Elf Eyes

(So, I had a dream last night, and this is what I ended up writing afterwards. It has a character from my fantasy trilogy in it - Arisso - but he isn't a main character in that trilogy. Which means that this is the only place you'll see this particular scene, because he isn't supposed to have his POV shown in the actual novels at all.

It's not very good writing, and it's random. But this blog has been too quiet as of late, so I decided to post it. Like it, hate it, print it out and burn it - I really don't care. It's just here to be here.)

~*~

~*~

“Deffrui.”

Arisso opened his eyes slowly, and the world began to come into focus. Hazy-minded, he blinked a few times before remembering. Elves, the forest… unconscious… ambush!

He lunged forward, being yanked backwards again when the chains attached to his wrists and ankles pulled taut. With a low growl, Arisso snapped his head up to look towards the door of the cell, wanting to see who it was that had awakened him.

An Elven lady with long tresses of pale gingery-blonde hair stood just a few inches out of reach of his range of movement, her face serene. Her gaze was fixed upon him.

“What do you want, Elven witch?” Arisso spat. “Are you here to finish me off? Why didn’t you or your friends do so long before now?”

“I stopped them, mo rhan. I wanted to speak with you.” Her voice was soft and lilting, and reminded Arisso of the dainty silver bells often rung during festivals in the village he grew up.

“What could you possibly have to say to me?” Arisso muttered, his face set in a scowl as he stared at the stone floor beneath him.

The Elven lady’s mournful sigh could barely be heard, and would not have been, if not for Arisso’s keen senses. She spoke again, with determination glowing in her eyes. “You are Arisso Carnar, son of a man known as Earc Carnar. You grew up in the town of Tamarack as a boy, moving to Erathna when you came of age, and joining the forces of Lord Rarrick as an adult. You—”

Arisso interrupted, a twinge of shock jolting through him. “How do you know these things? Who are you?”

He was not prepared for the next four words.

“I am your mother.” She looked at him with such gentleness, such… such love. How was this possible?

“Lies! My mother died when I was born, witch! You have invaded my mind and stolen my memories!” Arisso snarled, lunging forward again. The chains stopped him, but he was now only a few mere inches from the Elven lady.

Something tiny and bright glistened as it slid down the Elf’s cheek, but she managed the smallest of smiles, continuing to speak. “You have always felt slightly different. You sense things others do not. You are now thirty and nine winters old, and where your comrades’ eyes begin to wrinkle at the corners and their bodies begin to weaken, you still seem a young man, no more than twenty and seven winters old.”

Arisso’s breath caught in his throat, and he started to interrupt, but her words held him in thrall, even moreso than the chains.

“You do not have the tapered ears of most half-elves, nor do you share our stature or demeanor. If you had been raised by someone less embittered at the world and less greedy than your father, perhaps your personality would have been different… but your eyes… they are eyes that have seen oceans of starlight, skies of fire, and many years of love and sorrow. They are an Elf’s eyes, mo rhan. You have not seen all those things, but your ancestors have.”

Arisso shook his head once, a sharp and jerky movement as a flash of what could only be described as denial and panic surged through him. “No.”

“Look into my eyes.”

Though what he wanted most was to keep his gaze fixed on the ground, Arisso found himself lifting his head. Despite the shadows in the room, he found himself looking into two eyes, shining with tears and full of love, watching him. They were the gray of the sky after a fierce storm and the silver of the sea during a winter dusk… the same shade of gray as his own eyes.

He tore his gaze away, letting his arms hang in the chains and staring at the floor. Terror and uncertainty raged through him, slowly gathering in his heart, where he forced it to turn to anger. Anger and hatred was the only way to deal with such things… Half Elf, half human...

With a sudden speed that took even the Elven lady by surprise, he lunged against the chains again, roaring, “I am NOT a filthy half-breed!"

She took a step back, and he saw her tremor, just slightly. In a soft voice, she whispered, “One day, mo rhan, you will know the truth.”

Before he could snap back with a retort, she had left the cell. The door locked behind her with a dull clang that rang with an ominous finality.

A finality that worried even the hardhearted Arisso Carnar.

