Category / Fantasy

by Colette

Magic as a Science

Written by Doishy

An extract taken from A Scientific Reference to Magic – A Journal. 

1.0 – An explanation of.

It is here that the actual science [or as much as we understand it] is described and broken down. Many people, notable scientists and mages as well as lowly thinkers, have tried to decipher the truth about magic. What follows is, to date, the best and most accurate explanation of magic as it currently exists. Most of the proof for these ideas have come from experimentation and careful observation of it in use, as well as rare and unexplained sightings. That which is written here has been verified by multiple trusted sources and, therefore, is most likely to be comprised of strong theory.

This chapter acts as a building block, showing you the basic concepts – as an introduction to magic – that will be explored more intricately as the book goes on. The first part will explore the energies and forces involved with the concept that we now know as magic. The second will introduce the idea to the theory of using magic and give a very brief overview of what chapter 2.0 will explain. The third and last will give an explanation into the variations of souls within the concept of magic and will present examples of them and how they differ. It will also give insight into the concept of Applications and Filters that will be presented in chapters 3.0 and 4.0.

1.1 – Associated Forces
The first thing that is obvious is that magic stems from somewhere. It follows the laws of energy; it cannot be created, nor destroyed. There is always a constant amount of it in the universe and it can only be manipulated. The main question is: What created this energy in the first place and where is it located?

The first question cannot be answered without the ability to go back in time (which many have tried with disastrous consequences). Because of this only theories have any merit, and even then they are limited. The most popular ones usually stem from or around the concept of a deity or multiple deities. The church has a well-known extremist faction within it that believes God is responsible for the creation of magic and that mages are, therefore, descendants of angels, fallen or otherwise, that live on earth to use his gift to spread the word. They believe, of course, that the miracles mentioned within the bible were the work of mages. The limits within this theory obviously lie within the question of whether or not God, in the traditional sense, exists. The idea of magic strengthens the belief as it holds very little scientific value at present, so such an idea has more substance to it.

Other examples of ideas are rooted more in traditional science going with the theory of the big bang. Within the event both the core elements that make up the universe were created as well as certain sorts of radiation. This branch claims magic is just another sort of radiation that was created and has travelled alongside all the other sorts, across the universe. Again, the problem here is proof. As the ways to measure magic as an energy are very limited, getting a reading off the big bang is nigh on impossible. Even measuring the background levels and using maths to calculate the probability is difficult.

The living organism theory is also very popular. This leads to the belief that magic itself is a sentient entity, much again to the idea of Gaea or other such things. It is a spirit that embodies itself within everything, some people insist in calling it part of, or the embodiment of, Gaea. This theory holds much sway, if not for the evidence, for the knowledge of it since ancient times. It is less of fact and more of a good term for it. As a whole though, it isn’t widely used to describe the magical energy out of circles that hold such beliefs.

Because of these examples of theories and many others, the ability to discern the true origin of magic is very limited. Instead, most experts in the field of study prefer to look at where it is located, in order to ascertain more thorough research in the hope of finding answers to the origin question.

The answer as to where magic is located is very easy, in fact, it’s almost everywhere. The energy that seems to form the basis of magic is emitted from almost everything. This includes things, living or dead from humans, to the lowliest speck of dirt. It also flows through these things, with the energy from each thing flowing through everything else. If one were to see the energy [of which people have been recorded to be able to do] then you would see a plethora of connecting strands going to and from everything in your sight, and it would be complicated, much like a network of neurons in a brain.

Another thing to note is these energies change. As a stream of it goes through something, it inherits a slightly different aspect to itself. An example is as such: If a stream of this energy were to flow through fire, it would take on a slightly more wavy aspect and, possibly, [for those who could see such things] a slightly reddish hue. If this fire aspect stream were to then flow through a pool of water it would change again, becoming more liquid in its movements and perhaps taking a blue hue. [Please note all descriptions are purely metaphorical, I do not know what the streams actually look like when seen, or if they can be seen at all.] Because of this constant changing it seems that each ‘type’ of magic is associated with certain aspects of the world.

Not every object causes a different stream, however. There are objects that share aspects such as dirt, sand and stone. All of these seem to produce the same sort of energy and, therefore, it can be theorised that they share some sort of ‘magical property’. Pretty much every non-human entity that is alive seems to come under one of three sorts of energies; most plants and fungus share, insects including arachnids and the like, and all other mammals, birds and sea life. It is not sure as to why there are only three sorts of streams that stem from such a genetic variety of species, but further research is always being conducted into it.

Humans are another thing altogether. It seems that when energy passes through us it does not take on a new aspect linked with ourselves. Instead, it takes on the aspect of our bones, blood and parts of us that make up our bodies, but it does this with any animal. It does not seem to have a specific affinity or aspect directly linked to us as a species. Rather, humans are quite different and, in fact, act as something else instead of just another conduit to flow through. This leads towards the theory of the soul. More of this shall be explained shortly. All that is known is that humans have something that does set them apart in terms of magic and the energies involved.

 

Perhaps when we think of magic, we don’t think of it as a science. Rather, we think of magic as something that’s just not real. Doishy’s extract from a larger piece of work which theorises magic as a science is so interesting, we just want to keep reading! Is there such a thing as magic in this world? I hope so. But for now, we’ll have to theorise it as a simple feeling rather than what comes out of a wand, or fingers, or wiggles of a nose. If you enjoyed Doishy’s writing, make sure to view his other published pieces such as, “The Sound of Silence” and “It’s the Magic Number”. 

