The Forum's Scriptorium

[Róisín]

Keep Looking, that is very fine. I have thought a lot about how our isolation, while in some ways a nuisance, works to protect us. I hope the consequences of the accident resolve okay!

[Keep Looking]

Thanks Ran and Róisín - i'm glad you think the poem is good.

As for the accident, it wasn't very serious - scraped up the other guy's car a little and broke their numberplate, but at the end of the day both cars are still driveable. We're paying, of course, but it's not more than we can afford. Still, felt pretty awful, especially considering that it was a really bloody stupid mistake and it was most definitely my fault. I was hoping to get some study done this weekend, but after various events yesterday and the car thing today, I wasn't really in a fit emotional state to do anything much more than focus on recovering and try not to make anything worse. And write poetry to deal with everything.

[Róisín]

Poetry is a useful tool for dealing with stuff - helps you to get a handle on stuff.

[thegreyarea]

Thanks Ran and Róisín - i'm glad you think the poem is good.

As for the accident, it wasn't very serious - scraped up the other guy's car a little and broke their numberplate, but at the end of the day both cars are still driveable. We're paying, of course, but it's not more than we can afford. Still, felt pretty awful, especially considering that it was a really bloody stupid mistake and it was most definitely my fault. I was hoping to get some study done this weekend, but after various events yesterday and the car thing today, I wasn't really in a fit emotional state to do anything much more than focus on recovering and try not to make anything worse. And write poetry to deal with everything.

Keep Looking, I really like the poem! It's not that unusual to watch something that is a nuisance turning in an advantage. I'm glad to know that you (and Róisín, and Waveright, among others) are relatively safe from some troubles (remembering that you already had a "nice" quote of problems in Australia this year...)

As for the accident, everybody makes mistakes, particularly in the beginning. Luckily nobody was hurt (except your emotional state...).
I had a similar situation just 6 months after getting my licence, and albeit an unpleasant experience, it made me a better driver in the end (30 years went by and I never had another accident*). I hope the same happens to you.

* yes, insurance companies love me...

[Yastreb]

I've just completed a key passage in Dragonfall (Volume 3 of the Dragonhost Saga) in which the main character battles and defeats the evil tyrant and his mind-reading warrior guardian, winning victory by Beast Magic over Dark Magic. But on the way to that confrontation, I paused the action to include some poetry that sprang to mind.

How can my love remain?
Sweet heart so far away
Sweet soul is lost to me
Never to see again
Never to share a kiss
Never to share our joy
How can my love remain?

When I re-read that bit, I realised that I'd created a new verse form; seven lines of six syllables, with a repeated rhyme in the first, fourth and seventh lines... and I hadn't actually planned it. I was (and am) surprised!

[thegreyarea]

it's great when we surprise ourselves, isn't it?

Yastreb (sorry for asking again. I'm not sure, but I believe I already did), did you published somewhere your Dragonhost Saga? I'd like to read it.

[Róisín]

Yastreb, good verse form. And good poem!

[Yastreb]

thegreyarea; here's the first chapter of Earthfire, Volume I of the Dragonhost Saga.

A note on punctuation; there are four languages used throughout the saga, set off by different types of punctuation, and two are used here; "Kethran" and <Aelftongue.> There's also * mindspeech.

***

There are no first-hand records about the Hell Reign, or the Reaving, or whatever name it was called by the survivors.
If they wrote down anything, it did not survive; and those who spoke the stories could not convey the full reality of what they saw.
What can be said about the Hell Reign is that it began and it ended, and the world did not end.

Miris Terhaln
Keeper of Lore and History
AC 1276

***

STRANGE LAND

He awoke with his face in gently running water.
Something was tearing at his ear, lifting his face clear of the bitterly cold water, but the pain was lost in a red haze of agony that engulfed every part of him. He slowly rolled over onto his back, biting back the screams that the pain was demanding.
The wolf cub’s eyes were large with fear and sorrow.
* Zalushka, I live…
He struggled upright and stood shivering in the shallows of a creek at the base of the Tyurmai Mountains outside Tunguska, the only land that he had even known or ever expected to know. He had travelled at least ten miles on foot, and he could not remember anything of that journey from his village to the narrow track through the mountains.
It was then he realised that he had used his left arm in standing up.
Dumbfounded, he pushed back his cloak and stared at the arm where the Stone Spear had struck; bone shattered and splinters jutting through torn flesh, but now the arm was whole, save for a scar as large as his fist just below the shoulder; a crippling wound had been fully healed, and he could not remember how it had happened.
The pain was receding, leaving that dull ache in his chest, in his breastbone…
Where Koschei struck me before he… before he died…

He donned his cloak again, and without looking back he waded across the creek, the cub splashing after him.
Together they found a rough track leading into dense forest.
His head buzzed with unfamiliar sensations, and everything seemed oddly distant.
With every step his fatigue grew, and conscious thought faded away, save for one.
Koschei is dead. Koschei the Undying is dead.

