate the wall of dark ahead of him.

He took another look around. The archways, with their passages gaping at him, gave him the shakes. He could almost imagine things just on the other side of the dark, watching him, waiting to strike when the orb flickered out. He shook it off, looked back at the stone bridge. He felt it, briefly. The tug, gently pulling him towards the bridge. He stepped onto the stone bridge, testing it. Who knew how long this had stood, alone, in the dark underground of the Shadowlands. It felt firm.

He  went up the steps, wishing there was a rail of some sort. When he reached the first platform he got a glimpse of the other side and smiled. Another passage, but it veered upward towards steps coiling towards the distant ceiling. His ticket out, perhaps? He hesitated, glancing back the way he’d come, listening. His own breathing was loud in the hush. No echos, no drips, no bodiless voices lamenting in a dead language. Silent. The caverns were holding their breath, the darkness waiting for a misstep. He shook himself. Too many knocks to the head.

Zindith wiped his hand on his breeches. He felt clammy, ill, and dizzy. He hurried across the wide arch toward the second platform. He felt the tremble through his boots, and swore. A cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chasm. He swore darting towards the platform as he felt the bridge beneath his feet crumbling. He jumped, landing on his stomach on the platform the air knocked from his lungs as the arch crumbled, clattering far below. He barely caught his breath, starting to pull himself up when the platform shuddered. He swore, the crack of shattering rock deafening. The platform dropped out from beneath him and he was falling again. He closed his eyes, there was no river below to save him. The fall halted and pain exploded across his jaw and nose as he hit the stone face first. Darkness wrapped around him.

 ~*~

 

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

For some reason I started thinking about this old Avaria story which disappeared on a lost hard drive years ago. I decided to try to re-write the intro (I don’t remember how much of it I had actually written) and I have to say, rough as it is, I like this version. Have some slightly raw words;

(quick note, this story will actually pick up right where the prior story, The Darkening Marsh, left off.)

~*~

Time was suspended. Somewhere in the distance something dripped. A slow and steady sound, something to listen to besides ones own heartbeat. Zindith drifted in and out of consciousness, on waves of pain reminding him he was still alive. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing harsh. Whispers echoed in the dark caverns, memories of voices long since silenced. He heard a groan, realized belatedly that it was his own. He opened his eyes, fighting to stay awake. Darkness closed in around him, and he noticed a faint glow nearby. He frowned and turned to look closer at the glow. Pain shot through his body, a throbbing burning settled along the left side of his face and torso.

Memories rushed at him, who he was and how he’d gotten there, he groaned again. Trapped between enemies, he’d acted, tackling the Slayer, knocking them both over the edge of the ravine. How far had he fallen? The Slayer vanished, opening a rift and sliding into another realm leaving him plummeting towards the river below.

Zindith remembered hitting the cold water, the shock of it sent waves of pain through him. Then nothing. He rolled over, gasping for breath and fighting a churning stomach. Sand, he was on sand. He pushed himself up, peering around. He didn’t remember anything beyond hitting the water. He was far underground, deep in the Labyrinth, but where? How long had he been in the river? He didn’t know. He glanced back at the glowing. Thin ropes of pale green glowing things hung from above. The light they provided was faint, almost useless.

He ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. Musty, moldy, with the faint metallic scent that permeated everything in the Shadowlands. He coughed and groaned. His sides hurt, bruised ribs? Cracked? He hoped nothing was broken. There were no healers in this place.

“Thank the gods for being half telaxian.” He murmured. His voice was loud in the cave, echoing and joining the faint whispers in the distance.

He closed his eyes fighting a wave of dizzy, and heard the singing. A woman’s voice, echoing through the tunnels, singing a song in a language he’d never heard. The tone was haunting, full of loss and deep longing. It tugged at him. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. He was tough. Like his brothers and sister. Like his father. A little fall wasn’t going to stop him. He gritted his teeth, his stomach doing dangerous flops. What little he’d eaten before needed to stay where it was. He had no rations, no idea of what was edible in this place. He couldn’t afford to lose his lunch. Then the song changed in pitch, lower, angry. He listened, focusing completely on it, willing his body to obey. Now was not the time to be ill. He wanted to find the singer. No, he needed to find her, though why he wasn’t sure.

He quickly took stock. His pack was gone, lost in the river no doubt. With it were the torches and the healing salve for his burns. His belt pouch, though soaked, was still firmly secured on his wide belt. He unfastened it and opened it, swearing.

He put his hand over the top and flipped it upside down, letting the water pour out. Everything in there, the herb packets, the small parchment for writing notes, all ruined. He let them drop to the sandy ground, keeping ahold of the small light orb his brother, Auron, had given him. He hoped it still worked. The glowing ropes didn’t provide enough light to see. He wiped it on his tunic, and tapped it as he’d been taught. It flared to life, sending rays of light dancing over the cave walls. He finally got a good glimpse of where he was and his stomach did another dangerous flop.

