Author Topic: The Forum's Scriptorium  (Read 111676 times)

Buteo

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #555 on: September 27, 2023, 03:30:52 PM »
Yes, I remember reading about the woman with the sunflower seeds for the Russian soldiers!

Yastreb, that is a great retelling of that event. I will now picture it including the transformation of Baba Yaga.

dmeck7755

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #556 on: September 28, 2023, 08:21:10 AM »
Yes, I remember reading about the woman with the sunflower seeds for the Russian soldiers!

Yastreb, that is a great retelling of that event. I will now picture it including the transformation of Baba Yaga.

Me too!.  It was a wonderful story
Fate gives all of us three teachers, three friends, three enemies, and three great loves in our lives. But these twelve are always disguised, and we never know which one is which until we've loved them, left them, or fought them.

~ Gregory David Roberts

LooNEY_DAC

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #557 on: November 23, 2023, 10:37:27 PM »
People said kind things about an earlier version of this, so I thought I'd see if the few additions I made haven't detracted from it.

People said nothing about this, so I thought I'd let them say nothing about it again.

People also said nothing about this collection of what might be called "story seeds"; ditto.

ETA: the links are to GoogleDocs; they should all be set to "anyone with the link can view" (now).
« Last Edit: November 24, 2023, 03:04:58 AM by LooNEY_DAC »

Buteo

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #558 on: November 24, 2023, 02:48:50 AM »
LooNEY_DAC, the first two links you gave led me to "access denied"; the third one worked.

I have always enjoyed reading your works, but seldom have anything to offer in return. Is saying "I enjoy your writing" enough to start with?
I've let it get very late at night, and I need to be functional in the morning; I'll leave myself a note to come back here tomorrow and try to leave a useful comment.

Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #559 on: November 30, 2023, 05:11:11 AM »
This is a scene from Lifebearer, Book 4 of the Dragonhost Saga (work in progress). It is based on something I wrote in response to a writing challenge; When All Hope Is Lost.



Ellyneia crept into the herb garden at sunrise,. Her father had fallen into an exhausted sleep after another night trying to ease her mother’s pain. A gift that had made life together so blissful had become a curse.
The herbs and vegetables that had been her parents’ pride and joy had begun to blossom, but the flowers and berries were discoloured and shrivelling. Beyond the herb garden, the low-rolling hills were green with the growth of early summer, but there were patches in the blanket. It was the last summer of growth, the end of sowing, and harvesting, and reaping. The new seed would fall on barren soil, and Zantria would begin to die.
Mama’s sickness had become worse as the fertility faded away, a sickness of the soul and body together, and Papa was sharing her agony even more as he took her pain to himself to bring her relief. Every day Ellyneia had seen them suffer, and it bit into her soul.
“Never give up, Lyn,” Papa had told her. “As long as we try… we give her hope. Hope is keeping her alive.”
There was only one cure.

Ellyneia knelt beside the orhathun bush and said, “Please flower. You’re the only hope left for Mama.”
The jag-edged leaves of the bush were bright and green, veined with gold to her mortal eyes, and its buds were shining bright; but her Sight revealed the emptiness beneath. When… if this bush blossomed, it would be its last.
She wove Runes of Nature and Earth to give magic to the bush, and saw the flicker of life in the buds. For an instant her heart leaped... and then despair seized her as the life dissipated, and the buds remained closed.
She knew that there would be no fruit, not that day, not any other day.
Ellyneia threw back her head and sobbed her grief to the sky, grief for her mother and her father, her village, and the land, as years of wasted hope spilled tears from her eyes. They had invoked the Dragon and spoken the prayers, but it was gone and would never come back.

