Untitled Fantasy Chapter two

Continuation of Bryn's story. This time we slow down and get a glimpse of other characters.

Chapter Two

“Good Goddess!” Akiya exclaimed when Bryn arrived.
 
Akiya, Bryn and a few others had made a small base camp in the far north of the mountains. Two light brown tents that fit up to five people and one green tent that held eight dotted a mostly barren desert area. A few green bushes and trees surrounded the green tent. From the air, the tents would blend in.

Akiya tucked a stray locke of cotton candy colored hair behind one pointed ear and then stood there and wrung her caramel hands. “I told you this was a bad idea, Princess.” The laugh lines around her diamond like eyes turned into worry creases as she chewed her full lower lip.

Akiya was still the only one Bryn allowed to call her Princess.  To the rest she was simply Bryn.

“I know.” Bryn’s voice waivered as she dismounted.

Although Akiya had just a few years on Bryn, her voice came from an ancient world. “Come here and let me see you better.” She opened her arms in her silvery tunic and took a step forward in her black boots.

Bryn shuffled toward Akiya with her head lowered. I hate disappointing her.

The healer wrinkled her noise at the stench, but didn’t comment on it as she took Bryn’s left arm in her deft hands and looked at the wound. She sucked air through her teeth a few times and Bryn knew the damage was great. Akiya usually could keep comments to herself.

“That bad, huh?”

“Some of the worst you’ve had, Princess.”

“Fantastic.”

Akiya squinted at Bryn for a second before returning her attention to the wound.

Bryn shut up.

“I need you to wash up to really assess the damage.” She poked at the gaping toward her wrist, eliciting a strangled cry from Bryn.  Blood welled up again. “Off you go, Princess.”

Bryn covered her left forearm with her free hand and meandered along the path behind Akiya to the shallow stream behind the enormous granite boulder.

She passed Phelan with his wild buttercup yellow curls and one stormy gray eye (the other he lost in a fight and covered with a simple black patch) as he sharpened some arrows. His black tunic's seams threatened to burst when he moved from all his muscle. He didn’t glance up from his work, but grunted an acknowledgment.

Across from him – working on some kind of stew—the portly Quinlin sat in a blue tunic. Upon seeing Bryn, he rubbed his bald head, crinkled his jolly blue eyes into a smile, and waived.

Bryn waived back.

As Bryn walked away, Akiya tied up Thak next to her own blue Ombre colored horse named Thannos and ducked into the green tent.

Bryn tried to keep from leaving droplets as she reached the stream. She kneeled down at the edge of the water and gingerly put her arm in. The cool water felt surprisingly refreshing. Bryn grinned to herself and then noticed her face in the water. Black streaks and splatters crossed most of her pale face and ran down her arms. Her eyes looked back at her in a haunting stare. “No wonder Akiya looked worried.” Once the bleeding slowed, she stripped out of her sticky tunic and unzipped her boots. A fresh olive green tunic had been laid out for her. She set aside her weapons and glanced around. Coast clear.

Bryn slipped into the cool water that went to her waist and started washing up. Her body, though long and lean with ample breasts and small hips, was littered with battle scars. They crisscrossed her back, her stomach, her shoulders and her chest. In the two years since she’d been on the run, Bryn’s blemish free skin became the story of her journey.

She undid her braid and untangled her white lockes with her fingers the best she could after washing them.

Bryn took a moment to revel in the warmth of the sun and just to be alive.

A snapping noise startled Bryn and she turned to the shore.

She heard a muttered curse from a male voice and ducked into the water with just her head out. “Who’s there?” Bryn braved calling out. My weapons are on shore, dammit.

Fineas stepped out from behind the boulder with his dark cheeks somehow enflamed and his hands held up. “Uh, just me, Princess…I mean Bryn.” Fineas stood at 6’4 with hip length deep black hair he kept in a tight braid and tilted brown eyes that he lined with kohl like his Egyptian ancestors use to. A black tunic cinched at his small waist. “Uh, sorry.” He covered his eyes. Fineas was great with a broad sword or a plasma gun, a bow and arrow or an energy spell, great to keep your back in a fight, but not so great with the female species.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fin?”

“N-nothing.” He winced. “I mean-um.” Fineas paused.

“Well?”

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Akiya was worried you were taking too long, so she sent me.”

“Tell her I’ll be out in a moment,” Bryn yelled. “As soon as I get dressed.”

Fineas fell all over himself trying to back up and leave. “Yes, Princess… I mean Bryn!”