He stood on a narrow sandy beach beside the river that coiled away, disappearing into the darkness. How far from the bridge and ledge was he? He shuddered, afraid to know. He looked upriver, trying to get an idea for where he was. There wasn’t a riverbank except the strip of beach he was on. The river had carved a tunnel through the rock, sheer cliffs on either side made going back the way he came impossible. He wasn’t about the try to risk walking in the river itself. Who knew what might be lurking beneath the surface? He edged toward the sloping walls, ducking under the ropey-glowing moss. It glowed brighter the closer he got, reflecting the light of the orb. He frowned, peering at the walls. Deep in his mind he felt a tug, faint, but persistent. He moved closer, lifting the orb, hoping to get a better glimpse. There was a jagged tear in the rock, a passage leading up and away from the river. He leaned against the edge of the entry letting another wave of dizzy pass. He needed to get out, to find the singer. He dared not guess what sort of creepy crawlies were in the passage.

The tug in his mind was insistent. He needed to go into the passage. He nodded. So far it hadn’t led him wrong. It guided him to where the Slayer had hidden Mayhren, it had guided them back to the surface before the fireball. He swallowed, aware of the tightness in his left cheek, the pain that he was getting used to. He glanced back towards the river and took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his sides, and stepped into the looming darkness.

It pressed against the orb light, closing around him, blocking off all view and any hope of escape. It felt alive in some way, a malevolent presence that wasn’t willing to let him leave. He forced one foot in front of the other, trying to think of anything other than the dark. His companions, his brother, they probably thought he’d died in the fall. He’d find a way back to the surface and back to Avaria. He’d get beyond the reach of this darkness and find a way to let them know he wasn’t dead.

The passage wound its way upward, in some spots he had to tuck the orb in his tunic and climb steep slopes. With each step the tug got stronger, a pressure in his head that was almost painful.

The passage ended at a stone carved doorway though the door itself had long since rotted away. Zindith stared, disbelief and awe blocking out the pain. How long had it stood silent in the dark, waiting for its masters to return? The tug pulsed, pain shot through his head. He gasped for breath, and edged closer to the doorway. He stepped through the doorway, wishing he had a weapon. Who knew what might be in this place? Stepping away from the door, the light of the orb illuminated an ages old walkway carved into the sides of immense cliffs. Guardrails once stood along the far edge, but most of those had long worn away. All that were left were posts that would have held the railings. Overhead he could see the orb’s light glinting off of what might have been metal chandeliers or some sort of lighting devices.

“Impossible.” He murmured, his voice bouncing off the walls. In the distance, to his left, a stone bridge spanned the chasm, the far end concealed in the blanket of darkness. The tug pulled him in that direction. Bemused and in awe he went where it led, noting the archways that dotted the sides of the chasm, and the passageway. Who had carved these ways? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The rahaun hadn’t lived underground. He didn’t recall any other legends that hinted that these passages existed. His heart pounded and the tug became a pounding at his temples. It stopped, as suddenly as it started, when he reached the bridge.

He stared up at the steps leading across the chasm, his heart loud in his ears. The steps led to a wide flat platform, then a walkway arched back downward to a second platform from which another set of stairs led, he hoped, to the other side. He couldn’t tell. The orb’s light cut off, unable to penetrate the wall of dark ahead of him.

He took another look around. The archways, with their passages gaping at him, gave him the shakes. He could almost imagine things just on the other side of the dark, watching him, waiting to strike when the orb flickered out. He shook it off, looked back at the stone bridge. He felt it, briefly. The tug, gently pulling him towards the bridge. He stepped onto the stone bridge, testing it. Who knew how long this had stood, alone, in the dark underground of the Shadowlands. It felt firm.

He  went up the steps, wishing there was a rail of some sort. When he reached the first platform he got a glimpse of the other side and smiled. Another passage, but it veered upward towards steps coiling towards the distant ceiling. His ticket out, perhaps? He hesitated, glancing back the way he’d come, listening. His own breathing was loud in the hush. No echos, no drips, no bodiless voices lamenting in a dead language. Silent. The caverns were holding their breath, the darkness waiting for a misstep. He shook himself. Too many knocks to the head.

Zindith wiped his hand on his breeches. He felt clammy, ill, and dizzy. He hurried across the wide arch toward the second platform. He felt the tremble through his boots, and swore. A cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chasm. He swore darting towards the platform as he felt the bridge beneath his feet crumbling. He jumped, landing on his stomach on the platform the air knocked from his lungs as the arch crumbled, clattering far below. He barely caught his breath, starting to pull himself up when the platform shuddered. He swore, the crack of shattering rock deafening. The platform dropped out from beneath him and he was falling again. He closed his eyes, there was no river below to save him. The fall halted and pain exploded across his jaw and nose as he hit the stone face first. Darkness wrapped around him.

 ~*~

 

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

For some reason I started thinking about this old Avaria story which disappeared on a lost hard drive years ago. I decided to try to re-write the intro (I don’t remember how much of it I had actually written) and I have to say, rough as it is, I like this version. Have some slightly raw words;

(quick note, this story will actually pick up right where the prior story, The Darkening Marsh, left off.)

