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Celeris 05-04-2007 12:01 AM

Short Story
 
Small Beginnings

Fire lit the foggy horizon and arrows rained down upon Illeta. She whipped around, seeking some other escape route from her pursuers and the fire, and found only one path unblocked by fire. Small Illeta dashed for it only to skid to a stop as a figure began to materialize out of the fog. Illeta bolted upright with a gasp, waking from the terrifying dream. She got up off of her mat and padded softly over to where she had laid out her clothes the night before and dressed quickly. She ran her small hand through her thick black hair quickly and settled her light grey cloak about her thin shoulders. Glancing about to make sure none had heard her, she slipped out of the shabby wagon. It was one among the large caravan of wagons that was hidden among the trees near the small town of Irytha. The leader of the caravan had led most of the group to Irytha and sent the rest into the forest in case anything should go wrong. Their leader, the Lady Altrina, had gone into Irytha to speak to an old friend whom she had been on a quest with a couple months back.
Illeta trotted to the opposite end of the wagon where her sleek black horse was tethered. Lynai was a solid, well-muscled mare with deep, intelligent eyes. The elegant horse had been wild from birth and remained so, yet allowed Illeta to ride her nonetheless. While normally quite calm, Lynai shifted nervously as though she knew something was wrong. Illeta whispered to the small, black mare soothingly as she unclipped the lead rope and swung up onto her back. Lynai danced in place before turning and trotting through the thick forest towards Irytha. Illeta gently guided Lynai around the town so as not to reveal the direction of the caravan. As they reached the opposite side of the town Lynai pulled up sharply and refused to go any farther. Illeta dismounted silently and crept forward into the nearby bushes and caught a glimpse through the leaves that made her freeze in place. Far up the hillside she could just barely make out a black figure drawing a longbow. Her eyes traced the path the arrow would take and found her eyes resting on a broad-shouldered young man who was kneeling on the ground tracking a path left by some animal. Some distance behind the young man she could make out a hunting party. Then she heard the soft snap of the bowstring and she turned and padded back to Lynai. There was nothing she could do for the young man now. Illeta mounted and attempted to turn Lynai around only to have the mare jerk the reins from her hand. Lynai glanced back at her rider and trotted silently for where the archer had been. Illeta sank low to the mare’s back and hoped the young warhorse had not gotten it into her head to pursue the archer back to his camp.

