The flat cedar box didn't look all that special. Yes, the wood was polished to a glassy finish that made the grain seem almost three dimensional in appearance, but there was nothing else about it that made it stand out. No markings, no ornamental designs carved upon it's lid. The fact was that if the young ranger had not specifically been looking for it, it's location among the many trinkets in the pile of junk would have hidden it from his eyes. He knew what he was seeking. Doubtless many others who came before him had overlooked it, a heavy layer of timeless dust covering the gloss of it's lid.
His hands trembled slightly as he slowly opened the cover. This surprised him. How many times had he sighted an enemy with an arrow knocked to his longbow with a granite-like steadiness, while the target sat unaware of him? How many times had he sized up an enemy in one to one combat, his dual blades flashing in the sun without a single measure of tension or anxiety in the pit of his stomach? Even the war-hardened he had encountered in his young life told of the uneasiness they felt heading into battle. This was foreign to him. Yet here he was, opening the small case with fingers that looked like the movement a small insect might make when a spider stuck it and filled it with it's poisonous venom.
The ranger's eyes widened as the lid opened full and he took in the sight of the long lost Dagger of Peril, the skilled dwarven craftsmanship evident in it's keen silvery blade. The hilt was wrapped in a dark leather binding, from the ball shaped bell guard to the simple crossguard that protected the user's hand. Slowly he reached to take it from it's case, but before he could touch the weapon, an unbearable pain struck his hand and he pulled it away. He should have known better. Weapons such as these were only made to be handled by the single owner they were bound to and he was not that person. Before reclosing the lid, he shook his hand to relieve some of the pain. He would bring the dagger back to it's rightful owner as he had been instructed.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Trapped
Racing swiftly through the woods, the young elf began to panic. He had been frantically running for nearly two hours from the pack of Boghounds sent after him by the goblin hunting party. Although he was no seer, it did not take him to be one to know his future were he caught. They would rip him to shreds.
It had started with a faraway baying that came to his ears as he sat near the campfire he had just built, intending to rest for the night before continuing east in the morning. At first he thought nothing of it, focusing instead on filling his empty stomach with a watery broth he had made for his dinner. But as the noise from the pack got louder, he began to pay more attention to it. Within the half hour the sounds from the pack had become much more audible, and it became very apparent that they were heading straight in his direction. Without hesitation, the elf grabbed his few belongings and began to run.
Just yesterday he had come across the goblin camp and had counted fourteen of them milling around, speaking to each other in their native tongue. To the elf it sounded like someone with marbles in their mouth trying to swallow a frog. He had snuck away before they had noticed him. Or so he thought. Had he known that these goblins would be joined by others in the company of Boghounds, he might have taken better care of trying to conceal any scent of his passing. Goblins were known to have these canine beasts as companions and he should have been more cautious. Too late to do anything about it now though.
Tiring as he ran, his feet found the roots of the giant oak trees hidden under the light dusting of sparkling snow. It was like old gnarled hands were reaching up grasping for his ankles and tripping him. Steadily he had lost ground to the snarling beasts that pursued him. He grasped the small dagger at his waist, pulling it from it's sheath as the sound of heavy paws hitting the soft snow behind him had come to his ears. The first of the pack was upon him and he could almost feel the heat of the hound's breath upon his back.
WHOOSH!
The sound filled the air as the elf was whisked high off the ground into the clutches of a net that had been hidden in the snow. Captured by the trap he found himself swinging helplessly, his arms pinned at his sides, the dagger falling from his hand from the force at which he was lifted. To make matters worse the first Boghound was now leaping upwards, it's snapping teeth missing his backside by mere inches. Soon it was joined by another and another.
It had started with a faraway baying that came to his ears as he sat near the campfire he had just built, intending to rest for the night before continuing east in the morning. At first he thought nothing of it, focusing instead on filling his empty stomach with a watery broth he had made for his dinner. But as the noise from the pack got louder, he began to pay more attention to it. Within the half hour the sounds from the pack had become much more audible, and it became very apparent that they were heading straight in his direction. Without hesitation, the elf grabbed his few belongings and began to run.