~*~

Time was suspended. Somewhere in the distance something dripped. A slow and steady sound, something to listen to besides ones own heartbeat. Zindith drifted in and out of consciousness, on waves of pain reminding him he was still alive. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing harsh. Whispers echoed in the dark caverns, memories of voices long since silenced. He heard a groan, realized belatedly that it was his own. He opened his eyes, fighting to stay awake. Darkness closed in around him, and he noticed a faint glow nearby. He frowned and turned to look closer at the glow. Pain shot through his body, a throbbing burning settled along the left side of his face and torso.

Memories rushed at him, who he was and how he’d gotten there, he groaned again. Trapped between enemies, he’d acted, tackling the Slayer, knocking them both over the edge of the ravine. How far had he fallen? The Slayer vanished, opening a rift and sliding into another realm leaving him plummeting towards the river below.

Zindith remembered hitting the cold water, the shock of it sent waves of pain through him. Then nothing. He rolled over, gasping for breath and fighting a churning stomach. Sand, he was on sand. He pushed himself up, peering around. He didn’t remember anything beyond hitting the water. He was far underground, deep in the Labyrinth, but where? How long had he been in the river? He didn’t know. He glanced back at the glowing. Thin ropes of pale green glowing things hung from above. The light they provided was faint, almost useless.

He ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. Musty, moldy, with the faint metallic scent that permeated everything in the Shadowlands. He coughed and groaned. His sides hurt, bruised ribs? Cracked? He hoped nothing was broken. There were no healers in this place.

“Thank the gods for being half telaxian.” He murmured. His voice was loud in the cave, echoing and joining the faint whispers in the distance.

He closed his eyes fighting a wave of dizzy, and heard the singing. A woman’s voice, echoing through the tunnels, singing a song in a language he’d never heard. The tone was haunting, full of loss and deep longing. It tugged at him. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. He was tough. Like his brothers and sister. Like his father. A little fall wasn’t going to stop him. He gritted his teeth, his stomach doing dangerous flops. What little he’d eaten before needed to stay where it was. He had no rations, no idea of what was edible in this place. He couldn’t afford to lose his lunch. Then the song changed in pitch, lower, angry. He listened, focusing completely on it, willing his body to obey. Now was not the time to be ill. He wanted to find the singer. No, he needed to find her, though why he wasn’t sure.

He quickly took stock. His pack was gone, lost in the river no doubt. With it were the torches and the healing salve for his burns. His belt pouch, though soaked, was still firmly secured on his wide belt. He unfastened it and opened it, swearing.

He put his hand over the top and flipped it upside down, letting the water pour out. Everything in there, the herb packets, the small parchment for writing notes, all ruined. He let them drop the the sandy ground, keeping ahold of the small light orb his brother, Auron, had given him. He hoped it still worked. The glowing ropes didn’t provide enough light to see. He wiped it on his tunic, and tapped it as he’d been taught. It flared to life, sending rays of light dancing over the cave walls. He finally got a good glimpse of where he was and his stomach did another dangerous flop.

He stood on a narrow sandy beach beside the river that coiled away, disappearing into the darkness. How far from the bridge and ledge was he? He shuddered, afraid to know. He looked upriver, trying to get an idea for where he was. There wasn’t a riverbank except the strip of beach he was on. The river had carved a tunnel through the rock, sheer cliffs on either side made going back the way he came impossible. He wasn’t about the try to risk walking in the river itself. Who knew what might be lurking beneath the surface? He edged toward the sloping walls, ducking under the ropey-glowing moss. It glowed brighter the closer he got, reflecting the light of the orb. He frowned, peering at the walls. Deep in his mind he felt a tug, faint, but persistent. He moved closer, lifting the orb, hoping to get a better glimpse. There was a jagged tear in the rock, a passage leading up and away from the river. He leaned against the edge of the entry letting another wave of dizzy pass. He needed to get out, to find the singer. He dared not guess what sort of creepy crawlies were in the passage.

The tug in his mind was insistent. He needed to go into the passage. He nodded. So far it hadn’t led him wrong. It guided him to where the Slayer had hidden Mayhren, it had guided them back to the surface before the fireball. He swallowed, aware of the tightness in his left cheek, the pain that he was getting used to. He glanced back towards the river and took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his sides, and stepped into the looming darkness.

It pressed against the orb light, closing around him, blocking off all view and any hope of escape. It felt alive in some way, a malevolent presence that wasn’t willing to let him leave. He forced one foot in front of the other, trying to think of anything other than the dark. His companions, his brother, they probably thought he’d died in the fall. He’d find a way back to the surface and back to Avaria. He’d get beyond the reach of this darkness and find a way to let them know he wasn’t dead.

The passage wound its way upward, in some spots he had to tuck the orb in his tunic and climb steep slopes. With each step the tug got stronger, a pressure in his head that was almost painful.