One of the men knelt to check the young man’s pulse, hesitating slightly before doing so. He motioned a boy over. “Go ahead of us to Teiron and tell him what has occurred. I need him to identify the arrow.” The boy nodded and took off down the hill towards the village. His feet flew even as his mind also raced. He was a tall, broad-shouldered youth who was lean and fleet of foot. He had scruffy brown hair that fell in unruly locks about his equally brown eyes, which betrayed intensity beyond most farm boys.
He burst through the trees and jumped over a fence, just barely missing his Aunt Lena’s precious flower garden. He ran down past a few houses into Teiron’s workshop.
The blacksmith turned, wiping his stained hands on a cloth. “Weel? What be yer news, Arthon?”
“Your apprentice, sir,” Arthon exclaimed, “he been shot with an odd arrow durin’ the huntin’ party.”
Teiron pulled his brows together as he threw the cloth on the worktable. “What mean ye’, laddie, an’ whaur be Lartain?”
“They is bringin’ him now, sir,” Arthon replied. “They could not identify the arrow an’ thought you could.”
“They canna jist bring the arrow?”
Arthon paled at the awkward question posed him. “Sir, they thought...well…you bein’ his…only…”
“Ye be meanin’ it be fatal?!”
Arthon nodded awkwardly and watched Teiron stride out the doorway. Being fairly certain nothing further out of the ordinary would happen, Arthon wandered back towards his aunt’s house. As he passed his aunt’s garden he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and jumped back in front of the house next to his aunt’s house. He peered around the corner cautiously. At first he didn’t see anything extraordinary and was about to continue on when he caught the slight movement of a company of black clad persons. Arthon narrowed his eyes and abruptly caught the flash of a scabbard. He whirled around abruptly and ran towards the center of town. Behind him he could hear some one shouting and a scream ripped through the air. Suddenly he found himself on the ground gasping for breath and he rolled over with a grunt. As he started to sit up something grabbed him by the collar even as the town bell began to ring. Whatever had him by the collar, began to drag him into the town square, where the bell was.
“Lynai, let him go!” someone nearby shouted.
Arthon was dropped rather suddenly and he found himself staring up at a black warhorse. He scrambled to his feet and a girl grabbed him by the collar and thrust him towards the horse.
“Mount, now! We don’t have time to sit and gawk!”
Arthon scrambled clumsily up onto the horse’s back and the girl mounted behind him. She managed to reach around him and grab the horse’s mane just before it took off at a gallop that Arthon could have sworn would have broken his neck had the girl not been behind him. As they swept through the trees Arthon could hear hoof beats behind them.
“Yntil, Lynai,” She shouted, “yntil!”
Even as she spoke they broke out into a large clearing which about half of was taken up by a lake. The warhorse barely managed to stop before she plunged them all into the lake. The girl looked around frantically as the black clad riders caught up with them.
“Nilyai allea yi!” She shouted to the sky in fear.
The riders around them laughed even as Arthon looked at the girl in confusion. The leader stepped forward with a contemptuous look on his face. “No one shall aid you, demon child. There is no one here who sympathizes with the likes of you.”
“On the contrary,” a surprisingly deep voice rang out, filling the clearing and making it impossible to discern the direction from which it came.
The lead rider and his company craned their necks every which way, trying to find the owner of the voice.
“Show yourself!” the leader shouted, the echo of his voice fading away quickly.
Arrows rained down on the black riders from seemingly every direction and a piercing whistle cut through the air. The riders’ horses bolted in random directions. As they faded from sight, a group of creatures stepped out of the forest. As they came closer Arthon’s eyes grew wide, from the waist up they were men but from the waist down they had the body of horses.
“Centaurs!” Arthon breathed.
The lead stallion stopped a few feet in front of Lynai. He had black hair and deep gray eyes. He was built much like a blacksmith, broad-shouldered and thick muscles.
“What is the trouble, my lady, and why do you travel with this human?” he asked while bowing slightly.
“I managed to rescue him from the village of Irytha when the King’s men attacked,” the girl replied with a slight incline of her head.
The centaur’s eyes narrowed. “Then we shall temporarily take you into our care, until such a time as you and the survivor may be returned to your people, lady elf.”
One of the others made a move as if to speak but the centaur stopped him with a sharp glare. The leader turned back. “I am Yldarrin but you may call me Yldar.”
“Illeta of the Elldryn,” she smiled softly, “but it is not mine to say whether the Irythian will stay.”
Yldar raised a dark eyebrow in surprise, for most elves did not care much for the thoughts of humans, but he said nothing. Instead he turned to Arthon questioningly.
“I’m Arthon an’ I’ll stay since I don’t know of anythin’ else to do.”
Yldar inclined his head slightly, “So shall it be.”



Okay, so this is a section of a much larger story, which I plan to get published. It won't actually appear in the story, it's more of a supplement to it, but any thoughts, comments, and suggestions are welcome. Just try to be constructive... :D

Celeris 05-05-2007 05:50 AM

Here's a random story I came up with. It's only the start but who knows where it will go.

A lone figure in the middle of rolling plains and surrounded by darkness, not entirely of the sun's making. She blinked slowly, hoping her eyes would adjust. Stretching her fingers, she found she was wearing gloves. As the breeze pulled at her, she realized that the weight on her shoulders was a cloak. She shivered involuntarily and pulled the cloak tightly around herself. She sat down slowly and pulled herself into a ball. She sat there in a sort of daze, staring off into the darkness, not even conscious of time passing.

Dawn came and with it a merchant started out from his camp, guiding his horses along the dirt path that wound among the hills. He was a careful man who took the roads less traveled, by both merchant and thief. While these were often hard to find and were becoming less frequent, they were still there for him to travel. At one time he had been wealthy but hard times had come as he aged and now he was a simple, old man who peddled the more unusual items, of which few could be found and few wanted. He had a full, white beard and a thick head of white hair. Ice-blue eyes shone out in his tanned, wrinkled face. As he came over a hill, he glanced up and his eyes caught on a small, huddled figure. He slapped the reins of his horses and urged them down to the figure. As he approached the figure lifted its head and followed the path of the cart until it stopped nearby. He got out of the cart and trotted over.
"Helo! What be ye doin' out 'ere?"
The person lifted her head and opened her mouth as though to speak but nothing happened. She shut her mouth and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
"S'okay, lass, if'n ye can't speak don't trouble yerself o'er me..." he paused and stared down at her upturned face, the full impact of what was wrong hitting him. Directed up at him were two clouded, blind eyes.
She cocked her head as his silence continued and he shook himself.
"I'm called Miles," he paused until she nodded. "Do ye know yer name?"
She shook her head without even pausing to think.
"Hmm. Weel, why don't we call ye, Tyre?"
She considered this a moment before nodding her acceptance.
He smiled softly and helped her to her feet, guiding her to the wagon and helping her up.
"Can ye write?"
Tyre shrugged.
Miles took a pack from its spot by his feet and took out a slate and chalk. He carefully directed her hands to the objects and waited. She slowly positioned them in her hands and suddenly started jotting things down. She handed it back to him and waited. It read:
How can you see in this darkness?
Miles' eyes widened in shock. "I...umm...lass, ye...ye are blind."
Tyre looked over at him in shock and grief.
"Do ye know anything before ye found yerself 'ere?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Yet, ye feel as though ye should be able t' see."
She nodded vigorously.
He considered this for a while. "Weel, why don't ye jus' stick wi' me fer awhile, eh?"
She nodded.