Just yesterday he had come across the goblin camp and had counted fourteen of them milling around, speaking to each other in their native tongue. To the elf it sounded like someone with marbles in their mouth trying to swallow a frog. He had snuck away before they had noticed him. Or so he thought. Had he known that these goblins would be joined by others in the company of Boghounds, he might have taken better care of trying to conceal any scent of his passing. Goblins were known to have these canine beasts as companions and he should have been more cautious. Too late to do anything about it now though.
Tiring as he ran, his feet found the roots of the giant oak trees hidden under the light dusting of sparkling snow. It was like old gnarled hands were reaching up grasping for his ankles and tripping him. Steadily he had lost ground to the snarling beasts that pursued him. He grasped the small dagger at his waist, pulling it from it's sheath as the sound of heavy paws hitting the soft snow behind him had come to his ears. The first of the pack was upon him and he could almost feel the heat of the hound's breath upon his back.
WHOOSH!
The sound filled the air as the elf was whisked high off the ground into the clutches of a net that had been hidden in the snow. Captured by the trap he found himself swinging helplessly, his arms pinned at his sides, the dagger falling from his hand from the force at which he was lifted. To make matters worse the first Boghound was now leaping upwards, it's snapping teeth missing his backside by mere inches. Soon it was joined by another and another.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The Cross of Magic
The clippity-clop, clip-clop of the battlehorse's hooves reverberated through the castle's lower bailey in a slow rhythm. The warm exhale from it's nostrils hitting the cold moist air brought to mind a dragon breathing smoke. Littered throughout the entryway were the bodies of both the kingdom's knights and the various demons they had fought, all lying still in death. Pikes and longswords, stained with blood lie next to their former owners on the cobblestone. Battleaxes were held in the deathgrip of their owners or buried within the skulls of the evil spawn. Bodies were littered everywhere.
The Battlemaster dismounted from the large grey stallion, removing the iron helm from his head. Long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail spilled out, falling between his shoulder blades. Scanning the area with eyes black as coal he saw no movement. The only clue he had of the whereabouts of the magic cross was the word, "Tower". It had been the last gasp that had escaped the lips of the dying monk he had held in his arms two days ago.
A castle could have many towers so where was he to search? He was certain he would be successful in finding it, but time was of the essence if he were to get it back to Queen Lenora before the Legion of the Damned found her hiding place in the mountains surrounding this very castle. The Demon Lord had known this as well and that is why he sent his army to conquer her stronghold. In this they had succeeded, but they had no idea of the cross's whereabouts.
Looking upwards and slowly turning around he saw tower after tower, near and far, built into the castle's design. In the still he heard a bell's quiet chime as the wind pushed it ever so slightly. A BELL! Yes, there must be a tower with a bell inside. That would be a likely choice of where to look first.
"If you value your life, you will move not a muscle", came a voice from nearby. "Lay your sword to the ground and step away from it now."
Up on the walls of the battlement the knight could see a tiny figure holding a large longbow, arrow knocked and pointed directly at him.
"What is it you are wanting here knight?"
The Battlemaster dismounted from the large grey stallion, removing the iron helm from his head. Long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail spilled out, falling between his shoulder blades. Scanning the area with eyes black as coal he saw no movement. The only clue he had of the whereabouts of the magic cross was the word, "Tower". It had been the last gasp that had escaped the lips of the dying monk he had held in his arms two days ago.
A castle could have many towers so where was he to search? He was certain he would be successful in finding it, but time was of the essence if he were to get it back to Queen Lenora before the Legion of the Damned found her hiding place in the mountains surrounding this very castle. The Demon Lord had known this as well and that is why he sent his army to conquer her stronghold. In this they had succeeded, but they had no idea of the cross's whereabouts.