The passage ended at a stone carved doorway though the door itself had long since rotted away. Zindith stared, disbelief and awe blocking out the pain. How long had it stood silent in the dark, waiting for its masters to return? The tug pulsed, pain shot through his head. He gasped for breath, and edged closer to the doorway. He stepped through the doorway, wishing he had a weapon. Who knew what might be in this place? Stepping away from the door, the light of the orb illuminated an ages old walkway carved into the sides of immense cliffs. Guardrails once stood along the far edge, but most of those had long worn away. All that were left were posts that would have held the railings. Overhead he could see the orb’s light glinting off of what might have been metal chandeliers or some sort of lighting devices.

“Impossible.” He murmured, his voice bouncing off the walls. In the distance, to his left, a stone bridge spanned the chasm, the far end concealed in the blanket of darkness. The tug pulled him in that direction. Bemused and in awe he went where it led, noting the archways that dotted the sides of the chasm, and the passageway. Who had carved these ways? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The rahaun hadn’t lived underground. He didn’t recall any other legends that hinted that these passages existed. His heart pounded and the tug became a pounding at his temples. It stopped, as suddenly as it started, when he reached the bridge.

He stared up at the steps leading across the chasm, his heart loud in his ears. The steps led to a wide flat platform, then a walkway arched back downward to a second platform from which another set of stairs led, he hoped, to the other side. He couldn’t tell. The orb’s light cut off, unable to penetrate the wall of dark ahead of him.

He took another look around. The archways, with their passages gaping at him, gave him the shakes. He could almost imagine things just on the other side of the dark, watching him, waiting to strike when the orb flickered out. He shook it off, looked back at the stone bridge. He felt it, briefly. The tug, gently pulling him towards the bridge. He stepped onto the stone bridge, testing it. Who knew how long this had stood, alone, in the dark underground of the Shadowlands. It felt firm.

He  went up the steps, wishing there was a rail of some sort. When he reached the first platform he got a glimpse of the other side and smiled. Another passage, but it veered upward towards steps coiling towards the distant ceiling. His ticket out, perhaps? He hesitated, glancing back the way he’d come, listening. His own breathing was loud in the hush. No echos, no drips, no bodiless voices lamenting in a dead language. Silent. The caverns were holding their breath, the darkness waiting for a misstep. He shook himself. Too many knocks to the head.

Zindith wiped his hand on his breeches. He felt clammy, ill, and dizzy. He hurried across the wide arch toward the second platform. He felt the tremble through his boots, and swore. A cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chasm. He swore darting towards the platform as he felt the bridge beneath his feet crumbling. He jumped, landing on his stomach on the platform the air knocked from his lungs as the arch crumbled, clattering far below. He barely caught his breath, starting to pull himself up when the platform shuddered. He swore, the crack of shattering rock deafening. The platform dropped out from beneath him and he was falling again. He closed his eyes, there was no river below to save him. The fall halted and pain exploded across his jaw and nose as he hit the stone face first. Darkness wrapped around him.

 ~*~

 

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

This is from….a project I really shouldn’t be working on.

~*~

 

The voices of the patrons of the One Winged Angel created a mildly comforting din as they cheered the pit fighters on. Velvet leaned against the bar watching, amused, as her customers yelled, laughed and cheered. She couldn’t see the fighters, but could tell by the cheers, who was dueling. A slim brunette, curls bouncing around her shoulders, wove her way through the crowd, a tray of empty dishes held overhead. She nodded at Velvet and glanced over her shoulder.

“They’re actually fighting rather well tonight.” She said as she slid the tray on the counter and turned around. “The bets are getting ridiculous!”

“Who’s winning?” Velvet leaned closer. She brushed a kiss against the brunette’s shoulder. Emm glanced at her with a grin.

“I couldn’t tell, they’re both fairly bloody.”

“Great, we’ll have patching up to do.” Vel chuckled.

“You’ll have patching up to do.” Emm laughed, moving around to the back of the counter. “I just work here.”

The door to the tavern opened, and Vel got a glimpse of swirling snow outside before the view was blocked by a tall figure. Her smile faded and she pushed herself upright watching the tall man and his two companions step into the taproom.

“Shut the gods be damned door, fool, unless you want to pay to heat this place!” Emm yelled.

The man looked her way and smirked. The door shut behind him, cutting off the howling wind. His companions looked at him in surprise. He’d not touched the door with his hand. He strode forward, aware that most eyes were on him. Pale hair, albino skin, and brilliant green eyes that laughed at her. Velvet shook her head. Trouble. Pure trouble.

“Kale, I’d be careful were I you, I’ve seen your tab here.” Emm pointed the cudgel she kept under the counter. “I’ll make you go wash my dishes!”

“You don’t want me to do that.” Kale said with a laugh, leaning against the counter. “Just ask the staff at the caves, I break more than I clean.”

“On purpose, I’d wager.” Vel snorted and glanced at the two silently following Kale and back at him with a frown.