The Guardian of Adventure

Author's note: This won't make too much sense to anyone who isn't familiar with the film Rise of the Guardians; if you wish, look up the Guardians and you'll understand it more. This is sort of a letter, sort of a goodbye, and sort of a short story thing. I don't even know. I do know that it is part of a series of similar works that may or may not be posted. It took a lot of courage to post this one, for reasons that various people will understand. Either way - don't read it if you don't want to.

(Also, none of the photos included are mine, except for the airport one.)

~*~

I don't remember the first times we spoke, nor do I remember what we said. Maybe you do, but I don't believe I'll ever find out now; those memories are lost to time and the bright new adventure of the sunrise. Just as you are.

Somewhere along the lines, we became friends. It was never to last; and somewhere deep down in my heart, I knew that. For how can one remain lifelong friends with a bird - a free soul? How can one assume they will forever stay by the side of the Guardian of Adventure, who can stay in no place for too long?

But I still have memories.

I remember the jeans, faded and battered from years of mountain hikes, forest walks, and explorations of dark places within the earth. I remember the blue bandanna, the one that lent you luck. Most of all, I remember your grin that always shone with bravado and mischief, and your darting green eyes always searching for the next challenge.

I remember your voice; distinct and unique. You complained about it being too high-pitched, but I disagreed. It was soft, warm, with a lilting hint of an accent to it, and could often calm my frayed nerves and instill a thirst for adventure in me all at once.

The autumnfall days - so long ago, they seem - where I would pace restlessly, hungry for excitement, and a spark would light up my eyes... and I would run to the phone and dial your number, knowing that even if I couldn't go on an epic quest of my own, your intensity for living and passion for adventure would help.

The dark winter evenings where I would be at the computer, alone, and the phone would ring. My father would answer, then pass it to me, and I would realise you had called as a surprise to cheer me up.

The cold winter evenings where I would be running up the driveway to get the mail, come back, and hear from my brother that someone had called me. And it would be you. I remember sitting down with a bowl of soup between my arms when I answered the phone, having to explain to you and your curiosity why I was out of breath. And I remember curling up on the floor afterwards to listen to you recount the adventures you had gone on since we last spoke.

I remember when I first found out I would be going on my first vacation in ten years (and the first out-of-state trip of my life); I ran to the phone to call you, excited. "I'm finally going to get out of the house and go somewhere," I told you, bright-eyed and excited. "It won't be for around a year, but I've got the plane tickets and reservations on a room on the cruise ship and everything!" You expressed happiness for me, knowing from previous conversations how much the trip meant to me; then proceeded to give me advice, telling me dos and don'ts of cruise ships and the Caribbean. I hung on every word, overcome with excitement and feeling as though the entire world had been set right.

I remember the summer after when I awoke to a letter from you, saying goodbye to our community of fellow storytellers. I had expected it; you had told me you would be leaving. I had not known the date, however... and so I saw your farewell. But I never had the chance to say goodbye to you myself.

I was left for months to wonder of the whys and wherefores, until the day my plane flew out to the other side of the country. In the airport, I caught sight of you and once again the familiar feeling of peace and adventure all at once caught hold of me.

You were in Japan. We spoke for a few moments, and then it was time for me to board. And that was the last time I ever saw you. It was only hours afterwards as I watched the mountains drift past beneath us and the clouds whisper past the airplane windows that I realised... I had once again forgotten to tell you goodbye.

It's a painful word. 'See you later' is so much simpler, and yet... when one senses that a 'see you later' is going to become permanent, it is so very hard to say something that reflects that permanence. I never did. I pay for that mistake with tears.

The whys and wherefores still plague me. But deep down in my heart, I have the answers.

You were always and always will be the Guardian of Adventure. A free soul; a bird in flight. You cannot stay in one place for long. You will not be caged. You were for the longest time, gazing at a sunrise of new beginnings you could never reach.

The door swung open one day. You spread your wings and took flight, never looking back. And, after all, who could blame you? It was a new adventure, and one you had longed for; for so many years.

I understand why you left. You left because as an explorer, as a fighter - as the Guardian of Adventure - you could not stay. It would have broken your soul, just as a bird's soul is broken when it is trapped within a cage.

