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Archive for April, 2014

Walking Vlog – A New Opportunity

Hello everyone,

A couple of days ago I watched Lisa Stull’s walking Vlog on her YouTube channel and found it not only amusing (in a good way), but I found it very inspirational. I also watched Buddy Gott’s walking Vlog on his YouTube channel and not only has that man got a good set of teeth on him and a head of hair that you just want to pet all day long (I’m sure he’ll appreciate the compliments), but it allowed me to find out more about him as regards to who he is as a person, his literary endeavours and what he does.

Already I have planned out things to talk about in my first Vlog and I am hoping to get it recorded very very soon (aka in the next day or two dependent on the weather). As people will hopefully know I have recently created a new Facebook account strictly for writing. The reasons for this will be touched on in my Vlog :-)

I hope and pray that I will not be too boring and that I don’t have to do too many takes. Currently the weather is good so I might be doing some recording today!

Stay tuned!

Flash Fiction Series – The Calling of a Myth (Episode Two)

A good way to start the week? I hope people think so. Enjoy episode two of ‘The Calling of a Myth’ :-)

 

Flash Fiction Series – The Calling of a Myth

Episode Two

A soft salty sea breeze blew its way across the land, mixing intimately with the smell of smoke and death that was hanging around like a vulture.

What had transpired in the coastal village of Pisca was despicable by anyone’s standards. The day before had seen an immense raid by the barbarians from the eastern hills – an unusual spectacle as they were known for keeping themselves to themselves and only fighting with each other. Nonetheless they had come and they had gone through this small fishing village like a lava flow setting fire to people’s homes and demolishing the traders’ huts without conscience. Women and children had either been slaughtered needlessly or taken as slaves; all the able-bodied residents who had fought back in a futile attempt at resistance had been gutted and left to rot in the smoky sun; and crucial food supplies, drinks and silver had been taken with a gluttonous greed. The wide dirt track that was the village’s spine was littered with charred wood and discarded belongings that had not been deemed worthy of taking.

Amidst the wake of the brutal ransacking two figures waded their way through the littered path. One of them stopped, assessing the devastation from beneath a thick dark green hunter’s hood. Tenrian idly adjusted the brown leather gauntlet on his right hand as he rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth. ‘This is getting out of hand,’ he remarked blankly to his companion.

Fiona closed her eyes as a fresh wave of salty sea air whipped at them suddenly. She breathed in heavily, her curvy blonde hair dancing behind her. She murmured to herself before addressing her friend’s words. ‘Someone must be instigating these attacks. There’ve been seven in the past three weeks. If they were all being carried out by the same group of people then it wouldn’t seem so unusual, but that’s not the case.’ She looked across to the opposite side of the track at what used to be some kind of thatched wooden building that had probably been someone’s home. She felt her heart sink to her feet.

Tenrian shook his head not out of disagreement, but out of despair. ‘We’ve been investigating each of these attacks since they began and we’ve gotten nowhere.’

‘You never know – this one might reveal something to us.’ Fiona gazed up at the hazy sky, her sharp blue eyes failing to pierce the shroud of smoke above.

‘You’ve said that the last four times now and nothing has come to light.’

‘We mustn’t be so negative, Tenrian.’

The hunter huffed and walked forward slowly, his deep brown eyes scanning for something; anything that would shed some light on what had been going on in recent weeks. He finally stopped walking around after a few moments of silence and kneeled down, laying the points of his fingers onto the warm ground and angling his head to one side.

‘Getting anything?’ asked Fiona as she shuffled her armoured feet through the blackened dust. She laid a gloved hand onto the hilt of her broadsword and sighed.

Tenrian sniffed deeply, longingly. ‘All I can sense is what you’d expect after such a display of sheer brutality.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Maybe if we look around we’ll find something more.’

They commenced their investigation, examining the remains of burned out buildings and sifting through the scattering of bodies and belongings. The variety of twisted faces that were strewn across the floor was stomach wrenching. Tenrian and Fiona had both seen their fair share of bloodshed and death, but nothing could have compared with what lay before them this day.

‘Fiona – look at this.’ Tenrian stooped over the mangled corpse of a young brunette woman, her legs broken and body slashed viciously.

What is it? You found something?’ she inquired, her voice releasing a mound of enthusiasm. She may have been in her early thirties, like her companion, but she acted with a teenage enthusiasm that betrayed her initial appearance.

Tenrian ran an analytical forefinger across the dead woman’s body, slowly coming to hover over a single wound that was set aside from the rest. ‘Look at this wound.’

Fiona bent down and peered at where Tenrian was pointing. ‘Let’s take a closer look.’ With that she reached forward and tore the clothes of the corpse apart to reveal the fatal array of injuries. She scanned the pale body intensely, noting the distinct difference of the body’s reaction to the wound. ‘That wound is a lot more precise, not to mention the black scarring around it.’

‘I think…’ Tenrian leaned forward and sniffed the wound cautiously, swiftly reeling back with a look of disgust. ‘It’s poison – this woman was stabbed with a small poisoned blade. The entry wound isn’t typical of a barbarian weapon.’

‘That we know of?’