“They were set to follow me.” He turned, gripped the shoulder of the nearest man, hauling him to the counter. “But I caught them, so I invited them along for a drink.” He smiled.

“Poor fools.” Emm said. She leaned towards the man at the counter. “You might just want to give up the commission, my friend. Really not worth it.”

“I figure they’ll be kind enough to pay my tab, after trying to chase me through this gods-forsaken city.” Kale looked down at the men and held out his hand. “Your purses, please, if you’ll be so kind.”

The men looked at each other and slowly reached for their belts.

“Nothing funny gentlemen,” Vel said softly. “Neither of you will walk out alive.”

They gulped and nodded, handing over some very heavy looking money pouches. Kale bounced them in his hand and nodded, glancing at them. “Go away.”

The men vanished.

“Where did you port them?” Emm asked, eyes wide.

“Creshna, near the Sable mountains.” Kale grinned.

“Evil.” Vel snickered. “What are you doing here, Kale? I thought the Goddess Avari frowned down on her pets consorting with us uncouth unbounds.”

“She does. Except when she’s given orders to hunt you out.” He rested elbows on the counter. “And I have specific instructions to ask you to kindly come for a visit to the caves.”

“What does she want?” Vel asked, heart pounding in her ears.

“Father has been asked to host a meeting of immortals, namely unbound, to discuss the current Slayer situation.” Kale leaned towards Vel. “Rumor has it you’d be the best one to ask about the Slayer.”

“Ooo an invitation from the Shaderunner.” Emm said leaning against Vel’s shoulder. “Sounds exciting.”

“A meeting?” Vel looked at her. “Sounding exciting?”

“The Staff of the Caves make the absolute best pastries and I know several back passages to get them.” Emm grinned impishly at her, then turned towards Kale. “When does his grumpyness want us there?”

“Us?” Vel eyed Emm.

“Grumpyness?” Kale snickered. “In two days. I’ll port you…”

“Kale, I’ve been porting since before your mother’s people were a clan. I think I can handle it.” Emm said. “Just tell us when we need to be there.”

Kale snorted. “One of these days Emm, I’m going to get you to tell me a tale or two. Loren say’s you’ve got a lot of them.”

She laughed. “Not today, Kale.”

Vel stewed, leaning against the counter. “Great. Just what I need to deal with.”

“Aww come on red, it’ll be fun.” Emm said. She kissed Vel’s cheek. “You’ve never seen funny until you’ve seen a startled centaur on marble.”

Kale snorted.

“I’d rather not have to deal with Shaderunner.” Vel said, voice low. The idea made her blood run cold. There were some beings in the world far too powerful for their own good.

“Why? Father’s not that bad, Vel, not really.” Kale looked confused.

“God-like powers, not that bad?” Vel snorted.

“Just hand him some ancient tome or book and he’ll be happy.” Kale winked. “Besides, I heard he likes redheads, kind of a weakness thing!” He vanished, leaving a money bag on the counter.

Vel stared at the bag and glanced at Emm. “I really didn’t want to hear that.”

 

###

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter

Still here

Nov. 30th, 2013 05:52 pm
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

I’m very close to hitting NaNo, despite some unexpected shit tossed my way this month. I’ll try to put it into words later, suffice to say this month didn’t go quite as planned. Anyways, would you like a dragon snip? Have I mentioned I lurvs my dragons? 😀

Just remember, this is NaNo rough. It needs a good scrubbing. I know this. Enjoy;

~*~

Miranda was preparing to return to their quarters, when a sound from the entry ledge caught her attention. Dmitri stood still, watching the tunnel, his hands clenching and un-clenching at his sides. Khal and Lita moved behind him. Three males stepped into the hall. The man in front was pale, broad shouldered in clothes that were worn and patched. His hair fell to his shoulders and looked tousled, unwashed. He wore a blade at his side, and he rested his hand on the hilt. They strode in silence, looking neither right nor left, stopping several lengths from Dmitri.

“I’ll be damned.” Someone whispered. The hunters gathered creating a loose circle around the newcomers.

“Brenon.” Dmitri inclined his head, his low voice carrying over the room. Muffled gasps filled the room. Miranda nibbled her lower lip. Should she go over or stand to the stay where she was? She glanced at Jor, but the other woman had her eyes locked on the Outlander and his people.

“Dmitri, its been a long time.” Brenon’s voice was deep, similar to Dmitri’s though his was rougher. He looked around, narrowing his eyes when he saw Miranda, then looked at Dmitri. “Lots of whispers about you in the Outlands. Lots of eyes on the Keep, wondering if you’ve got a chance in hell.”

“You’re not here to discus whispers and rumors, brother.” Dmitri said. “Why are you here?”

Brenon gave a bark of laughter. Some of the hunters shifted uneasily. Was this going to be a challenge? Miranda wanted to ask someone, but all eyes were on the two males. Brenon lifted a rolled scroll. “You have a working office. There are many eyes in here.”

“Say what you have to say here, Brenon.” Dmitri crossed his arms.