You left because you had to leave; to find yourself and to gain your life back. To escape that cage you were trapped in for so long. To keep fighting for truth, to keep searching for adventure. You had to leave so that you could keep that spirit of adventure alive.

And if you had to leave, then I suppose there was no better reason.

You are loved, and you are missed, bold warrior. Keep flying and keep chasing down your dreams. Keep finding those adventures.

Autumnfall Brings

Autumnfall brings beauty and wonder.

Green gives way to other hues, and suddenly the sunny early mornings become cloudier; but not unpleasant, for there's a crispness and sharpness to the air that makes me feel alive. Things have quickened. Somehow, summer seems slow, lazy, and calm... Autumnfall appears to me to be the opposite.

Dewdrops of faerie rain glistening on the morning grass changes place with frost, glittering stardust of silver and white on the ground. I step out to give the cats their breakfast, and sometimes discard my shoes in favour of walking barefoot across the cold sidewalk and through the frosty grass. I can breathe in deep and the brisk air recharges my still-sleepy senses.

Warmth appears in the form of soft blankets, creamy hot chocolate, and cozy sweaters.I run in the forest and soothe my aching lungs with smooth chocolate-hazelnut tea upon my return. The spicy aroma of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves fill the house as the cookies bake in the oven.

Mother's Christmas songs are already playing now, and I can hear Bing Crosby in the background as I lie down, awake and dreaming. "Where the treetops glisten... and children listen... to hear sleigh bells in the snow..."

Lying down in the still-green grass to watch the clouds drift smoothly past. The sunlight flickers across my face and a cool breeze ruffles the clover. A ruby-red rose nearby is slowly losing her petals, reminiscent of a legend about a beauty and her beast.

The trees whisper stories to each other, as leaves dappled in brown and yellow and orange fall down around me. And if I close my eyes and keep my mind wide open, I can see dragons soaring among the clouds and faeries darting around the leaves tumbling through the air...

Autumnfall brings dreams. Oh so wondrous dreams.

Dreams of magic, dreams of mystery, dreams of the future, dreams of adventure and life and love.

But Autumnfall brings other things too; things that, while not tangible now, were so very real many seasons ago.

Memories.

Dusk falls sooner as days march on, and I find myself sitting on the front step, watching the sun set and longing for the days when I would take the lightsaber out of the closet and duel the neighbours and my brother in the dark. The days when we could laugh and chase each other through the forest, carefree and happy, are gone now, but on Autumnfall evenings like these, I can't help but remember. Not only the times spent with friends, but other times too.

I can remember the smoky-sweet scent of marshmallows burned in the bonfire. My brother never ate them any other way. The bright flames flicker, hissing and snapping, reaching high towards the yellowing trees above. I can remember watching him nibble at the now-black charcoal-covered marshmallow, and laughing because surely he was the only one in the world crazy enough to like burned sweets.

I can remember afternoons when we waited eagerly for the sun to go down, so that we could go run through the dark after supper. My brother had a crooked old lantern he built all on his own - blocks of wood nailed haphazardly together, with a little groove for a candle to sit on the inside. I can remember watching him light five matches to make the candle burn... he never could get the flame to stay bright with just one match. We would go marching down to the forest, two brave warriors on the run from Urgals, or sometimes German soldiers. Bravely we would trek through the forest. And I can remember when the lantern burned out, the sudden surge of fear and our yelling as we bolted back to the house, him gasping out, "I thought I saw a werewolf in the trees." I can remember going wide-eyed, believing him, and running the rest of the way to the house to stand safely beneath the pale yellow lights.

I can remember early snowfalls where the neighbour kids and I would drag the sleds out to slide down the hills again and again, before the inch-deep snow melted. I can remember the hailstorms that would rattle the roof, and the times I would run outside with reckless abandon to race through the pouring hail, just to say I had done it.

I can remember afternoons curled up on the sofa with blankets, chocolate, and stuffed animals, watching Disney films.

I can remember racing through the yard with Sela, my precious, precious Sela. I can remember feeling like together we could take on the world.