Looking upwards and slowly turning around he saw tower after tower, near and far, built into the castle's design. In the still he heard a bell's quiet chime as the wind pushed it ever so slightly. A BELL! Yes, there must be a tower with a bell inside. That would be a likely choice of where to look first.
"If you value your life, you will move not a muscle", came a voice from nearby. "Lay your sword to the ground and step away from it now."
Up on the walls of the battlement the knight could see a tiny figure holding a large longbow, arrow knocked and pointed directly at him.
"What is it you are wanting here knight?"
Saturday, March 31, 2012
In the Eye of the Beholder
Looking in the mirror, she was truly disgusted with what she saw.
Ugh. She could not believe how genuinely hideous she was. She paused and examined her features like it was the very first time she had even seen herself. Yuck. Repulsive would not even describe her.
Her thin red stringy hair hung down like straw from an old haystack around her thin wrinkly face. Both her pointy chin and long crooked nose held single large warts, gray in color with a coarse hair or two sticking out from each of them. Her bulging forehead made her bloodshot eyes sink even further into her face. Reaching up, she touched her blotchy skin with the tip of one bony finger, tracing the deep lines with the cracked greenish fingernail protruding sharply from it.
Grinning at herself she saw just how grotesque she was. Set perfectly straight between her thin cracked lips were her pearly white teeth, gleaming brightly in her reflection.
Oh no, this would not do. Picking up the phone the witch quickly dialed her dentist. She had to get these teeth fixed immediately.
Ugh. She could not believe how genuinely hideous she was. She paused and examined her features like it was the very first time she had even seen herself. Yuck. Repulsive would not even describe her.
Her thin red stringy hair hung down like straw from an old haystack around her thin wrinkly face. Both her pointy chin and long crooked nose held single large warts, gray in color with a coarse hair or two sticking out from each of them. Her bulging forehead made her bloodshot eyes sink even further into her face. Reaching up, she touched her blotchy skin with the tip of one bony finger, tracing the deep lines with the cracked greenish fingernail protruding sharply from it.
Grinning at herself she saw just how grotesque she was. Set perfectly straight between her thin cracked lips were her pearly white teeth, gleaming brightly in her reflection.
Oh no, this would not do. Picking up the phone the witch quickly dialed her dentist. She had to get these teeth fixed immediately.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Hardly a Whisper
Whillingham Murton Greenleaf.
He hated that name and it belonged to him. What was his mother thinking? Since the day he could talk he bothered her about it.
"I don't like it."
"Can I change it?"
"What does it mean?"
And on and on with the same questions.
Each time his mother would refuse to answer, responding with a "Shhhh." So he would just ask the same questions, only in a very hushed tone. Maybe that was how he got his nickname, one that he liked much better. At least started with the same three letters. "Whisper."
Crouched down in the thick shrubs outside the village, he was hoping to catch a glimpse of the half-elf that was rumored to be staying with Edge Wolfblade, the last of the legendary "Shades" of the ShadowElf race. Shades were renowned for their ability to blend in with their surroundings undetected, and their incredible skill with dual-blade weapons, generally a short sword for one hand and a dagger for the other. They were equally adept at using both hands and could kill an enemy in just a flash of time.
Supposedly the half-elf was some kind of hero and Whisper was extremely curious to see him. From the rumors he had heard, the man was of enormous height, towering over even most full blooded humans from which he took half of his lineage. Mykleos was his name, and he was said to have a black griffon as his steed and companion.
A griffon!!! The young elf would have been lucky to see either the half-elf OR the griffon as both were about as common as a four leaf clover.
Whisper had first heard about the Shade living outside the village in the nearby forest when he was quite young, and first discovered the small hut a couple months ago. Being twelve seasons of age now, his mother was less strict on what he did during his days as long as he stayed out of trouble and was home by dusk. Now, being as quiet as a mouse, he waited silently in the shrubs outside the Shade's home.