They regarded each other.

“You’ve caught the attention of the Thalsbren. Even the human nations are beginning to notice. Gaeno is old, weak, bitter about his lack of advancement with Lothos and Otto.” Brenon ran his hand over the scroll. “He’s approached me, so did Hesh and Rilo, and several others who have since fallen. You’ve made a dent, a huge one, in Lothos old crew.”

“Get to the point brother.” Dmitri snarled. His skin mottled, swirls of blue-grey just below the surface.

“The alliances are lining up, between you and Gaeno.”

“We know this!” Jor snapped. Dmitri held up a hand and Brenon nodded.

“We, the Outlanders, have held off giving any of you our support.” Brenon held up the scroll. “Gaeno wanted us to ally with him, until I gave him our terms.”

Dmitri said nothing.

“How many contenders have you fought, since you made your stake?”

Dmitri looked towards Jor who was frowning as she strode over.

“Nintey four.” She said.

“What are you, made of steel?” The male asked incredulously.

“I wish.” Dmitri gave a crooked grin. “It’d hurt less when I get hit.”

Brenon gave a bark of laughter and held out the scroll, unrolling it and walking over to the table. “The elders will call for a count, see whose support you’ve garnered, once at the contenders are down.” He set the scroll down and Miranda could see it was a detailed set of maps. Brenon pointed at Dmitri. “You need the Outlanders. Every other contender, and I’ve lost count, has come to me, begging me for my backing. Giving nothing and promising nothing in return.” He spat on the floor. “Every single one of those slithering worms hid from father and Otto. You haven’t come to me, and you’re the only one who had the gall to stand up to the old man.” Brenon pointed at an odd marking on the map. “Give us back Syrteca, and the Outlanders will back you.”

Someone gave a long low whistle.

“That’s a fools task.” Lita said.

“Syrteca was one of the first taken.” Dmitri didn’t look at the map, his eyes were locked on Brenon. “The queen has dug in deep.”

Brenon nodded. “Do it, brother, and we’re yours.”

Dmitri’s eyes narrowed. Miranda could see several others shaking their heads, even Brenon’s men didn’t look optimistic.

“Done.” Dmitri said finally. Whispers ran through the onlookers. Brenon nodded grinning slowly.

“If anyone can do it, you can.” Brenon stepped forward, arm out.

They gripped arms, and after a moment Brenon pulled Dmitri into a rough embrace, said something in his ear, turned and strode out, his fellows close behind him. The silence stretched, all eyes on Dmitri. He leaned over the map, hands on the table, staring at it.

“There is no way to dislodge a queen, Dmitri.” Lita said. “It’s a death wish.”

He made no response, moved one of the maps.

“Dmitri, how could you agree to that?” She pressed. He looked at her, the mottling was back. She stepped back.

“Malice, Lita, take a scouting trip around Syrteca. Keep low, and don’t be noticed.” He said after a long silence. He rolled the scrolls up and glanced around the room before leaving.

###

Have a great weekend!

 

You can find more dragon snips over here

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

Wrote this up last night by the light of an oil lamp. Seriously. Long story. First of all, this is pre-story to the Elemental Wars series. This takes place many many many years before any of the other snips (except this one) I’ve done, though a few of the characters who have shown up here are in this. I’ve done a quick edit, nothing major. I wrote part of this by hand then the rest on the computer. I LIKE this. I may continue, this is a complicated story and this situation is a huge part of what sets EVERYTHING in motion. I don’t know though, I have a lot on my mind and right now, Zander it my big priority. but yeah, have some dragons.

 

How it all began…

Lady Aunusha,

It is with deepest regret I inform you that Lothos refuses you entry to the hall. He states your missing seeress is not there. I do have my doubts to his sincerity. 

                                                                        Dmitri

 ~*~

Dmitri,
This is unacceptable, her pleas for help originate from his hall. Tell Lothos to return her or I will call on the Dragonmaster for assistance in this matter.

                                                                         Aunusha

~*~

 Lady Aunusha,
That is not possible. I’m sorry.

                                                                        Dmitri.

~*~

  Dmitri
You have a choice, give us access to the Hall, or face my wrath.

                                                                         Stilgar

~*~

 Your threats are unwarranted, Dragonmaster. But if you think you can find me, you’re welcome to try. Come into the Ice Ranges at your own risk. I will say this though, Lothos is going to be in Sian until mid-summer. The high ranges are particularly lovely this time of year.

                                                                         Dmitri

~*~

 These letters were found some years after Stilgar’s death, and are attributed to the events of raid on the Hall of *Ice Keep* in the year [year here].

~*~

 High Ranges. Some distance north of Ice Keep, year ????.

 The wind blew right through him, despite his thick hide. Greyson crouched lower to the rock, shifted his wings, and glanced towards his sire. Stilgar, the Dragonmaster, perched on a ridge, peering into the blinding snow. Beside him, his first and second advisors, Habcor and Fiore waited restlessly.

