Archive | December 2017

A New World: Memories

First: A New World
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The Letter

⚗️

I am still loyal.

Kael sniffled.  Joaon had been loyal to her for so long – and to learn how long he had been here, without her, and still loyal, still so desperately loyal — and here he was, in this world.

She put the potion to one side and sniffed a few of her ingredients.  She had questions, and only a few of them she’d find standing in the middle of her potions-workshop, this fairly good imitation of her workshop.

She walked slowly down the back stairs, her fingers trailing along the block walls.  How much work she’d put into this place.  In her day, only someone like her — or like Carrenonna — could make a building like this.

She remembered this block, how she had poured the potion for it while splashing something at an attacker, something they thought was acid.  It had blinded them, yes, but only for an hour, while it showed them visions of another world, a world in which they had not made the choices they had.

She’d managed to keep that one from falling off the edge of the tower, and Joaon had walked them, unresisting, down to the dungeon.

The dungeon was easy enough to escape from, built that way.  Kael wondered what it looked like now.

Well, that, at least, she could find out.  She paused where there had been a trap and saw the letters written in — what was that, some sort of ink visible only to her eyes?  It seemed to glow, and yet if she looked at it from her peripheral vision, it was gone.  An interesting potion!  

This place is only some of what it once was.  Be careful, be mindful.  I hope it can be restored.

“Interesting.”  The handwriting was, once again, Joaon’s.  She wondered if he had left messages all over this building and, if so, if anyone else had intercepted them.

She knelt down and ran her fingers over the location of the trap.  It had been disarmed, but not removed, and it had been done so awkwardly, not by a skilled trap-finder but possibly by someone panicked after having fallen into it.  Not Joaon, then.  He had found too many of her traps the hard way, back when her sense of humor was more quirky than kind.

She could activate it, but it would take several potions and a few days of work.  There were other things she could be doing in the meantime.

She kept going down the stairs, getting a feel for what her home had become.

“Where is that girl…”  She could hear him through the wall.  Oh, the reception room.  She opened the hidden doorway, wondering if – yes, bless Joaon, he had kept the curtains, the way the door looked like one more window, making the passage truly secret.  

“I swear,” Mr. Vibius was muttering, “something about the look, or the girl, or something.  Every time we get a new one of those, they just hare off in twenty minutes.  And then I have to find another one who has the look, and who can make it look believable when they-”

Kale stepped out around the curtains. “You called for me?”

She didn’t bother with what he called her Begone you Pesky Mortals look, because he had no reason to fear her – yet.  Instead, she tried something she had not tried in a very long time, even before she fell into a millenium-long sleep.  She tried a coy look.

He looked nervous.  She probably needed to work on that look a little bit. “Where did you come from?  You can’t just pop up on people like that!”

“Oh, it’s this curtain.” She smiled broadly at him. “This is a lovely room here,” she looked around.  Her Reception Room looked much the same as it had when she last left it.  The long, thick curtains covered everything except two windows, giving the impression that all the curtains covered the same sort of view out onto – well, onto a city, now.  “I was exploring the building, as I had no tourists at the moment.  There’s a lovely back staircase, if we wanted to sneak up on someone at some time, or if someone needed to get to the potions room in a hurry.”

“Well, don’t sneak up on me.  You’ll give me a heart attack that way!”

As if she was reading it, she heard under his words:

I swear, all the Kaels are creepy, but this one is something else again.  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vibius.”  She really didn’t do well with apologetic expressions.  She was going to have to work on that.  “You were looking for me?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know what you were doing, and it looks like we have another group coming in.  How did the first one go?”

“I don’t really know how to judge that,” she demurred.  

“Well, if they want to stop in the gift shop, they’ve done well.  If they want to come back, they’ve done well.  This place doesn’t run on smiles and good feelings and your potion fumes, you know.”

Well, technically, it runs on a behest, but I don’t run on smiles.  

“Of course.  Tell me, when would be a good time for me to go off downtown? I have a couple errands I didn’t get to run this morning…?”

“What?  Your lunch break, of course.  Which isn’t for two more hours.  Now get back upstairs and look creepy, and make sure to suggest that they go to the gift shop.  That’s on the fourth floor,” he offered helpfully.  “We wanted to put it down here, but the behest said there was only so much we could do, and the fourth floor was empty, so.”

“Fourth floor.”  She nodded.  She could look at that on her way back up to her potions lab.  She had never seen a gift shop before.

 
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Next: Made in the Itikem Peninsula 

Loose Ends Everywhere…

In spending November picking up loose ends, I seem to have dropped all those other skeins…

What, of my long-running projects, are you most interested in seeing me continue (up to, say, 10 suggestions)?

Better World

Written to @shutsumon’s prompt (or at least as much as I remembered it):

a secret revealed only by blending blood and moonlight

🌕

The stone was a gate.

Everyone knew it was a gate; it had been passed down from generation to generation since Before the Smash.

The thing was, nobody knew how to open it.  It was suppose to go to a better place, a safer place, a place without the monsters and demons, the wild storms and the poisonous animals. But whatever had opened the gate had been lost, taken through with it. Continue reading

Self-indulgent beginning: Purchase Negotiation

Leander looks a bit like a a Pitch Black-era Vin Diesel in my head.