“Child, what’s the matter?”
She looked around to see a man looking at her from over the fence. He was Human, and young, surely not that much older than her, and it seemed strange for him to call her “child.” But she wiped her eyes, and then saw the scars on his face and on his forehead, and the weariness in his eyes... eyes of dark amber, and in them, the sparks of light that marked him as a Mage.
“Oh sir, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb…”
“I’m sorry I called you “child,” but in your grief… No, it is no problem to me.” His voice was deep, with a sonorous lilt so unlike the familiar drawl.
He stepped sideways, to the gate, and let himself into the garden. Ellyneia quickly rose to her feet, and then paused in surprise, for her visitor was not in the robes of a mage; his clothes were simple, made of coarse cloth, travel-stained and shabby. He wore a sword on his left hip, its hilt brightly ornamented. There was a wolf at his side, little more than a cub, grey-furred, but with silver streaks running through its pelt in patterns that drew the eye and…
“Please tell me what is wrong.”
Ellyneia dragged herself back to awareness, to see the wolf looking at her with an almost quizzical expression.
“The goldenberry… it’s for mama… but it won’t blossom…” She looked up at the mage. “Why did the Dragon leave us?”
Do’kha,” the mage said, and his tone was gentle, for all the harsh sound of the word. He turned to look at the bush. “It is a beautiful plant, but why do you need it?”
She blinked in surprise, and then it struck her.
“You don’t… By the Dragon, you’re, you’re an outlander!
“I am Yastreb, from a very distant land, but part of me has come home. What’s your name?”
“Ellyneia… Ellyneia Venstreth,” she stammered. “But… there shouldn’t be…”
“There are.” He turned to look at her. “Why does the bush matter?”
She knew she should be running and shouting, calling for the Vigilants, and denouncing the intruder…
“Mama,” she began, trying to keep from breaking down. “Mama… she’s a true Adept of Nature. When the fertility began to fade away, she... she’s been in pain for months, and Papa… if you saw how much they love each other, and how he feels it too, it would break your heart, and now.. only the ohrhathun berries can give her peace, for a time at least, but… it’s gone… no hope left… after this year, nothing, no crops, nothing!”
“You love them very much,” Yastreb said softly, and reached out to cup an ohrhathun bud in one hand. “You deserve hope. Hope never dies.” And the bud slowly opened, and a rich berry bloomed, and he said, “This is for both of them.”
Ellyneia slowly reached out, and the berry fell into her open hand. She stared at the berry for what seemed for an eternity.
“How did you...” She manifested the Sight, and saw the rich golden glow suffusing the berry.... like the radiance she had seen in the scroll plates of Dragon lore...
Slowly, almost fearfully, she looked up at the stranger, and her legs gave way and she fell to her knees.
Kyl’Vizhand!” she managed to gasp.
“No, child. I’m not the Dragon. I’m just a vessel. A host. That’s all. Go, Ellyneia. Help your father and mother. I have to go to Vasaban. I have to complete the work.”
Far away, there was shouting, and she heard the words clearly. “Search everywhere! I mean everywhere! Find him!”
His face twisted in rage and despair. “Yov tovoyou maht! I have to get away from here!”
“No!” She sprang up and slammed the gate closed. “You have to hide!” She looked around frantically. “No, not the shed, not the greenhouse... Inside!”
When she grabbed his arm, the wolf looked as startled as he, but both followed her.

* I don’t care! That was foolish!
* You only did what you thought was best, my brother.
* In other times and places! Not here!
* She is good and kind, my brother. There is no evil in her.


She led them inside the house and raised a finger to her lips. “Ma and pa are asleep. There, that’s my room. Stay there, out of sight. Both of you! Arevor, hush!”
She stopped in the hall for a moment, collecting her thoughts.
First, her parents. That was what he... the Dragon had said. Questions could wait. Who, how, why... There would be time. She would keep him safe!
She hurried to the kitchen, searching through the cupboard where the best utensils were kept, and picked out the bone knife that Mama used… had used; it seemed like years ago…
She placed the fruit on the rosewood platter, took a deep breath and said reverently, “Bless this gift, and bless the Dragon, from whom all life comes.”
Then, with infinite care, she sliced the berry into quarters, to reveal the core, glistening like morning dew.
She picked up the platter and edged carefully into her parents’ bedroom to see Mama lying still, breathing softly, in Papa’s embrace as they both slept. She was pale and thin, almost emaciated; he was bruised from taking on her pain.
“Mama, papa, wake up, please…”
Her eyes flickered open. He gave a slight groan. Even that slight movement hurt him.
“Lyn?”
“Mama, you have to eat. Just this little bit…”
Ellyneia placed a piece of the berry on her mother’s tongue.
“Lyn, you… you made it bloom… bless you, Lyn, bless you…” her mother said as the fruit slowly dissolved.
She fed her mother another strip, and then said, “Papa, you need to eat.”
He weakly accepted the pieces of berry, and whispered, “You did it…”
Ellyneia barely heard her father’s words.
She was looking in the corner of the room where her mother’s staff rested in its rack. It had suddenly blossomed, glowing with renewed life.
Complete the work, he said…
Someone was hammering on the front door. She was about to put the platter down, but thought again, and then set off for the front door.
“Hello, Zav,” she said to the Human watchman. “Is something wrong?” She peered past him, at the two others behind him. All were in light armour, and clutched glavands.
“I don’t want to alarm you too much, Lyn, but there’s a stranger in the district. Scarred face, wolf companion. He has to be found. If you see him…”
She shushed him urgently. “Keep your voice down. Ma and Pa are still sick. No, I haven’t seen any strangers. I’d yell pretty loud if I did.”
Zavrann shrugged. “All right. But stay alert. He has to be found. Ah... tell them… I hope for the best.”

