Rule of Three Blogfest: Part Two

This time I'm running truly late, but alas, life sometimes just makes what you want to do impossible. Hopefully I will be able to make rounds and comment on everyone else's posts soon! I hate not being able to see all your creativity out there! This time I chose the prompt where one of the characters is revealed to not be who they seem to be. If you missed it, check out the first part here. Enjoy!

               The clank and tinks of metal against metal blended with the pounding marches of one hundred caramel and chocolate colored feet. Dubhan moved with his men as their commander and their equal. The sun was on the horizon, painting the sky with the red of spilled blood and gold like the sands of their home. Of his daughter’s proper home.

            Having the crown princess disappear for thirteen years was completely unacceptable. Who would have thought she would be hidden in the worthless trading town of Renaissance? He certainly hadn’t. It was a spy that had been the one to inform him of the Schiav orphan the town currently housed.

            And now they would pay.

            His general clapped a large hand over his shoulder with a gentle grimace. A cut to the face had rendered him incapable of smiling three years ago.  “We will find her, my friend.” His weathered eyes smiled when his mouth could not. “He would not lie about such a precious thing.”

            Dubhan grasped his comrade’s hand and nodded, pausing in his steps to look down on the glittering town. These people—if they could even be called that—would regret tearing his family apart. His wife had never been the same after the princess had disappeared. He didn’t care how many houses he would ransack, how many fathers, sons and brothers he would kill. He and his men were going to find his precious Moirana.

            “You are sure we can trust this boy, Yoran?” A black gaze met his. “We have already damaged much in our searches.” Hundreds of towns and cities bordering the desert. They had checked every single one and had left the wreckage for the citizens to clean up.

            “We can trust him.” Yoran removed his hand to readjust the scabbier on his hip. “He will lead her to us. And keep her safe.”

            Safe? “You think they will harm her when we attack?” Blood surged through his body, racing like a sandstorm. If they dared lay a finger on her, no—if they even looked at her wrong he would gouge out their eyes before he snapped off their fingers. That was if he was feeling nice.

            “Calm, my king,” his friend said. He urged him to continue walking, and the rest of his army followed. Nothing like being persecuted could bind a group of people with the strings of eternity. “She will be safe. There isn’t any use in getting angry over things that won’t happen.”

            A sigh slipped from his lips. Dubhan stopped once again, this time turning to his men and holding his arms out. Their dull chatter halted. “This is our last town before we give up the search for our beloved princess.” The faces of the men fell. “But we will make it worth it. We will feast on their livestock, drink their beer and deface their homes if she is not there. We are Schiav! No one steals from us! And we will give them an example as to why.”

            The men cheered; raising swords, spears and anything else they could use to inflict fear and pain. “Go! Prove to those worthless men how fearful we truly are!”

            The sea of bodies parted just enough to go around him and Yoran, reconvening together in a mass of people trampling down the hillside. The sight warmed his soul like the sun.

            He and Yoran followed in their wake. “What is this man’s name again?”

            “Alexi,” he said. His voice remained calm despite their sprinting. “The spy’s name is Alexi.” 

In Which I Shamelessly Copy

Or Happy Birthday to my bestest friend in the entire world! (AKA Jessie)

In which I'm sure you'll read (at least at first) with a:

Not quite your disbelieving look, but it was the closest I could find. Forgive my lack of gif finding genius.

I could list on and on as to why you're basically the best other half that a person could ever have. I'm sure you know most of them, but I don't think it hurts to say a few, right?

1. You're one of the most passionate people I've ever met when you get going on a topic that makes you tick--in a good or bad way. You're opinionated and if you have a point to make you don't rest until it's been made.  And clearly.

2. You're cerebral in ways I can't compete with at the moment (perhaps when I graduate from university? We'll see.) And even though you could lord it over people, and I'm sure you've had moments where you want to, you don't.

3. You could put a Hufflepuff to shame with your loyalty, make a Slytherin gape at your cunning and bring a Gryffindor to tears with your bravery. (Though I'm positive you're a Ravenclaw in all the best ways.)

I could go on for quite awhile, but I think you'd rather keep it to a minimum. No matter what happens, I love you as my best friend, as the sister I've never had and always wanted and as the cousin I wouldn't want to live without. I hope our relationship continues to grow in all the best ways, and I hope I'll get to celebrate many more birthdays as well as a few book deals. :D

So Happy Birthday! Make it a good one and just relax. You deserve it. 

See, even Ron agrees.

Let's continue working on forever. :)

Rule of Three Blogfest, Part 1:

So, it's a bit late (sorry! I'm a slave to the school T_T) but here it is. This is my attempt at the "impending doom" prompt. Let me know how I did? Also, I wrote this thinking it was a bit more in the past--which you can probably tell but I wanted to say it out for sure! 

Moira gazed to the brilliant pink and orange sky, swinging a pale of water in her hand. A merchant eyed her as he passed in his caravan, face pinched and knuckles white from gripping the reins too hard. Of course. She turned to him and forced the corners of her mouth up into the semblance of a smile. He swallowed and slapped the reins against the horses’ rears.

                The travelers that came through Renaissance were unused to seeing her kind in the trading outpost. After thirteen years of experiencing the looks and distrust, she should’ve been used to it. Even by the towns’ people. It wasn’t like she had gained any of the habits of the Schiav, a tribe of gypsies, murderers, and thieves that lived in the Schiavona Desert. She’d been lost at the tender age of three when her brother found her.

                She slipped into her house, the first one on the Villein trade route. It was a modest little thing with a smaller room on the edge of the lot that they loaned out to travelers when the main inn was too full. Beef and potatoes tickled her nose, the sound of carrots being chopped caressed her ears. Mm. Her mother’s stew.

                “You wouldn’t believe how long it took them to give me the water, Mom,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen and let the bucket thud onto the counter. “Twenty minutes. Twenty.”

                “I’m sure the boys just wanted to flirt with you.” Her mother smiled and tucked a lock of Moira’s black hair behind her ear. “You’re growing to be such a beautiful woman.”

                A snort came from the doorway. “More like they wanted to be idiots and just ignore the fact that she’s a girl and concentrate on her skin color,” her brother, Sully, muttered and swept to the cupboards for a mug. Probably grabbing a beer.

                “Sullivan.” Her mother gave him a disapproving look—whether for the comment or the drinking Moira wasn’t quite sure. She’d never been fond of it, though she didn’t know why. “There’s nothing different with her skin, why do you always say things like that?”

                Moira shook her head and kissed her mother’s cheek. She thought that ignoring the difference and pretending it didn’t exist was the best way to deal with it. “Will dinner be ready soon?”

                “Yes. We’ve just got to let the carrots soften up and then we’ll be done.” Her mother smiled and wiped her wrinkling hands against her apron.  “Will you cut some bread for us?”

                “Of course.”

                Once her mother had danced out of the room, Sully snuck to get himself a lager and left her to deal with the rest of dinner. She sighed. Moira rummaged for an adequate knife and was about to start when there was a pounding on the door. She listened for her mother before striding to it and opening it.

                Alexi—the mayor’s son, and her best friend—panted against the doorframe. “Moira…”

                Worry clawed at her stomach. “Why are you so out of sorts?” Someone as fit as him shouldn’t be so out of breath. The town wasn’t that big.

                “The Schiav are coming—”

                Her eyebrows furrowed. “Wh—?”

       “—They say we’ve stolen their princess.”

Now to read all the other posts! I'm really excited to see how many stories there are out there. :D