Stilgar’s head snapped to the side and he bellowed. Grey looked in the direction his sire was, but saw nothing. Nothing but swirling clouds, and wind-driven snow and ice. A strange bellow filled the air, an odd deeper tone than Grey had heard. Stilgar craned his neck around, looking back at them, rumbling out.

“This is it, follow me. Our guide is damn near impossible to see in this weather.”

“There’s someone up there?” Toura, on Grey’s right called.

Stilgar rumbled as another one of those odd bellows shattered the air. “Yes and he’s getting impatient. He’s risking his life, come on, lets go.”

Stilgar launched into the air, his advisors close behind him. Grey followed, he barely knew these others, He’d been included as an afterthought. His first mission, his first trip to the Ice Ranges. He was flanked by some of his father’s trusted hunters as they followed Stilgar who was following some elusive beast through the stormy clouds. Once, in a break in the clouds, he thought he saw the outline of a large gray-blue dragon, but more clouds swirled around them and he couldn’t see where the creature went. Stilgar veered downward, they followed, though Grey was hesitant. They were flying blind in the mountains. Following  a stranger, though Stilgar seemed to trust him. Ice Dragons weren’t trustworthy though. He could imagine being tricked into flying into the mountain sides. He tried to shake the thought off but it haunted him, even as they followed a weaving path through shadowy peaks, and narrow, high canyons.

Then they were landing in front of a narrow cave entrance. The large bulk of the gray ice dragon shifted to the shape of a pale, blond man in heavy blue leathers and matching robe. He watched them, expressionless. A deep purple bruise marred pale skin on the left side of his face.

Grey shifted, standing back as his sire and the advisors strode forward, each grasping the man’s arm in greeting.

“This is it?” Stilgar looked at the cave entrance doubtfully.

“Are you sure she’s in there?” Habcor asked.

“Are you sure anyone’s in there?” Fiore asked. She shivered, rubbing her upper arms in the brisk wind.

The ice dragon looked at her. “There’s always someone in there.” He stepped to one side. “I can’t go in there.”

“Afraid?” Toura sneered.

The ice dragon said nothing, just arched an eyebrow and looked at Stilgar.

“How far back is she?”

“There are a few cells, four, maybe five. I’ve only seen a couple. Been in one or two of them myself.” A shudder ran through him. “You need to hurry. I can’t be here when you get out, if they catch you, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Understood. Thank you, Dmitri.” Stilgar offered his arm and the ice dragon draped a heavy fur over his arm.

“She won’t have anything.” He stepped back again, turned, and launched, shifting faster than Grey had ever seen, his wings driving snow and gravel at them as he vanished again into the heavy, low clouds.

“That is one big dragon.” Someone muttered.

“Here, take this.” Stilgar handed Grey the fur. “When, and if, we find her, you get her back to the Oracle, understand?”

“Why me?” Grey asked before he could stop himself. His sire’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed.

“You met her at the gathering last summer, she knows who you are.” Habcor said.

Grey looked back and forth, and nodded, understanding at last. That’s why they chose him to come along. That’s why he was there, he swallowed. He followed them into the narrow cave, looking for the soft-spoken seeress who had vanished some months before.

 

###

🙂

DRAGONS!
You can find more dragon snips over here

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

Ok, was writing and this scene…totally unplanned, just exploded into my brain.

 

~*~

The floor was a checkerboard of marble, the pale white blocks looked like clouds, just hovering beneath their feet. As they passed over the darker marble Zander glanced down and froze, heart pounding in his ears. There were faint sparkles on a bed of inky black. Some of the squares had hazy, stretched out shapes. He crouched, staring down at one of the squares. The hazy shape, which reminded him of a shield, was made up of tiny pin-pricks of light that was spinning very slowly. He swallowed, slightly dizzy, trying to convince himself it was only in his mind. No one else seemed to notice, they continued down one of the hallways, talking about the scandals and intrigue that the Lords and Ladies of Tweng involved themselves in. He touched the black marble. Stone, cool to the touch. Nothing special, though he felt a tingle moving over his senses. Magic. Rahaun magic.

“They’re stars.” A quiet voice said behind him. He half turned, meeting eyes with a smiling rahaun woman.

“Stars?” He looked down at the marble. The spinning hazy thing glittered up at him. “How do you get them in the stone?”

“Magic.” She grinned and tapped her temple. “We all came from the stars, you know. Some of us, well we watch the nighttime sky to see where we came from. When we can we project what we’ve studied here, so we can study them anytime. That’s a Galaxy. A city of stars.”

“You…made these?” He looked back down.

“Not that one.” She pointed towards a hallway. “All the Starcatchers contribute. Mine are up that way, if you’d like to see.”

“How do you get stars in marble?” A million questions were biting at him. “I’ve never heard of starcatchers before.”

“There aren’t many anymore.” She shrugged.

“How do you get it into the marble?”

“We project it.” She squinted. “It’s a trade secret.”

“Of course.”

“Come on Zander! We’re on limited time here.”  Hayner bellowed.