Yastreb cast his mind back to his home in Kamenistiy, and to Koschei’s home, now half a world and almost another life away.
Ellyneia’s room was more like a study. Two dozen large books in uniformly bound covers were carefully arranged on shelves of polished oak, and an elaborately shaped wooden rack on top of a simple table held five scroll plates. 
She was little older than he had been when Koschei had chosen him, but she was seemed far more learned than he had been at that age.
The little black dog that Ellyneia called Arevor was watching them cautiously from under the neatly made bed. For all his attempts to calm Arevor, it had scurried away to hide the moment that it scented Zabeelushka. At least Ellyneia had quelled its fear.
He sat down on the plain wooden chair by the desk and wondered what would happen. Ellyneia had sent the guards away... and in doing that, she had effectively condemned herself to death, if he was found.
I can’t stay here. Leave after nightfall... all I need from them is a map so I can work out a safe path to Vasaban.
The door opened. Ellyneia was standing in the hallway. In her arms was a long staff of dark wood, ash or oak, with bright living flowers blossoming from one end, and vines curling around its length.
“This hasn’t lived in years, since mama fell sick. Thank you. Until I saw this, I couldn’t be sure that mama was well.”
“I’m glad.”
“So what now?”
“As I said, I need to get to Vasaban, to finish...”
A cheerful voice interrupted. “Lyn? I just have to say...”
Ellyneia froze as a tall dark-haired man in crumpled clothing, whose unshaven face was split by a broad smile, walked up to her side. His smile faded into surprise, then into mild exasperation. “You’re a bit young still to have a boyfriend in your room...” Then he frowned. “Specially not one who’s been in too many scraps! What’s your name, son?”
He had not planned to put anyone in danger, but events had overtaken him. Plans are like prayers, Radul had said. Be prepared for disappointment.
Before he could answer, Ellyneia said, “It’s not what you think, papa.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s best that I explain,” Yastreb said, and he was not surprised to see the man react with surprise at his accent.
“The fleg?”
“Watch your mouth, papa!”
“Sorry, Lyn, but...”
“He’s an outlander, papa. And he’s why mama’s not in pain anymore.” She grabbed her father’s hands as he recoiled in shock. “Please listen to him! Please! Yastreb, this is my father, Palvereon Venstreth.”
“It’s an honour, sir,” Yastreb said gravely.
“Uh... sure.” Palvereon reached out to shake Yastreb’s hand. “Yeah... best you explain.”

"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #560 on: January 15, 2024, 03:56:14 AM »
You may recall the story that was written one paragraph at the time (the one with the goats). Here's one from the same source that was written three words at a time. I didn't contribute anything, worse luck.

He shook the corpse but it failed to start, so then he told his mum, "Dad won't wake the dead up!" She saw that an Ogre had taken the washing to pay its taxes but failed to get a strict care certificate. This meant that the watermelons would explode and not transform into something beautiful, like a sparkling vampire called Prince Jason Junior.
So the Ogre took its harmonica hidden up his long blue jacket which he stole from the wizard who was busy with the wallpaper, because his wife wouldn't shut up. 
Unfortunately, a blizzard hit the wizard and his lizard which actually was a turkey's gizzard and reeked of rotten egg gas and elderberry wine.  Only someone who played the guitar could understand this bizarre sensory delight!
"Sup peeps," said the wizard's daughter.
"Nothing!" replied the Wiz. "Watch me make this corpse do the moon walk!" 
And now watch the Ogre have trouble with his wardrobe as his long blue coat becomes a bunyip and eats the crusty ferret with gusto.
Later on the doomsday bell tolled thrice.