Bryn chuckled to herself and made her way to shore.

Untitled Fantasy

 Got inspired to write this from a one-line thing over in a writing forum I sometimes follow and it kinda exploded from there lol. I really like this and am ridiculously excited to figure this all out and keep writing it. I started with the opening line and just made it up as I went along (even the imaginary creatures) and it all just flowed. The only thing I paused to look up was her name because I was trying to think of a last name and was stuck. I still don't have it haha.  But this is the first chapter into a fantasy/sci-fi thing about a faerie princess named Bryn who is on the run, foul-mouthed, and full of fun sarcasm. There's  a little goreyness and cursing. Enjoy and CRITIQUE please even if it's just rough!


edit: 10/18/2012 8:41 pm Made a few changes. Added in to the scenery because someone who read it said I needed more setting. I fixed some of the descriptors for the creatures so they read less like a list (as this same person pointed out lol) and added a clarifying description to her horse Thak.

Chapter One

Being a real faerie princess is not what every little girl actually dreams of, Bryn
Ceallach thought as the crimson Kai demon attempted to suck the marrow from her right forearm. She raised her plasma 6-shooter and blasted it right between two of its four glowing lime eyes effectively covering her even more in the stench of the worst raw sewage and rotten eggs scent to ever exist. "Ugh!" Bryn used her free hand to wipe some of the black blood out of one of her lavender edged gold eyes and then had to immediately duck the pouncing attack of another Kai demon. That one got a blast to the back of its elongated oval skull as soon as it landed. The tail whipped back at her in a last death throe and the jagged scales cut across her cheek. "Fuck, even dead you all suck."

The two shots had echoed out in the clearing of the forest lit with summer sun. A gathering of Kipple birds took flight-- from dark olive Qualox trees-- with their tangerine and violet wings picking up a cool breeze.

A third Kai demon hissed from her right and she turned to aim her gun as it crouched on all fours for a moment with its razor-like knees and elbows tightening to launch. Long pointed ears twitched as it listened.

"I don't think so!" She clicked the trigger and nothing happened. "Shit!"

A reptilian grin gaped across its face exposing glistening fangs and its tail spasmed with excitement as it leapt toward her.

She reloaded faster than she ever had before and managed to get a shot off just as the Kai demon was upon her.

It exploded in a disgusting mess of blood, bone and tissues all over her.

She tried to sit up but the weight and stench held her down. "Mother fucker!" She pushed off the bigger chunks and stood up—dripping—and began scanning the wide clearing she had entered too hunt for any other demons. Kai demons loved to travel in packs Her once-grey tunic stuck to her skin in too many places as she moved slowly around with her gun ready to fire at anything that so much as looked wrong. Bryn panted from the fight, but her heart still pounded a crazy jungle beat full of adrenaline.

The area was silent, but nothing seemed eerie or ominous about that. She twirled around when she heard a rustling but it was just a stale breeze blowing over a red Gooza berry bush.

After perhaps 15 minutes her injured arm started to shake from holding up her gun. Nothing else seemed to be coming for her. She holstered her weapon and looked down at her forearm. She tore off what was left of her wrist guard--which apparently is no use to prevent Kai demon fangs from ripping up your flesh--and beneath the drying black blood she could see the shredded skin and muscle. "Akiya is going to have a field day figuring out how to fix that one." Bryn muttered to herself. Just add it to my list of other angry scars. Bryn tore the bottom of her tunic in a spot that had remained mostly 3-week expired milk smell free and wrapped her injury the best she could to prevent bleeding out on the walk. She didn't want people chuckling over her death for being stupid. Bryn thought that might be something crazy to think about. Maybe it's shock? The adrenaline finished seeping away though and brought sharp agony in its place.

Fantastic. She huffed, flicked her bloody white braid over her left shoulder, and picked up her black and silver bow that had gone flying in the attack. She slung it back into its proper place and walked back through the trees towards the fence as her thigh-high leather boots snapped twigs beneath her feet. She didn't care at the moment if she was making too much noise. She was pissed. Her quiver bounced on her back in a comforting rhythm, jostling the hand crafted arrows inside, and she finally slowed her pace. "Just out to hunt up some dinner, but noooo, I can't go Goddess damned anywhere." She snarled.

Sunlight sparkled through the Qualux trees which were so tall they looked like they kissed the sky and lit the path in cheer. 

Small Kipple birds called symphonies to each other from their long pointed beaks while fat Mikkels with big bushy tails, and large tufted ears raced to-and-fro across tree branches.