Tenrian shook his head. ‘No, Fiona; this wasn’t a barbarian led attack if I were to hazard a guess. I know we had our suspicions about the attacks being instigated by someone and this has more or less confirmed it in my eyes.’

Fiona stood up and looked around at the edges of the village and beyond, paranoid that they were being watched. ‘What poison is it?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Tenrian replied as he straightened up to his feet. ‘I have a sneaky feeling that it maybe something rare and unobtainable in this part of the world.’

‘We should take a sample and return to the city as fast as we can.’ Fiona walked a few paces forward and looked out over the sea, the rush of the air whistling in her ears with the souls of those who had been lost.

Likes, shares and comments welcome :-) Thanks for reading

Flash Fiction Series – The Calling of a Myth (Episode One)

Hello everyone,

I’m pleased to say that I have finally gotten around to getting episode one of my proposed flash fiction series entitled ‘The Call of a Myth’. The number of episodes is still unknown to me let alone to my readers! :-) Hope people enjoy this.

 

Flash Fiction Series – The Calling of a Myth

Episode One

Flash. Flash.

Balls of light zoomed around Justine’s head in an ever tightening motion, her dark blue hair lifting up in the air from some unknown force. ‘I don’t like it… I don’t like it!’ she cried, fear gripping her fragile heart with a fearless embrace. ‘Please stop…’ Sounds of water suddenly whooshed about her slender figure along with the light, making her shiver and wretch violently.

‘Enough!’ a voice boomed from beyond the blinding mist. ‘She has satisfied the test.’

The cascade of magic was released and disappeared almost instantly, the soft essence of a thin shroud of water the only thing left lingering.

Justine swallowed hard and looked up with her dark brown eyes at the solitary figure standing before her. She licked her lips in an effort to make them more pliant. ‘Lord Mage Velkus… have I passed the test?’ She held her hands together in front of her tightly clasped.

Velkus, an aged man with a mane of dark grey hair and a thick grey beard, stroked his chin with forefinger and thumb thoughtfully. ‘I believe I am sufficiently satisfied.’

‘May I ask what it was all in aid of? You never told me anything other than I had to partake in order to rise above other mages.’ She idly began to smooth her dishevelled hair.

The old man smiled faintly, averting his blue eyes to the chunky silver ring on his right forefinger. ‘It was a new form of stress test for your body,’ he explained. ‘Some of the researchers in the basement labs came up with an idea to expose a subject to a variety of magical elements. In your case it was light, water and fear magic.’

Justine stopped her unconscious preening. ‘Fear magic? I thought the use of emotion modifiers was limited?’ She flung her mind out in search for an answer, but found nothing.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ warned Velkus. ‘You maybe one of the best psychic mages we have, but you’re not good enough to tap into my mind.’ He raised a wise eyebrow and glared at her. ‘You’re here because the high lords believe they can trust you.’

An ominous cloud quickly formed above Justine in the high reaching stone ceilings. She looked around nervously and focused on the crackling fireplace in the northern side of the room. It mesmerised her and reminded her of her younger days back home in the southern reaches of the woodlands. Where she came from was considerably warmer than the middle lands she found herself in these days. She had journeyed north from her native woodland village of Cadlaberon to the world renowned school of magic when she had reached her limits of knowledge back home.

She shook her head when Velkus repeatedly clicked his fingers. ‘You listening, Justine?’ he asked with a harshened tone of voice.

Justine pursed her lips and smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Mage. Erm… may I asked what the high lords are willing to trust me with?’

Velkus nodded slightly and turned to an oak dresser that had a few lock boxes resting on its top. He opened the farthest one and produced a small folded letter with a green wax seal on its crease. He handed it to her. ‘This is a specialist mission. In this letter are details about someone who needs to be found. What is known about this man is limited, but what we do know is that you’ll know who he is when you come across him.’

Justine opened the sealed letter and glanced over the few lines scribbled in ink on the paper. ‘How will I know who he is?’ Her mind was racing from this sudden show of responsibility and trust that had come from the top brass of the school. It seemed to her that the entire operation was more than just about education; she realised that within the past few minutes. What was the point in the test she had undergone? Was it to see if her body could take the punishment of some kind of magic she would encounter on this so-called mission?

Velkus pressed the palms of his hands together and brought his forefingers up to his lips. He walked from side to side, his commanding presence growing. ‘You are one of our top psychic mages with the ability to read people and tap into their minds… this man you’re to seek out is impervious to any sort of mind magic.’

‘How so?’ Justine angled her head, curious.

There was a degree of trepidation in the old mage’s body language as he seemingly refused to look his student in the eye. Was the answer to her question secret or something?

‘We believe… this man is from one of the ancient tribes from the north.’

Justine was stunned; her mouth was agape. ‘Are you talking about the ancient tribes of warriors that were supposedly lost in the great freeze four centuries ago?’

Velkus nodded silently.

‘Lord Mage, if I may; all the scouting parties that were sent out over the years all reported nothing in the northern regions.’

‘That much is true, but recent information from a reliable source has told us that the apparent member of one of the ancient tribes is in the City of Netheryn just west of here.’

Justine flicked her blue hair behind her ears. ‘Who was your source?’ she asked, curiosity and scepticism plaguing her every thought.

‘The warrior himself…’

 

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