"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

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wavewright62

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #561 on: February 28, 2024, 03:17:30 PM »
Utterly brilliant.  It reads a lot like Mad Libs, in a good way.

(Mad Libs being the game where there is a short story with words missing. One person keeps the story hidden, asking all participants for a noun, then an adjective, then plural noun, boy's name, etc to the end of the story.  At the end, the story is read out with each person's answers inserted into their places, making a bizaare and often droll story.)
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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #562 on: February 29, 2024, 07:21:26 AM »
The rather similar writing prompt game I know is called ‘Hat Prompts’, because each of the players draws a prompt out of a hat and has to compose a story around the words they draw. I should put up one or two of mine.
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Yastreb

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #563 on: March 09, 2024, 08:04:37 AM »
I chanced upon a poem I wrote in character during a LARP campaign. My character had just suffered a great personal loss, and then seen his homeland destroyed. Thinking himself the sole survivor of his people (correctly, as it happened), he stumbled through a blighted landscape until he found three children lost and frightened. He saw them safely to their home and protected them until their distraught father came for them.

Fire falls to sear the land
Black smoke blocks the midday sun
The birds are lost, no place to go
Fear fills the hearts of everyone
 
Yet some things are as ever were
As certain as the stars above
The trust of children’s innocence
The power of a father’s love
 
To my slain kin I promise this
Sent Beyond, no chance to flee
If mortal hands brought down the fire
I'll take revenge and set you free

« Last Edit: March 09, 2024, 09:14:06 AM by Yastreb »
"Life is all we are. Life is what defines us. In the end, Life is the answer."

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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #564 on: March 09, 2024, 08:46:36 AM »
Well made, Yastreb. Your poetry is better than you think. I remember, decades ago, you telling me that you were no kind of poet (I think it was in the context of my inviting you to join in a game of Capping that Iestyn, McAndrew and I were playing at one of Fabian’s parties at the Eyrie, and you saying that you lacked that wordskill). I disagreed at the time, and still do.
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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #565 on: March 10, 2024, 08:53:11 AM »
I was trying to put up one of my short stories, but in the process of trying to copy and paste it I seem to have deleted it completely. Damn and blast! So anyway, have a poem.

COLOUR

Colour's the child of light
Born with the day.
In the first shades of night
She slips away.

First go the subtle tints
Fading to grey:
Sun-speckles, water-glints,
Mica in clay.

Next as the shadows come
Purple, red, blue,
Pomegranate and plum,
Lose their rich hue.

A twilight dragonfly
May catch a gleam,
Glinting from wing or eye
Swift as a dream.

Rich-shaded iris, rose
Fading to dun
Signal the long day's close.
Night has begun.

Now with the last light gone
Beyond recall
White blossoms spill their scent
As the dews fall.

The evening primrose flowers
Gold lamps held high,
Call, through the starlit hours
Moths from their sky.
« Last Edit: March 10, 2024, 08:56:46 AM by Róisín »
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Keep Looking

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #566 on: March 11, 2024, 09:18:54 PM »
Róisín, this poem is beautiful! I love the imagery and the journey you take us on with the different colours giving way to night-time.
I write poetry sometimes.

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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #567 on: March 11, 2024, 09:33:51 PM »
Glad you like it, Keep. My eyesight is poor, but I know the Land, and the one thing I did inherit from my very artistic family was a very exact perception of colour, so that I am able to tell what a thing is at distance, even if all I can make out is a that-coloured blur.
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wavewright62

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #568 on: March 12, 2024, 03:42:26 PM »
sooo lovely *chef's kiss*
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Róisín

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Re: The Forum's Scriptorium
« Reply #569 on: March 12, 2024, 09:59:47 PM »
Glad you like it. I enjoy using poetry as a way to draw people’s attention to what is around them. So many folk just drift through the world in a haze of inattention, never being fully aware of their surroundings. This is not only a dangerous way to live outside the most controlled environments (and I live on a very small smallholding at the edge of a tiny town in the middle of the Australian bush), but causes you to miss out on so much of the beauty and interest in the world. Life is endlessly fascinating.
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