I can remember recklessness and courage and joy. (And the fact I can still remember those things lends a sense of hope.)

I can remember family and friends, and Thanksgiving reunions. I can remember games and fun and the bright eyes of a girl so amazed with the world that she could get drunk on just plain living. The world was magic, and I can remember how she wanted to explore every inch of it, how she knew that no matter how much she explored, there would always be those magical corners just out of her reach - the oceans, the stars, the very centre of the earth.

I can remember walking out to the forest to watch the sky alight in a blaze of pinks, golds, oranges, reds, and lavender. I can remember standing there, brown and yellow leaves falling down around me, gazing up in complete awe at how beautiful the neverending expanse was. Wishing I could fly. Just wishing that I could find some way to be up there, in the sky, caught in a storm of colours and stars.

Autumnfall brings many, many beautiful things.

Perhaps memories are the most precious of all of them.

Blog Tour: Meet My Main Character

Welcome! I know, it has been quite a long time since I posted on this blog. You have my deepest apologies. Perhaps hearing a bit about one of the bright souls running around in one of my stories will appease you.

I was tagged for this tour by the lovely Faith Blum. She is the author of A Mighty Fortress, which is the first book in the brilliant Hymns of the West series.

On to the questions!

1) What is the name of your character? Is she fictional or a historical person?

One of the main characters of the story is Skye Calderano. (She shares the title of 'main character' with Anden Ramoor, whom you will hear a little more about in the later questions.) She is fictional, not historical; she couldn't be anyway, as she lives in the future!

2) When and where is the story set?

The story is set sometime in the future; probably around the year 3217. It is set on several different planets at various times in the book, but mostly on one planet. I call it Adsila for now, but that name might change. The city of Qytet is where all of the characters, main and supporting, band together.

3) What should we know about her?

Skye is a 16-year-old orphan who is struggling to find her way in life. As a child, she was full of spirit and always curious - always wanting to learn, learn, learn. When her mother died, she became quieter and less excited about things. After her father was gone, she stopped entirely. The flame is still there, but subdued by grief and confusion. Her father, Lenard, and his best friend - Anden Ramoor, so close to Lenard that he was appointed Skye's uncle by her parents - were the co-owners of the starship Pariah; until the ship vanished, and her father was allegedly killed (neither she nor Anden saw him die, but Anden saw him mortally wounded, with injuries hardly anyone could survive - as a result, they [and I, myself] assume he is dead).

She was sent to an orphanage, despite her father having always wanted Anden to be her legal guardian if anything happened to him. Skye is allowed occasional letters from Anden. One day, she senses that he is up to something big - so she runs away from her current foster home and goes to find him.

4) What is the main conflict? What messes up her life?

The conflict starts when she runs away from her foster home to go to where Anden lives and find out what he's up to. When she does, he explains that he has arranged a search for the Pariah: he wants to find the ship, and - hopefully - the man (or alien) who stole it. Skye insists on coming along, some of her old fire coming back. As for what messed up her life - that was the theft of the Pariah, and the death of her father. That was when her entire life got turned upside down.

5) What is the personal goal of the character?

Skye has several goals - she wants to find the Pariah. Her childhood was filled with dreams of someday being the captain, or at least her father's second-in-command. She knows she can no longer fulfill that dream, but it is one reason she so desperately wants to find the ship. She also wants to find out what truly happened to her father - how he died, and why.

She also wants to get permission to have someone she knows and loves as her legal guardian. Not necessarily Anden, but someone she actually knows (family friends, or other relatives), rather than jumping from foster home to foster home.

6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?

The working title is Tomorrow's Bones. However, it is just that - a working title. I have been considering changing it. As for  reading more of it, you can find unedited snippets here and here. You can also look at quotes and character/story inspiration in these two image boards: Tomorrow's Bones {Storyboard} and The Pariah.

7) When can we expect the book to be published?

I'm honestly not sure. I hope to have it published by Summer of 2015. I don't know if I will or not, but I'm certainly going to try.

The next thing I'm supposed to do for this tour is tag 4-5 authors. I managed to get 6!

