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.” 

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

Inspiration or Obligation?

I think I can safely say that, for most of us writers, we feel guilty when we aren't putting our ideas on paper (real or metaphorical). The moment you declare yourself a writer there's this urge to prove that yes, you can write a novel, thank you very much. And no, it's not going to take you thirty years to whip out a draft.

Some people write every day and they can crank out the beginnings of a masterpiece in a month. Their imaginations are a freaking machine. These are the people we're jealous of. Or would be if we let ourselves feel such envious things--or if we weren't already those sorts. (No need to be modest, machines! It's a good type of envy.) 


Others of us have the ideas, but don't have the inspiration. Or we've got the inspiration, but not the ideas. There's always something. But, no matter which way, we take a day off from the MS, perhaps even two or three, until the guilt eats through your insides.

And then comes the sitting in front of blank word documents, struggling to get out whatever we can. Waiting and hoping for the day when our machine moment will come.

Now that I've been working on a different story, I've had less of those obligation days and more inspiration days. I can't say I'm anywhere near being the mental wonder of certain writers, but it's definitely an improvement.

So, what kind of writer are you? Mental machine? Guilt-tripper? Or perhaps somewhere in between?

Also, is anyone else joining the Rule of Three blogfest? It looks like it's going to be fun~ Some of you machines out there could do this in three minutes. :P

Freaky Friday the 13th Blogfest

So, I was convinced to embarrass myself by Jessica for Kat Brauer's Freaky Friday Blogfest. You post 500 words of something old and then we get critiqued on it. I'm all for making fun of my really old writing! I've decided to make you all suffer a little--hope you like exercising your critiquing self?

A small disclaimer so I don't completely ruin my reputation (what? I've got a reputation? When did that happen?!) I wrote this when I was like... 14. Before I knew how to truly write. So, here we are. If you get confused, I don't blame you in the least.

Commence the bad writing!

Indrya walked down the marble halls until she reached her husband. "Why are you here?" she asked

"Its Chandelle. She won`t come out"

"Zedekiah, you`re supposed to get her out, not ask her if she wants to come out"

"But-"

"Chandelle, come out of there! We have to address the kingdom!"

"Of what news?" a voice whispered from behind the door.

"Of the war that is flooding into Donrolet" Zedekiah said

"Why can`t you go without me?" the voice asked

Zedekiah leaned clsoer to Indrya "Go get the girls" he whispered

"They won`t help you guys!" the voice said

"What?"

"NOTHING IS GOING TO GET ME TO GO!"

"I`ve got the girls Zedekiah"

"SEND `EM IN!" he called joyfully.

A pale girl that stood almost as tall as Indrya asked "Uhh, Uncle Zede, how are we to get in?"

"Well Jenolya, I suppose you, Nadyla and Don would just walk in there and convince her to come out" Nadyla giggled sweetly as he said this. Jenolya had trouble holding in her smirk. Even their Aunt Indrya was chuckling a little. "What?" he called

"Honey, have you forgotten our daughters abilities?"

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

"If you look down you might find out something new"

Zedekiah looked down and gave a small yelp. "What? She can make us float now?"

"I like to call it Levitation father"

"Ah, well might you be able to let us down? I`m afraid I don`t like heights as much as others"

"Not until I may stay father!"

"Chandelle, will you please come out?" Nadyla called, her voice layered in kindness. There was a scrambling noise behind the door.

"Now look what you`ve done!" Jenolya cried

"I didn`t do anything! I just asked her a friendly question!"

"Eh, SHOVE IT WILL YA?"

"JENOLYA! NADYLA! STOP FIGHTING!" Don called from somewhere behind the two.

"CHANDELLE! LET US DOWN WILL YA?" Jenolya called

"As you wish" a small voice murmured "Will ya look at that?! She listEENNNNNNS-!" all 5 of them felt the wind rushing past their ears. The marble floor seemed to look like it was rushing up to them. Nadyla screamed just before everything stopped.

"Chandelle! Thats an evil trick to play! Nadyla is crying" Indrya called, putting a comforting arm around Nadyla`s shoulders.
"Bu-"

"Come out this instant!" The big black door slowly creaked open.

"Where is she?" Don asked

"Is she in shadow again?"

"I assume so"

"Can`t we make her come out?"

"A shadow is better than nothing"

"Fine, lets go"

"Come along Chandelle!"

Jenolya, Nadyla and Don stayed rooted to the spot until they heard the hiccup of someone crying. "Chandelle?" Nadyla called. The noise stopped somewhere to their left. Don and Jenolya glanced at one another and nodded. Don nudged Nadyla then made a gesture with her head.

Nadyla nodded then called out "Chandelle, are you crying?" Jenolya and Don slowly creeped towards a shadow.

"Please say something!"

Just as they were about to grab her, she yelled "SHUTAE NO HANDE SEIN!" There was a blast and they were thrown against a wall.

I even forgot periods! Oh the shame.  At least I can say I've improved?

Critique away friends! Let's see how many horrible things you can catch. (Bet it'll be in the double digits!)

Belated Just Kiss Already Blogfest

Eek! I was supposed to post this Monday but.... as we can all tell that didn't happen. So, here is my 2-day late blogfest post! Figured it's better to have it late than never. It just feels wrong signing up for something and not ever doing it. So, yeah. Hope you all enjoy it. If you haven't already, be sure to check out the other posts.

This is from the old plot. 

        I stepped up behind Emelie as she slid the key from her skirt pockets. The vanilla and cherry scent of her hair tickled my nose. I couldn’t get enough of it. She jammed the key into the knob, twisting it roughly. “Are you sure this is the right key? It won’t budge.”

        “Here,” I said, leaning into her body for a blissful moment. I wrapped my hand around hers and shoved the key in further with a rough twist of my wrist. The door eased open with a creak.

        Emelie turned, eyes looking deep into mine. There was just enough light to see splashes of green within the blue. My heart rammed into my chest, aching. Heat curled in the pit of my stomach, my hands going sweaty. I wanted her so much. She licked her lips and swallowed. “Thanks.” Her voice was quiet and satiny.

        “You’re welcome.” I licked my lips and leaned in. Why did she have to be so beautiful?

         She pressed into me as her eyes flicked down to my mouth. I stopped breathing. She wanted me, too. “We… should head in.”

        “Yeah,” I breathed. Gods, I couldn’t hold it in. I closed the distance and swept my lips across hers. Her chest hitched with a gasp, but her lips molded against mine, her body melting into my hold. I tingled, relishing in the heat of her body, the feel of her lips—her hands, everything.  My fingers inched under her shirt as our tongues slid against each other, her skin smooth as lily petals.

         “Axel.” She pulled away breath heavy, her lips a strawberry red. “I—Lukas.” Her brows scrunched together.

        My body went cold. “Right… sorry.” I swallowed, moved away and shook my head. “I shouldn’t have. It won’t happen again.”

        She nodded and straightened out her clothing. “No, it won’t.” Emelie disappeared into the room.

        Stupid fucking Lukas.

On another note, the crusades are taking off like crazy. Eek. Looks like my self-imposed internet ban (was supposed to keep distractions away so I could plot faster.... which hasn't happened) is now over. I've got a lot of stuff to read now! And to my crusading group, hello! 

How's everyone been? Busy? Bored? Going crazy? Needing to go out and get crazy?  I wanna hear. :)