Fatigue finally overcame him and he slumped to the ground. Gasping with the effort, he clawed his way to sprawl against a fallen tree.
The pains were returning, jabbing at his scalp, and face, spiking up and down his body like a cloud of thorns. There was blood on his face, where his left cheek was gashed, and he could not recall what had wounded him there.
By Morena’s mercy, what now? Where am I?
The wolf-cub nuzzled his hand, and her thoughts were clear.
* Stay with me.
* I promise you, Zalushka…
The words trailed off, and he sank into semi-consciousness.
Images swirled in his mind, jumbled and incoherent…
A great silver tower, and a golden dragon soaring, and a great fire sweeping a countryside like none he had ever seen… Am I dying?
Zalushka was howling, a piteous wail of despair.

Suddenly her fear jolted him back to awareness.
At the side of the track stood a huge wolf, deep black like the midnight sky, with eyes green as grass and as hard as emeralds. It took a pace forward, and gave a low, throbbing growl.
He met the wolf’s eyes and summoned the Runes for Beast-speech.
* We mean no harm. We wish only to pass.
The wolf ceased its growling. It was staring at them both, and he knew that there was a mind behind those eyes. It was a Vol’volkiy, a Great Wolf, the like of those that accepted the Pact back in Tunguska.
But it made no answer.
* Leave us be, lord of the woods. I am friend to wolves. Let us pass…
Zalushka was hunched down, ears flattened, but confronting the black wolf nonetheless, just as she had done once before…
Then someone stepped out from behind the wolf.

There had been pictures of Aelves in Koschei’s journals and tomes of lore.
The books told of how the fair folk were descended from the union of earth-priests and priestesses with the faerie folk in ages past, and they had magic and long spans in years, but Koschei had said that much of the folklore about their goodness and vast arcane power was mere fantasy. In the pictures, the Aelves were sharp-featured and angular, almost as if chiselled out of marble, and their supposed beauty seemed cold, harsh and remote, unlike the one that now stood beside the wolf.
This Aelf was tall and lean and finely boned, clad in a jerkin and leggings of hardened leather, reinforced with steel rings; a narrow leather belt held a long dagger in a plain scabbard on his left hip, and the hilt of a sword jutted above his right shoulder.
High cheekbones and a sharply pointed chin made a small upturned nose look out of place. Long golden hair was tied back in a prominent lock; lobeless ears swept up into high points; and large slanted eyes, blue as the midday sky, seemed to be taking in everything before him, missing nothing.
“Do not be afraid,” the Aelf said quickly in Kethran, his hands raised placatingly. “I am Dorian Wolfkin… my companion is Thunder… and I too am a Master of Beasts.”

Dorian took in the stranger cautiously.
He did not use the Sight again – the glare of magical energy had struck him as if he had looked directly at the sun.
A livid and raw wound slashed across the left cheek of the young man’s plain, broad-featured face, and his tangled chestnut-brown hair was matted with blood.
His clothing, a green hooded cloak with an ornate silver clasp, a tabard and breeches of matching brown, and sturdy boots, was covered with dust and dirt. A plain cloth satchel hung from one shoulder, and a long dagger sheathed on an unadorned stitched belt was his only weapon.
<My name… is Yastreb. You have nothing… nothing to fear… from me… or from my friend Zabeelushka,> the Human replied haltingly in clear Aelftongue.
He had a heavy accent much like that of Rashkans, but in a voice that fatigue had rendered all but devoid of emotion. His eyes were dark gold orbs with pinpoints of light like tiny stars.
<Likewise, don’t fear us. We heard your pledge. You are injured.>
<We’re lost. What… what land is this?>
Dorian glanced at the cub, which was still standing its ground, fearful but determined, before saying, <You came from beyond the mountains. No-one comes from there. No-one dares go there. They terrify each other with stories of the land beyond the mountains.>
The stranger spoke through fading gasps, struggling to keep his eyes open. <I don’t come… to terrify... I have to escape…>
Dorian kept his eyes on the Human, and pulsed a calming thought to the cub.
* Tell me of him, little sister. Tell me what happened.
The cub’s thoughts were frantic, afraid but determined.
* Good and kind, help him, brother, he is good and kind…
Dorian crouched down and placed one hand on the cub’s head.
* Trust me, little sister. Tell me about him. Tell me, little sister. Please tell me.
The cub was trembling, and then the thoughts came in a rush of emotions. The memories were raw, barely formed, filtered through layers of fear, but they were clear enough…
* He was in pain, He was afraid.
* The Old One said, run, so He ran, and he was in pain, and could not go on.
* Then the Pack was there, and they were angry, and I was afraid for Him, and I told Them He is good and kind, do not hurt Him.
* They looked, and They saw, and then They ended His pain, and He ran from the forest…
He placed his hand on the stranger’s forehead.
<Her heart beats in your soul. Let her love make you whole.>
The cub’s fear ebbing… and now there was... joy.
The stranger’s eyes closed, and his breathing steadied as he slept.
Dorian stared down at the unconscious man for a time, and then at the cub, who gazed back at him with exultant eyes.
* Thunder, what do you see?
* A pure spirit, the great wolf replied.

Yastreb awoke, but lay still.
He was fully clad, save for his boots and cloak, lying on what felt like thick grass, and a blanket or rug was covering him.
He felt a wet nose nuzzle his face.
* Are we safe, Zalushka?
* Safe.
<Yastreb, are you in pain?>
He turned his head slowly and opened his eyes. It was daylight, but he lay in deep shade, at one end of a narrow clearing. At the far end a spring gushed from a rock overhang.
Dorian dropped to a crouch beside him, and Thunder padded up to join them. The Aelf held out a roughly-carved wooden mug.
<No… just very weak… my thanks to you, Dorian Wolfkin.>
<Drink anyway, you need it.>
Yastreb slowly sat up and accepted the mug. It was filled with cool water, and he drank it down gratefully.
<You’ve slept for a full day and more. Your little sister was fretting, but she is happy now that you’ve awoken. She’s young, and I sensed that you only bonded a few days past.>
Dorian smiled, and it was a friendly smile that touched his eyes – eyes that shimmered with patterns of blue and grey; mage’s eyes, but not like Koschei’s or his own.
<I should have said, welcome to my home.>
<Thank you for your help.>
Dorian looked at him closely, no longer smiling, head tilted, eyebrows raised.
<You suffered injuries. I can see scars. But I sensed something else – something that left you stunned with grief, a terrible loss. What happened, Yastreb? What did you do?>
Yastreb could only look away as he answered, <I destroyed my home… to avenge Koschei. And then I fled…>
The memories were coming back in a flood of raw emotion, and Yastreb could not hold back his distress.
<I destroyed them! May the Gods forgive me! I saw all that Koschei witnessed in that last hour… how they slaughtered the little folk, whom he loved as his children… and they struck me down from the darkness… so I used the power he gave me, and the hate that he left behind… But I burned them alive! I scorched the earth around me, burned the life out of it! My home, my village, turned to ashes and dust!>
He tried to rise to his feet, but Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder and held him down with no apparent effort.
<I’ve seen you with my eyes, and through Thunder’s eyes and your little sister’s, and we shared souls, if only for an instant.
<I know that you are not a wicked man. They saw no evil in you, and believe me, the Great Wolves see more deeply than any other. What they also saw, and what I see, is magic in you, more than I can ever have imagined in a mortal frame.>
He traced his fingertips around the wound on Yastreb’s face.
<No weapon, no claw caused that scar. The magic you worked against those enemies did that. Some magic has a price. So tell me more. Who is Koschei?>[/size]

[RanVor]

Naming yourself after an OC as well, I see. 

[Róisín]

So glad to see this up here, Yastreb! You may find an interested audience here.

[thegreyarea]

thegreyarea; here's the first chapter of Earthfire, Volume I of the Dragonhost Saga.

A note on punctuation; there are four languages used throughout the saga, set off by different types of punctuation, and two are used here; "Kethran" and <Aelftongue.> There's also * mindspeech.

Yastreb, thank you so much! I'll be reading it carefully later today. BTW nice way to separate languages!

[Yastreb]

Naming yourself after an OC as well, I see. 

TBH, my avatar is how I imagine Dorian... Cutter (and Link) kept intruding into my mind as I was working out Dorian's appearance. You can't fight against that!

[Yastreb]

A Writer's Group would often set challenges of creating a sentence or short passage using two nominated words, but I rarely could keep answers brief, as below. The nominated words are in bold.

A prolonged over-indulgence in Kef made renowned dilettante Byron Cadwallader believe that he had finally acquired Pansophy, but his supposed universal knowledge gleaned thereby had family, friends, and readers of his blog puzzled, as Armenian folk dancing was not renowned for mind-expanding experiences, and there were many gibes about his claims in gossip columns.
As it turned out, it was all caused by an embarrassingly (and a needlessly) quick glance at a Wikipedia disambiguation page, though the Armenian folk dance troupe had received Byron's patronage with sincere gratitude. They had taught him well, though there was some ill-feeling from his family over the paternity suit, which was of course settled privately; Byron refused to discuss the rumour that he had been further deceived into paying for a supposed secret revelation about Kim Kardashian's past.
At last report, Byron was attending a Folk Dancer's Anonymous group in Chicago.

[Jitter]

Yastreb, I know you write your original work and not fan fiction, but it would be a delight to have you participate in the next Chapter Break Filler. If you take a look on the works of the previous two, you will notify there are several works using very minor or original characters. I don’t know what the prompts will be about next time, but I’m sure there will be many opportunities to create original characters and settings that relate to Minnaverse in some form or other. Please consider it! The next one is hopefully far away now, so there is time to ponder.

[Róisín]

Yastreb, I second that suggestion. I don’t know whether you are up for fanfic, or have written such before - I never had written any nor even encountered the concept before starting to do so for this fandom, and was somewhat surprised to find myself not only reading but writing the stuff! As you may remember, before getting involved in this fandom all the fiction I had ever had published was hard SF, and all my other published or broadcast work was poetry, technical articles and the occasional song.

Which reminds me, I should make time tonight to put up the latest chapter of ‘Year 3, Very Far to the South’ which has only a few chapters to go.