Summer blooms in a wide range of vibrant colors and shapes blurred past Bryn and she slowed down and tried to keep from stomping. It remained hard to be so annoyed in all the splendor of the forest.


She turned her face to the sun and basked a bit in the warmth that touched the cleaner parts of her skin. I need a bath, she caught a whiff of herself as a cool breeze tickled her ears, or maybe three.

A large branch breaking to her left caught her attention and she unholstered her gun and turned to look.

A Talik—a brown and white deer-like creature with velvety antlers-- stood there on four spindly legs with tiny hooves and stared at her with its impossibly large blue eyes. Its short snout wiggled as it stayed so still.

Bryn sighed with relief and changed out her plasma 6-shooter for her bow and arrow. The bow felt solid and like second nature in her calloused hands. She took aim and just as she went to release the arrow, she heard a piercing screech and suddenly a Kai demon dove on it. Bryn gasped and then quickly put her bow back as the Kai demon occupied itself with tearing the Talik's throat out. Blue blood splashed out onto the forest floor as Bryn stood still for a moment and sent a prayer to any Goddess listening. Then she sprinted the rest of the way through trees, not stopping until she reached the reinforced steel electric fence. The Qualux trees streamed past her and a few skinny branches snapped her face and snagged at her tunic, but she kept up the pace.

Bryn typed Akiya's code in the keypad of the gate with haste when she reached it, slipped through and closed the gate behind her. She let out a breath she hadn't noticed she held as she put her forehead to the cool steel. Shudders ran through her whole body as Bryn breathed deep and slow, trying to calm her heart.

As soon as her heart returned to normal, a thunderous wave of nausea hit her and she stooped over with her hands on her knees and retched until nothing was left.

Her forearm started to throb. "Yeah, yeah, I know you're there." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she turned away from the gate and made it to her horse, Thak.
He stood tied to a wrought iron light post in the open, but actually had been bespelled to be invisible to everyone but her.

Bryn put her hand on his golden zebra striped fur and whispered, "Visabla". He was now visible to all. Horses here were like most in the human world except they had fur instead of hair and came in many more exotic colors.

She mounted Thak's broad back and took the reins in her good hand. Bryn shouted, "Yah!" and he jumped into a break neck gallop.

RektAngel

This is a YA story about an innocent and bookish girl who falls for a moody bad boy and then is accused of killing him.


Prologue


I did not drown Aiden Kohl. I know no one believes me. His family told me so to my face during the trial. My best friend patted my head and made the zipper motion across her lips when I tried to tell the truth. “No need to lie, he deserved it.” Kelly smiled. I couldn't believe she actually said it.

Even so, they weren't there.

It was just him and me out on his parents’ sailboat at 4 am.

I huddled in his winter jacket and tried to stop my teeth from clacking. When I first put it on, he called me his snow princess. The thought made me smile.

Now he hung off the back of the sailboat, taunting me to come in. His dark green eyes were cruel as they bore into me. “Chicken shit,” he called me, among other things. One of his darker moods had set in.

Who the hell wanted to swim in the lake-- in February-- before sunrise? Aiden did. He always did things like that. So he laughed at me and let go.

I swear, when he let go, that’s the last time I saw him.

Sensual Frustrations

Poem I wrote about 10 years ago and just rediscovered. Enjoy!

Sensual Frustrations

I sometimes crave it like a drowning person craves air.
Tell me you want me and I’ll be bare.
Feed me here and temporarily fill me up inside.
I’ll take you for a spin, take you for a ride.
Torturing me with pleasure.
No normal scale can measure.
Something I have to admit.
I don’t want it, I just need it.
The passion burns inside me.
Longing to be let free.
The heat of it, the wet of it, the carnal passion of it.
I feel it all, every last bit.
Digging talons that strain to slice through your back.
They only show what you really don’t lack.
Guttural animalistic cries.
Shutters, shivers and dreamy sighs.
Pounding, slamming, grinding, slipping, sliding, skin-to-skin.
The tightening builds within.
I’m insatiable, I want more and more.
Keep up with me, make me sore.
Have me wake up and know what I’ve done.
What’s a little pain for all that fun?