Celeris 05-06-2007 11:16 PM

Ditto, on this one as well. :D

Think Again

Mist curled around her sneakers. One foot in front of the other, walking in stealth mode. Wings curl slightly around her and her long blonde hair flows smoothly down one side of her back. A small dragon perched on one extended arm curling its long tail around her midriff. Her green eyes focused off into the distance staring at some unknown object or person. Cool cover for a book right? That is why you picked it up. Afterall, you've never heard of the author and there wasn't a description on the back. Right? You decided that since the cover is pretty cool the book must be as well. Afterall, it IS just a book. Right? Think again. There's a reason this annoying little blurb tagged you down so well. I happen to know about you. In fact, we have a book about your world. Some find it boring, but there are always a few like that, but most enjoy hiding behind its worn, homebound covers. In your world the unordinary is exciting, intriguing, and fascinating. In my world...well, the ordinary is a relief.

Mica closed her journal with a sharp snap and rolled off her hammock. Intaglio uncurled from his nest, which consisted of her clothing, and stretched lazily before glancing up at her with one green, slitted eye. Mica stared down at him expectantly with her arms crossed. The golden-brown dragon snorted and settled his wings closely to his sides. Mica narrowed her eyes and grabbed one of her shirts, sending Intaglio tumbling out of his pleasently warm nest. Intaglio huffed indignantly, sending up a small curl of smoke, and righted himself. He turned and, sticking his nose in the air, walked out of the room. Mica rolled her eyes and slipped into her clothes before following him out. She found him exactly where she expected him to be. She entered the huge kitchen, that fed all the Winged Brethren, and found him stuffing himself with meat scraps. He spied her coming over and his head snaked out to grab another scrap. She snatched him up, pinning his wings to his side, and he squacked indignantly.
"Oh, stop acting like a baby!" Mica snapped. "We both know you aren't."
Intaglio glared at her. "You never let me have any fun."
"You call being a brat fun?"
The deep sound of a horn sounded in the distance. Intaglio's fan-like, leather crest extended fully and Mica turned, setting Intaglio on her shoulder. Mica ran through the mess hall and out onto a ledge, launching herself into the air.

Celeris 05-10-2007 10:22 PM

Unnamed...

So, you want to know who I am. Well, I could tell you that people call me Mara, but would that tell you who I am? I could tell you my name is Illara, but would that tell you who I am? I could tell you that I am a horse shifter, but would that tell you who I am? I could even tell you my particular breed is Akhal-Teke, yet this still would not tell you who I am. No, my friend, I must start at the very beginning. Insignificant facts will tell you only superficial information, which many people know while not knowing me. It is my history that makes me who I am and it is my history you must hear in order to learn the answer to your question.

Should I continue this? I know it's not much to go on but I'm not completely sold on it.

Celeris 05-12-2007 04:58 AM

The Invisible Woman

I am the Invisible Woman.
You seemed shocked.
I do not intend to say that I
have some special power.
Some gene that makes me
different from any other human on the planet.
Nor do I have any control over this...
what did you call it?
'Power'.
It is hardly a power.
No, more of a curse.
It is not of my choice,
nor do I wish to have it.
Were it possible
I would fling it from me
like some worn out garment.
No, this is not of my choosing.
It is of your choosing.
You are the one
who has bestowed this on me.
Not I.
How gladly
I would forsake it
if this thing this vile...
'power'
...were mine.
No, it is you.
You who choose.
You who ignore.
You who pay no heed.
You are the one
who makes me what I am.
Alone.
Invisible.
I try to defeat this stigma
you have placed upon me.
Yet how can I
cause you to pay me heed?
I have shouted
and I have whispered.
I have smiled
and I have cried.
I have paid heed
and I have ignored.
What difference has it made?
You pay me heed
when you have no one else
and only then.
When all others turn from you,
it is then
that you turn to me.
Yet when another is present,
I...
I am nothing.
I am the Invisible Woman.


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