“Coming!”  He turned back but the Starcatcher was gone. He frowned, turning around slowly. No sign of her.

###

 

Have a great weekend!

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

I wrote this up earlier and thought people might enjoy it.

~*~

“I’ve seen sarukai horses before, but that one, I’ve never seen his equal.” Bastien looked at Kiameh.

“Gryphan is from an old bloodline, the Talunian, used by the Emperors in the Citadel of Talun. They say they were infused with fae magic.” Kiameh smiled, an odd, calculating smile. “He is less a beast of burden and more a fellow Sarukai.”

“He’s one they call an ageless.” Touric added.

Zander looked at him. “Ageless?”

Touric took a deep breath. “When I was a child I watched them offload him from a cargo ship down in Byrnum. I was assured he was well into his third decade.”

“And how old are you now?” Bastien asked.

“Halfway through my second eon.” Touric looked at them and gave a crooked smile. “Like humes, rahaun and other races, there are those the gods give longevity. Form doesn’t seem to matter. Gryphan and other Ageless, have their own duties, though we’re not entirely sure what they are.”

 

As established earlier in the story;

Sarukai are elite warriors, guardians of the northern empire
Hume are human/othercreature hybrids that have developed over time. True humans don’t actually exist anymore.
Rahaun – race of beings who use ‘magic’/ powers that humes don’t usually have. Some have called them elves, though I don’t feel that’s a correct term.

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

Ok, I don’t have a full flash fiction, just a little snippage from a project so far down the road I don’t see myself writing on it for a few years at the least. But this snip is just… I dunno it calls to me :P .

~*~

She leaned against him, trying to catch her breath. One close call after another was taking its toll. She wanted to sleep, to make it all go away, to wake up in Citadel in her own bed. She fought tears and fear. His arm around her shoulder brought into sharp relief, he was holding her. She looked up at him, and felt it again, the shift between them. His body stilled though he didn’t look away. He reached up hesitantly, pushed her hair from her face. So tender it almost made her want to cry. He took a deep breath, dropped his arm and stepped back, turning and striding back towards the campfire.

Ivonova closed her eyes, fighting embarrassment and a bit of indignation. She followed him, trying to replay the moment.

“Why did you walk away from me?” She asked, quietly. He knelt beside his bags, fiddling for something. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No.” His voice sounded rough.

“Am I displeasing to you?” She whispered. His shoulders hunched, he half turned, looking at her with those over intense eyes. She stepped back.

“No. But I am your guardian. Appointed by the gods. Nothing more.” He turned back tucking something into his bag. “Never anything more.”

She knelt beside him resting her arm on his shoulder, feeling him tense. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to apologize Ivonova.”

“You must be lonely.” She stood, meeting his gaze. Startled, then guarded. She forced a smile. “Where do we go from here?”

 

~*~

Have a good day folks.

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter

Snippage

May. 21st, 2013 11:49 pm
necia_phoenix: (Default)

Originally published at Necia Phoenix. You can comment here or there.

On my way home from the grocery store I got hit with a scene that made me giggle. I thought I’d put it up here to share.

 

The door burst open and three men strode in. They all cut dashing figures, leather and steel. Swordsmen, all of them. Cassia sighed, recognizing the man in front.

“You aren’t welcome here Geoff.” Cassia said, pushing through the crowd.

“You’re going after the Arc, right?” He demanded, thumbs hooked through his sword belt.

“Well,”

“The arc belongs to my family and therefore it belongs to me. So we’re going to do things my way.” He lifted up the family crest amulet that hung around his neck. It was a griffin on a blue sea. Cassia swallowed, she hadn’t anticipated this.

“We’re going to do things your way, or no way I take it?”

Cassia, along with every eye in the tavern, turned toward the slim dark haired woman who walked, no sauntered towards Geoff. She touched Cassia’s arm winked and turned towards Geoff.

“Hello Lyr.” Geoff sounded like he might be strangling. “My way or no way. You need me to get past the Gates.”

“No,” Lyr was grinning up at him. “We need that.” She tapped the family crest. “You’re just the baggage.”

Geoff shook his head. “You’re not going to get this…”

“Oh really?” Lyr tipped her head to one side. “Pearthea.”

The one word had a huge effect on the swordsman. His shoulders sagged, the blood drained from his face and his eyes narrowed. Lyr just stood there, grinning at him, her hand out. He took off the crest and set it in her waiting hand.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” He asked, voice rough. She put the crest on, stood on her tip-toes and brush a lingering kiss on his lips.

“Nope.” She turned and grinned at Cassia. “Shall we go then?”

Cassia nodded, saluted Geoff, and followed Lyr through the chuckling crowd.

“What was this you were saying about being strong, Geoff.”

“Shut up.”

“But,”

“Just. Shut. Up.”

 

<<<>>>

 

:D  Have a great Tuesday!

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter

Profile

necia_phoenix: (Default)
necia_phoenix

May 2017

S M T W T F S
 12345 6
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 06:05 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios