Time to type again!

I haven't written much lately, what with holidays then getting accustomed to my new class. Time to remedy that! Chuck Wendig's challenge for this week was something anything SF or Fantasy. And for a while now I've been reading Tobias Mastgrave's page, where he often gives a seed sentence or an image for inspiration. I'd never got around to doing any of his, so figured it was about time I give it a shot, especially when it aligned so nicely.

The scene challenge was the starting sentence (and maybe the picture too, I'm not sure, I'm new). I think scene challenges are meant to be short, so this one is just a wee little tacker.

Picture comes from his page, of course

Agnal mouthed words of power, though no sound emerged from his throat, and raised his hands. The long years of his training in the Elder Tongue had corroded his vocal cords, but it was a small price to pay for such power. A bluish glow emanated from his fingertips, lighting the recesses of his cowl and causing his familiar to hiss with irritation. Slowly the light coalesced into the tentacled and be-fanged form of the Ithyak that was bound in service to the mage. With a keening roar the creature dashed from the study.

Agnal smiled, fingering the key he had worn around his neck in remembrance for many a long year. Soon justice - true justice - would prevail.

1006 number 2

I liked the idea of these 1006 challenges so much I thought I'd do another quick one. I haven't done a baby picture here yet, so we're due one I am sure. It was snapped by my wife, Vietnamese seem to have an inherent sense of how to frame photos - I guess it is because they take soooo many.

Anne Geddes, eat your heart out.

1006

I've had Delft's blog in my RSS feed for a while now, originally for their writing, but I've been enjoying the recent photos paired with poems. They suggested a 1006 word challenge, which is an absolute rip-snorter of an idea, smashing together two fantastic sayings - that a picture is worth a thousand words, and I'm guessing the six words you choose to accompany it is a tip of the hat to the baby shoe story of Hemmingway.

Today was the first day back at work, so here's my entry. A quick (and very rough) bit of photoshopping.  Neither words nor pictures are mine because of all the extra paperwork a new class brings. Not that I can complain with a class of eight (that I eased into since only 5 rocked up).

"My God—it's full of stars!"

Next time I promise to be original.

Dammit, Butthead!

So we got a Nexus, and silly me left the Sync everything ticked. And so it pulled down a whole host of junk I didn't need, like every email address I've ever written to as a contact, and a bunch of pictures too, which were ones I'd used here.

couldn't work out how to remove them, but finally found the info on some forums somewhere. Delete it from Picasa it said. I didn't think I had been using Picasa, but I guess since Google owns it they rolled everything in together. So I went in and deleted everything, using some Picasa app on the Nexus, thinking it'd only wipe it from there. Nope, broke everything here. A fair few of them I didn't save, like the ones for the Steampunk Superheroes piece, and I really reckon it made that one. So they're gone for good.

No big deal as I don't get many visitors, but the place will look a mess for a while. Maybe I should swap to Wordpress. But both Blogger and Wordpress are blocked at work, and I've been too lazy on the new computer to load TOR, but I'll have to get around to it sooner or later, especially as this year I will have a lot more free time for writing.

I Aten't Dead

In the immortal words of Granny Weatherwax:

Parents are leaving tomorrow, with our computer. We'll be getting a new one after payday. We've had a great time while they've been here. I haven't done a lick of writing. Any planning? Noooo, not so much. Doesn't matter, I'll get back at it when I'm back at work.

Donny's Delight

By any yardstick, Donny was a bad man. As head enforcer, he’d committed some atrocious acts which needed no embroidering or additions to inspire fear. His reputation was tough, image harsh, his visage locked in a permanent scowl. If there was a hell, he’d certainly be going there.

These depraved and deplorable deeds caused him no torment, nor loss of sleep. It wasn’t the case that he took a perverse pleasure in them, he looked at it as a job that needed doing. But Donny was tormented, as in the dark recesses of his mind he was a furry, and that was something he could never be.


 
For the 100 word challenge this week, the prompt was … in the dark recesses of my mind … which I tweaked since this was written in the third person as there's no way Donny would be admitting this. 

 I have a real good mate who is a furry, he just got back from Anthro Con where he competed in the dancing competition. He made it to the semi-finals before being eliminated - not bad for his first time! Next year I'm sure he'll place better... he's started working on his new routine already.

Edit:  A furry is someone who identifies strongly with an animal, often going to the extent of buying a fursuit (or a partial one) that can run into the thousands. Think of something along the lines of a sports mascot or children's TV character like Donald Duck. My dancing mate bought a partial suit - head, tail, arms and legs - and dropped about 4 grand on it. Some more information here but after that I'd probably not recommend digging too deeply as it can get NSFW fairly quickly.

Create a Coreling competition

Peter V. Brett has written two excellent books so far based in Thesa where demons rise from the centre of the world at the fall of night. There's a couple of short novellas based there too, and I'm eagerly awaiting the next book, coming out in February. Every couple of months Peat has a competition of some sort, and this time it was to create a coreling of your own. Most of his are elemental - wood demons, rock demons etc, and we were invited to draw, sculpt, write about or otherwise invent some of our own, up to three. I turned in three entries, and got third place, not too shabby at all!

Below follow my entries, I'll try to do some more writing soon, once we get tests and reports out of the way. I had the most fun with the last one, though writing it did require me to dig through his books a bit to find the correct spelling. 


Demon of Doubt
Demons of doubt have a toothed maw at the centre of a mass of writhing tentacular arms, covered in suckers and terminating in hooked claws. Small as a grain of sand, and fond of remaining insubstantial until they strike, the existence of these demons is unknown in the current age, though their predations continue unchecked. Unfortunately this means there is no specific ward that guards against them.

Drifting through the smallest chinks in ward nets they phase through the skull and feast upon tiny portions of the unwitting brains of their host. This affects the linkages between neurons and unduly influences the hosts' behaviour, causing them to be more likely to give in to their baser emotions – such as doubt, fear, envy, greed, recklessness, or hidebound thinking. It is probably for the best that humanity is unaware of this demon, lest they revel in shallow acts, and blame their actions upon these beasts.

*

Turned Coreling
Far from the lands of Thesa that have been described in the Demon Cycle so far, in one of the last outposts when man was master of machines and science still served him, a small bastion of humanity managed to create an apparatus of surprising power - it was able to convert a small number of demons each night. Though the batteries of this device have long since run down, and the circuitry fallen into disrepair, their numbers still slowly increase, as they are able to overpower and infect those demons that plague the world.

They can be easily identified by their enveloping aura of honey-coloured light, and their eyes are limned with a pleasant viridian tinge that also manifests upon their extremities when they move.

Turned demons can follow simple commands given in their new masters' tongue. Even if the Krasnian army fought their way to them it would do no good, as the language has been lost to the ravages of time and demons - none of that enclave are left alive.

When the sun rises, the enslaved demons do not return all the way to the core, but merely part way down the paths (much like Arlen did) and dwell there. The coreling princes know of their existence, but are unconcerned by them, and see no great need to snuff them out as yet, as that part of the world is devoid of human life.

*

Bone Alagai
May Everam's light always shine upon thee. The Dama will say that the tale within this manuscript is heresy, yet still must it be told, for it is true - those of the white have defiled the Will of Everam by dismissing it out of hand.

In 142 AR our people entered a resurgence of matters spiritual.  New interpretations of previously obscure scripture flowed down to even the lowliest of the khaffit. Eager to further expand our knowledge and understanding, the Andrah formed in utmost secrecy a cadre of Dama'ting well versed in prophesy and Dama that excelled as distinguished scholars of the Evejah with instructions to prepare by any means necessary prognostications of the future - whether they be dire or jubilant.

All of their auguries so far have been accurate, though you will find no other mention of them, they have been eradicated from our peoples’ histories, as have their names. That is due to their final act of soothsaying, which I am sure will be no less accurate, painful though it is.

Turning their thoughts and powers upon that most honourable edifice, the Jewel of Krasia, last resting place of the noble and brave, paean to Everam's glory and might - I speak of none other than Sharik Hora. Those luminaries from long ago ascertained that in the closing stages of alagai’sharak Fort Krasia would be overrun. Runes undone, the Andrah’s palace torn asunder and Nie's children free to despoil the fairest city of all. The taint and scourge of the darklings rendered our defenses useless. Just as the unending desert sands calls to sand demons, and the restless wind summons the winged foe, so too did the concentration of osseous relics summon a type of coreling never before seen - the Bone Alagai.

A blasphemous melding of the skeletons of those who have gone on to Everam's paradise, with thigh bones sprouting from eye sockets, ribs fusing into fingers and other monstrosities too foul to speak of,  the creatures made a mockery of those dal’Sharum who gave their life in alagai’sharak.

Rather than hiding the news of this hideous desecration, these visionaries brought their proof before the Andrah, hoping against hope that given warning we would be able to avert such a course. At first, the Andrah would not accept such an unpalatable message, and threw them out in fury. They did not cease their petitions, and in time, his anger appeared to give way to their entreaties. The Andrah sent word that he would hear them out again, so long as they brought all their evidence and spoke of it to no other.

That most wise of Damaji, Rashid Asu Goram am’Harzuk had in secret left an encoded copy of all documents with his most favoured jiwa, to be passed on to his son when he had completed hannu pash and emerged as a Dama. It is from these that I have gleaned the truth, passed down through the generations, for the Andrah had not recanted in his anger, and still waxed wrothful. When all his seers were assembled and the documents accounted for he accused them of plotting sedition and that their predictions were no more than couzi fueled lies – slander and an abomination of the Everjah, and put their scrolls to the torch.

He then had their tongues ripped out, later to be thrown thrown to fire demons. A rabble of the most miserable and pitiful khaffit was gathered, given lumps of wood and instructed to bludgeon the worthy prophets to death, so that they would suffer an ignominious demise. Then they were bound to stakes on the ramparts of Fort Krasia with their own entrails, so that when the wind demons carried them off that night their souls would be dismembered, screaming wordlessly for eternity beyond Everam's sight in Nie’s darkness.

You will claim that you have never heard of the great Rashid Asu Goram am’Harzuk. This is so, as the Andrah had the names of each oracle and sibyl struck from the record, never to be spoken again, on pain of sharing their fate. The knowledge of them and their “crime” faded from memory, yet their words be true – ‘ware the Bone Alagai.