Writing Quotes

A list of  25 writing quotes:

1. Time to load the guns, brew the ink and get to work, because I'm a writer and I'm done fucking around ~Chuck Wendig
2. Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else.-Gloria Steinem
3. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.― Stephen King
4. Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money.― Molière
5. I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. ― Anne Frank
6. If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.” ― Stephen King
7. The hard part about writing a novel is finishing it.― Ernest Hemingway
8. Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.― William Wordsworth
9. I am a story teller. If I wanted to send a message I would have written a sermon. ― Philip Pullman
10. ...life turns into: 'House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day.-Neil Gaiman
11. You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club. ― Jack London
12. I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions.― James A. Michener
13. Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.― E.L. Doctorow
14. So what? All writers are lunatics!― Cornelia Funke, Inkspell
15. The road to hell is paved with adverbs.― Stephen King, On Writing
16. Read, read, read. Read everything -- trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it...― William Faulkner
17. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all. ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
18. Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. ― Anton Chekhov
19. Fiction is the truth inside the lie. ― Stephen King
20. You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.― Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing
21. No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.― Robert Fros
22. You fail only if you stop writing. -Ray Bradbury
23. There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. Ernest Hemingway
24. Easy reading is damn hard writing. -Nathaniel Hawthorne
25. "Books are not made for furniture, but there is nothing else that so beautifully furnishes a house." ~Henry Ward Beecher 

Cym

I now have a plot and more written to my still untitled fantasy I started Sunday.

Quick plot: Sarcastic bad-ass Cym Aerwyna is a bounty-hunter witch who willingly agrees to find a man named Alex Baruch who is the key to locating the fountain of youth for a blood-thirsty treasure hunter named Edgar Kakios.

 I edited this a little and added more... ENJOY!

CHAPTER ONE

Moonlight spilled out over the sleepy village as if from an overturned paint can. It poured across chipped cobblestone alleys and cracked winding asphalt streets. Windows glittered with splashed up light and brush strokes of luminescent gray covered the concrete walls of squat identical houses and taller buildings as some of them sagged and crumbled. Errant droplets dotted the rooftops made of terracotta--many missing shingles-- in silver efflorescence. The moonlight painted on an ethereal glow to the very few cars that lined the streets and the bicycles sat tied against many racks and poles. Between the racks stood scraggly trees with most of their leaves gone.

Stars blanketed the cloudless inky sky. One could make out most of the constellations without a telescope.

The air sat still in the hushed darkness but sent a chill over everything just the same. It smelled of fresh rain and melted snow. 

Bushes housed the various glowing eyes of night creatures as they foraged and the day creatures huddled up to conserve warmth. A group of crows took flight as something disturbed their slumber.

Cym Aerwyna sprinted through a side alley as her fire-engine red hair whipped behind her away from her pink tinged pale face. Adrenaline spread through her veins and her heart kept time with her feet but did not race. Her breath slid in and out of her rose colored lips with measured swiftness and plumed smoke into the cold. Cym's bright blue eyes flitted around in high alert taking in every nuance of her surroundings in rapid succession as she moved. They noted every vehicle and every alley, searching for places one could hide. A black boned bodice cinched at her small waist and touched the top of a pair of black denim shorts. Thigh-high charcoal boots with silver buckles down the sides expertly guided her in silence. The long silver chain that carried the little globe of light and protection on a Celtic cross felt cold tucked inside against the upper part of her flat stomach Two daggers in wrist sheaths, two more at her hips and a 9mm Beretta in a side holster gave Cym a heavy sense of calm and security. Billowing behind her-- and used for covering her weaponry-- was a black trench coat which hid pouches of powders and various stones for spells. Cym kept prepared.

CHAPTER TWO

     Cym was not being chased, but rather was the pursuer. As a bounty-hunter, she got paid to hunt all manner of creatures: goblins, werewolves, faeries, trolls, other witches and warlocks and half-breed mongrels. Vampires were beyond the scope of her talents and many of them were her contacts. A half-breed goblin was on the books tonight. Easy and quick.

She leaped over a fallen trash can, vaulted off the side of a house, and up onto the roof with graceful dexterity. Dust rained down in her wake, but her ascent made no noise. Cym bounded across this roof and jumped over the open space to the next one. In the space of five minutes, she made it across three more roofs and was about to hop over to the fourth when she spotted her quarry down behind a large trash can. Idiot.

The man with a blond braid and eerie green eyes let out a strangled cry when she landed behind him with her Beretta against the nape of his neck.

“Shut up and hold still.” Her voice sounded very authoritative even with the musical lilt.

The man froze in place and even stilled his breath. Goblin half-breeds were good at holding their breath.

She stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and her right arm straight as she held the gun still. Her left arm hung loose at her side, but itching in preparation to grab a pouch or stone as needed. “Get up slowly and drop any weapons that won’t blow us all to hell.” Cym’s ex-partner Garret Wolf taught her she needed to add that second part of the line when he got his left arm and left foot blown off. Goblins didn’t always care if they died and half-breeds were too stupid to think ahead.

The half-breed dropped three daggers and a small intricately decorated poison dart blower he pulled out of various places in his black tunic and slim ebony pants.

“Packing light?” She shoved the gun deeper into the back of his neck until the half-breed winced.

He huffed and pulled out another blade from his hair that was so thin anyone else would have to squint to see it, a bag of stones that clinked when he set it down, and a garrote from one of his shiny onyx boots.

“That’s better.” She smirked to herself. Cym would rather bring in her quarry alive and get paid the full bounty than kill them and only get half. She would also much prefer to live mostly scar free.

Cym put her right knee into the center of his back and pushed him to the floor. She put all her weight on him. For such a small person, she had a solid build. “Hold still.” She rapped him on the back of his head with the butt of her gun and he went out. She knew he wouldn’t be unconscious long because goblins brains recovered quickly, so she quickly cuffed him with regular metal cuffs. She pulled out a red velvet pouch and reached in to grab some of the powder inside to sprinkle over the cuffs. “Bind him tight to prevent his flight and let only me set him free. So mote it be.” She whispered as she let the powder fall. She stood up as the half-breed moaned. “Done.” She said as she tapped an invisible spot on her collar. She put away the pouch and stood.

Three minutes later a stealth helicopter whirred overhead and sent down a giant claw on a bendable metal arm that picked up the half-breed and whisked him up inside.

Cym laughed to herself as the helicopter sped away. Those things always made her think of claw games.

“Report back to HQ at 0800 to receive payment.” The voice in her ear spoke in a computer animated woman’s voice. There wasn’t really a “HQ” it was just a code used to fool anyone listening. Sometime in the night a mechanical crow would land on her windowsill with a scroll in its beak with the meeting place. If it found her not home, it would hide the tiny scroll somewhere on her property before flying away. It had plenty of hiding places in her sprawling acreage. Cym had never met her handler. This person just assigned her tasks through scroll or encrypted transmission and although she could refuse jobs, as long as the money was right, she usually didn’t.

Tonight Cym felt restless. Her body and mind ached for something more. More what? Cym didn’t know. She turned to the wall behind her and fished out a white stone from one of her pockets and used it to draw a rough sketch of a door. She put the stone back and then put her left hand to the center of the door. A mumbled incantation in an ancient language fell from her lips. The edges of the door released a blinding light and then dimmed as she pushed it in. Cym stepped from the sleepy village night into the daylight of the faerie black market.

Untitled story

I got inspired by starting to read the next book in a series I'm reading and just had to stop reading and start writing!  Just a quick scene, no idea where this is going haha.


Scene one:

Moonlight spilled out over the sleepy village as if from an overturned paint can. It poured across chipped cobblestone alleys and cracked winding asphalt streets. Windows glittered with splashed up light and brush strokes of luminescent gray covered the concrete walls of squat identical houses and taller buildings as some of them sagged and crumbled. Errant droplets dotted the rooftops made of terracotta--many missing shingles-- in silver efflorescence. The moonlight painted on an ethereal glow to the very few cars that lined the streets and  the bicycles sat tied against many racks and poles between scraggly trees with most of their leaves gone.

The air sat still in the hushed darkness but sent a chill over everything just the same. It smelled of fresh rain and melted snow.

Bushes housed the various glowing eyes of night creatures as they foraged and the day creatures huddled up to conserve warmth. A group of birds took flight as something disturbed their slumber.

Cym Aerwyna sprinted through a side alley as her fire-engine red hair whipped behind her away from her pink tinged pale skin. Her breath slid in and out of her rose colored lips with measured swiftness and plumed smoke into the cold. Cym’s bright blue eyes flitted around in high alert taking in every nuance of her surroundings in rapid succession as she moved. A black boned bodice cinched at her small waist and touched the top of a pair of black denim shorts. The long silver chain that carried the little globe of light and protection on a celtic cross felt cold tucked inside against the upper part of her flat stomach. Thigh-high charcoal boots with silver buckles down the sides expertly guided her in silence. Two daggers in wrist sheaths, two more at her hips and a 9mm beretta in a side holster gave Cym a heavy sense of calm and security. Billowing behind her and covering her weaponry was a black trench coat. It also hid pouches of powders and various stones for spells. Cym kept prepared.