This is just fluff fun based on something that’s been bouncing around in my head for a while.


“I don’t do guys.”

Leander was not exactly in a position to set terms.

He was wearing, in order of importance, a thick steel collar, a much thinner silver collar, shackles pinning his wrists to a heavy leather belt, and ankle restraints with just enough chain to be annoying.  Continue reading

Meet in the Middle

This isn’t so much a story as it is a vignette or a scene. 

It’s written to 🐝’s prompt

write about good friends??

🛣️

>>So what’s in the middle?

>>Nebraska, I think.  But that’s, well, that’s ‘as the crow flies,’, and neither of us are crows.  Plus, not a lot of state parks there, hrmmm.  Got it!  How about Mark Twain National Park?

They had never seen each other in person.  An entire nation – the width of an entire continent – divided them.  But looking at maps online, chatting across the internet, they agreed. Continue reading

Guardian

Marlin had made a promise.

It was the last promise she’d ever make, even if she were still capable of making promises.  She had learned, since, to think about the nature of the words she said.

But she knew, no matter how many times she cursed her impetuousness, that she likely would have made the same promise again.

I will guard this blade until the right bearer comes along.

The old woman of the lake had told her you will know, deep in your heart, heavy in your chest, tight in your lungs, when the right bearer comes.  I did.

The old woman had given the sword to Tyleeal, to Marlin’s sovereign, to Marlin’s love.

And Tyleeal had done as all great heroes did and died in mighty battle.

Marin hadn’t realized, when she swore the oath, how long it would be.

She hadn’t realized how lonely it would be.

She hadn’t known that the castle was only visible to some people, was only visible at some times, and lived, in a sense, out of time.

All this she’d had time enough and then some again to learn.

At first, she had been proud and angry and sent away anyone who wished to wield the great sword with simple words, you are not the one.

Then, she had asked them what tribute they had brought her, what made them worthy to wield the sword, before she had sent them away with the same words.

She had demanded vigils for a while, vigils which gave her someone else to speak to for some short time.  

She had demanded they fight her, and found her skills had grown a bit rusty.

And now?  How when youths came from the mainland to the secret, sacred island, they came knowing three things.

They brought her tribute in foods and clothing, books and rumors and stories.  For three days, they told her stories of the world outside, the wilder, the better.

They fought her in single combat and then in pairs, having brought a companion for this part.

They sat vigil for two nights while their companion kept Marin company.

And then they felt, she thought, like they had tried their best when she sent them away.

But this one, this one came alone.

The boat held one person, not in armor, and enough food and supplies to last a small company a month.  It bumped up on the dock and the person, hooded, carried three packs to the place where Marin waited, when someone was coming.

The hood pushed back.  Marin’s heart stopped, her chest tightened, her lungs felt on fire.  She dropped to her knees in front of Tyleeal come again, and she understood, suddenly, why the old woman of the lake had spent so much time hovering in the back of the court.  How long had she waited?

“I thought,” said the knight who was and was not Tyleeal, “that, looking at all the stories, you must be horribly lonely here.  So I thought that I would sit vigil with you for as long as it takes.  Until the right one comes along.  I brought some food—”

Marin pressed her forehead to the knight’s feet.  Don’t go, she wanted to say.  Instead she said the only thing the oath would allow her to say.

“The great blade is yours.  It has always been yours, no matter how long you take.  It will always belong to you.

“Please,” she whispered, “stay a while before you must battle.  Just a little while.”

“Dear heart,” said Tyleeal, in a voice she could not help but recognize, “you have waited all these centuries for me.  I believe I can wait just as long here with you before I take up the sword.”


Written to @katrani‘s prompt:

the creative ways a bored Guardian of a Sacred Weapon comes up with to test would-be wielders

or at least tangential to the prompt. 


 
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Hallmark Holiday

“We’ve got it!”

Miranda    Graham hurried into her boss’s office, waving a stack of papers and grinning from ear to ear.

“This is going to be the one.  I know it, I just know it.”

“That’s what we thought about Sweetheart Day.  And Grandmother’s Day.  And Kiss-a-Friend Day.”

Miranda winced. “Kiss-a-Friend Day was a mistake,” she allowed. Continue reading

Nanowrimo: A Summary

It’s been quite a month!

Let’s see.

I learned, without a doubt, that I need a lot more practice at outlining Short Stories. My sense of scale is, shall we say, lacking.

Cal – Inspector Caracal – has been a lot of help in this.  Even if some of it is “Lyn? This is a novel.”

My goal was 20-22 stories, counting submission and Patreon.

I submitted one story (and made 3 false starts on another)
I wrote 5 short-short stories and three chapters of Expectant Wood, my serial, for Patreon
I wrote 8 “finish it” stories and started two others

I wrote over 65000 words just on the nano project.

So, not success, but productive & educational.

I also wrote 6 stories independent of the #nanowrimo project, started one longer storyline, and created a new universe.​

My total wordcount for the month was 77,484.

I feel accomplished!  And not burnt out! (Which was also a goal!)

Onward to December, to putting all 8 of those short stories into an anthology, and to planning for the January-April novel.