~*~

Ophelia - Marie Flowers is a  Christian, writer, singer, and Nurse aid. She enjoys using her talents to remind others that there is hope, and that we never truly walk alone in this life. She is the author of two poetry books - Sixteen, So In Love With You and her most recent, Zeal Aspiring. 

Find her books here:

Sixteen, So In Love With You || Zeal Aspiring

Follow Miss Flowers online:

ZA's Writings || Opinions, Thoughts, and General Rambling 

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As a dreamer, tea-drinker and star-chaser, Elizabeth Kirkwood has a dual obsession with writing and talking about brilliant writing.  When not dredging her fingers in authorly ink, you will find her playing guitar, doodling on her friends' Latin notes, or talking about scientific poetry.  Her first novella, Bridled, is to be published in 2014.

Follow Miss Kirkwood online:

Chasing Woven Glass Through The Storm

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Cathy Baker is a person of many facets. She is an eighteen-year-old college student who loves writing and reading fantasy, and pondering those strange and profound mysteries of life. She has been writing since she was eight, and finished her first novel when she was twelve (not published - she set it aside for some years and is now in the process of revising it). She has been developing other stories ever since. She tends to write in spurts; as with the rest of her hobbies, she often goes for days or weeks without indulging, only to suddenly receive a powerful burst of inspiration at the most inconvenient moment, causing her to drop everything and write. Her alter ego is a winged, six-foot-tall squirrel warrior from a far-off land.

Follow Miss Baker online:

The Journal of a Wanderer on Life's Path

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In the land of reality lives a homeschool graduate named Jessica Verve. She owns four editions of Black Beauty and a vintage dictionary that would put many dumbbells to shame. Hermited away beneath her bed lives a fuzzy red dog who loves to verbally express his emotions while she is in the middle of writing a very important scene in one of her WIPs. Most people think she spends her days spinning tales in one of her favorite genres (Mystery, SciFi, and Character Study) but in reality she is plotting to rule the world [of insects] with an immobile army of carnivorous Venus Fly Traps within the next thirty years. Okay, maybe not…

Follow Miss Verve online:

Jessica Verve

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 Jeremiah Stiles is a werewolf living in the cold, dark, regions of Washington state. He writes science fiction and fantasy when he isn't working secretly in a warehouse or eating things that threaten those whom he loves.

Follow Mr. Stiles online:

Another OtherWorld

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A servant of the Author, and a servant to all who serve him:
Patrick Lauser was born and raised in the tops of the trees in Washington state, and is currently in the tops of the mountains in Ireland (which are about as high as the trees were in Washington).
A reader, starting from the Word of God, and sifting through the world of Ideas (a word he involuntarily tends to capitalize).
A writer of the unheard of, and a thinker of the unthought of.

His hobbies include, but are not limited to: photography, throat singing, wearing camouflage and black, and eating hot-sauce on cake.

Follow Mr. Lauser online:

A Servant of the Author || Pinterest || Google Plus

Of Whispers and Wanderings - Free Promo

Let me guess, that 'free' in the title is what caught your eye. Shush, now, don't deny it. You know it did. ;)

Anyway, yes - I published Of Whispers and Wanderings last year. The ebook is free until May 19th. This isn't a big event or anything like that; I'll save that for my next published work (and no, you don't get any information about that, because for one, I have to finish writing it, and for another, telling you about it ruins the surprise). Here's the link to it on Amazon:

Of Whispers and Wanderings

All that is happening here is that my collection of short stories and poems is free, as far as the ebook goes, for five days. Part of this is to hopefully get more people aware that I'm a writer. The other part is, hey, free books. Everyone likes free books. And it will make them happy to get something for no money. Right?

So yes; that's about all that needs to be said...

Oh! One more thing! I would appreciate it so very much if those of you who do download and read Of Whispers and Wanderings leave a review for it. It would mean a lot, regardless of whether you hated or loved the book. *grins*

I would also appreciate it if anyone who sees this (if they're so inclined) can share the blog post on social networks and what-not. Like I said, I'm trying to get the word out about my books and such. :)

That's all, I suppose. Have fun! I hope. You're free to sue me though if my book, like, makes you blind or gives you permanent brain damage. ;)

Until next time,

Theodora Ashcraft