Just then the heavy wooden door to the cabin opened and out stepped the tallest elf he had ever seen in his life. It must be the half-elf!!! But before he could even get a good look he found himself in the grasp of a strong hand yanking him out of the bushes by the collar of his shirt, leaves flying everywhere.
"What have we here?" said his captor. Whisper had neither heard nor seen him coming!
He hated that name and it belonged to him. What was his mother thinking? Since the day he could talk he bothered her about it.
"I don't like it."
"Can I change it?"
"What does it mean?"
And on and on with the same questions.
Each time his mother would refuse to answer, responding with a "Shhhh." So he would just ask the same questions, only in a very hushed tone. Maybe that was how he got his nickname, one that he liked much better. At least started with the same three letters. "Whisper."
Crouched down in the thick shrubs outside the village, he was hoping to catch a glimpse of the half-elf that was rumored to be staying with Edge Wolfblade, the last of the legendary "Shades" of the ShadowElf race. Shades were renowned for their ability to blend in with their surroundings undetected, and their incredible skill with dual-blade weapons, generally a short sword for one hand and a dagger for the other. They were equally adept at using both hands and could kill an enemy in just a flash of time.
Supposedly the half-elf was some kind of hero and Whisper was extremely curious to see him. From the rumors he had heard, the man was of enormous height, towering over even most full blooded humans from which he took half of his lineage. Mykleos was his name, and he was said to have a black griffon as his steed and companion.
A griffon!!! The young elf would have been lucky to see either the half-elf OR the griffon as both were about as common as a four leaf clover.
Whisper had first heard about the Shade living outside the village in the nearby forest when he was quite young, and first discovered the small hut a couple months ago. Being twelve seasons of age now, his mother was less strict on what he did during his days as long as he stayed out of trouble and was home by dusk. Now, being as quiet as a mouse, he waited silently in the shrubs outside the Shade's home.
Just then the heavy wooden door to the cabin opened and out stepped the tallest elf he had ever seen in his life. It must be the half-elf!!! But before he could even get a good look he found himself in the grasp of a strong hand yanking him out of the bushes by the collar of his shirt, leaves flying everywhere.
"What have we here?" said his captor. Whisper had neither heard nor seen him coming!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The WM Parenting Connection
For about one year I wrote a weekly post for The WM Parenting Connection as their "Step Parenting expert. I don't know how much of an expert I am but it was fun. I recently did a guest post that you can find here http://www.thewmparentingconnection.com/2012/03/guest-post-got-ink.html
It is a great site with some great writers and I highly recommend it. If you care to, check them out. If you are further interested in my writing on their site, there is a tab "Quick Links" which will bring you to a list of past posts where you can find my column along with other super tips on parenting of all sorts to click on..
It is a great site with some great writers and I highly recommend it. If you care to, check them out. If you are further interested in my writing on their site, there is a tab "Quick Links" which will bring you to a list of past posts where you can find my column along with other super tips on parenting of all sorts to click on..
Sunday, March 18, 2012
The Lucky 7 Meme
Go to page 77 of your current MS
Go to line 7
Copy the next 7 lines and post them as written
Tag 7 authors and let them know. (Gonna skip this one, I just don't have that many followers yet)
Although not a highlight of my MS, here we go...
Opening his eyes he caught a fleeting glimpse of a warrior across the river attempting to quickly disappear into the brush before the dwarf spotted him. “Damn”, Dimnar cursed himself for being so lax. He was supposed to be out scouting for the enemy, not acting like he was out on some carefree little picnic. He was certain he had been seen and reached for his greataxe that he had placed beside his feet while viewing the falls. There would be no running from the enemy. A dwarf was not built for haste and they were raised to fight not flee. “I suppose the king will get his answer when I do not return”, he thought knowing that any orcs this far away from their homeland would surely be in a group. Dimnar resigned himself to the fact that he was certain to die once they had caught him, but he was also confident that many of them would take their last breath before he did so himself.
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