Featured Image CC // Jeff Krause

by Colette

The Fall and Rise of All

Written by Dice

An extract from “The Fall and Rise of All” –  a larger work of fiction based around the fantasy world of Eate. 

The castle suddenly shook and large lumps of rock fell from higher battlements. Some hit other fighters, some rolled harmlessly away. None came close to hitting Jaric. Dejectedly, he looked across at the tall tower on the other side of the courtyard – they had already lost it two days before. At the top of what was the tallest tower in the castle complex, another battle furiously raged; one no mortal being or Maysa would have ever seen before. It had started years before and the Thrwan armies were here to take advantage. For at the top of the tower, the Lord God Dorun fought the The Creator. Dark clouds wrapped around the tower and lightning constantly flashed against it.

Occasionally, the immense power of these two beings erupted from the tower and shook the ruined city. Jaric had fought in long sieges before, but never had there been so much destruction. It had once been Ceannais, the grand capital of Dormanica, but now it was mostly rubble. Buildings and siege proof defences flattened by the indefinable celestial battle.

“Breach! The Gate is Breached!” came a cry from inside the keep.

This is it, thought Jaric, it’s over. The keep has been breached, the endless hordes of Thrwan soldiers will flood the remaining defenders. The fighting will be hard, but eventually it will be over. Other sword and spearmen were already rushing past Jaric into the keep. Slowly, using the wall and his sword for support, he wrenched his tired body to his feet.

He was just about to join the others rushing to the keep when the floor shook more violently than before and Jaric fell again, this time against the parapet. The battle went deadly silent for a moment, like it often did after the worst shakes, almost as if the battle was taking a breath before continuing. As the shouts restarted the ground shook even harder, feeling like liquid. Tossed like a ship on the roughest seas, soldiers were strewn. The few remaining buildings in the city crumbled like magical dandruff. Jaric clung onto one of the merlions with all his might. There was an almighty crash of lightning and the whole ground seemed to lurch down, throwing everyone, including Jaric, into the air. Jaric himself toppled over the battlement falling into the courtyard; his fall only broken by the dead bodies piled against the wall.

The ground stilled and Jaric jumped to his feet expecting to find every enemy soldier in the congested courtyard facing him. But they had all fallen too and were shakily returning to their feet. Jaric looked around him, other soldiers from his platoon had also fallen from the wall and were standing either side of him, looking up at the tall tower. The Thrwan soldiers also turned to look up at it; scared of what he’d see Jaric followed their gaze.

The whole roof and the walls surrounding the top floor of the tower were gone. The clouds had parted in a spherical shape. It was hard to see so far up, but in the centre two overly large human shaped figures struggled against each other. They were encased in a large ball of blue light which was pulsing and trying to expand.

Suddenly the ball of light exploded, expanding in all directions at an incredible rate. It raced towards Jaric who turned away from it to protect himself, but as it passed it only felt like a strong gust of wind. He looked back quickly. The whole top half of the tower had blown away, the debris scattered for miles. The two figures from the top were falling at an incredible speed. One held the other below its own body, aiming its opponent’s head to the ground. All around Jaric, soldiers stood aghast, there wasn’t much time to understand what was happening, but somehow everyone knew this was it, the battle of the gods was coming to an end. Doubt flashed in Jaric’s mind, what if Dorun lost?

The two falling divine competitors crashed into the floor of the courtyard and the whole ground lurched again, like carpet swept under one’s feet. Jaric fell, this time hitting stone floor. He ignored the pain, it was just another bruise after all. Others who had been close to the impact where thrown across the courtyard into the surrounding walls, some were thrown clean over.

Jaric ignored the new pains in his body and, like everyone else in the courtyard, scrambled to his feet. Everyone strained their eyes, willing them to look through the dust cloud in the centre of the courtyard. All wanting the same answer, which god, if either would still be standing.

Some Thrwan soldiers who had been closer to the impact screamed, what did that mean? Did it mean Dorun had won?

The dust began to clear, only one figure stood in the centre. Three times taller than any of the mortals around it and undoubtedly female. The Godess, the Creator, the Mother, had defeated Dorun. The dust dissipated making the image clear. She stood amongst them barefoot, wearing a simple thin-silk unblemished white dress. Womanly in shape, she was without a single imperfection, had long golden hair which flowed in the wind, and bright blue eyes that stared with determination and hate. The Goddess was more beautiful than any human, or elf, any of them had ever seen. Her beauty was terrifying. She had overthrown Dorun, and her body and clothing showed no signs of battle that a mortal would expect.

Soldiers from both sides screamed, some fled. Jaric stood paralysed in fear of the vision in front of him.

The Goddess seemed to hear the screams and looked around her. The anger and hate in her eyes faded into sadness. She looked down at her feet. Apart from a small crack in the courtyard floor there was no sign of the impact. She looked up quickly as if she had sensed something. The Creator looked at the humans around her with an expression of determination softening, while tears began to fill her sad eyes. She no longer looked terrifying; instead she looked devastatingly beautiful and, despite her large size, completely fragile.

When she spoke her voice was soft and soothing, but immeasurably sad.

“My children. My lost children. I… I am sorry.”

Tears freely flowed from her eyes as she faded and vanished. Her words were poignant, she had called them her children, never before had humans been called the children of The Mother. They were not elves or Maysa, they were raised as dirt, as pawns of war. And sorry, sorry for what? All in the courtyard wondered it. Sorry for destroying their God? No, she had spoken to those who followed Thrwa too. Sorry for destroying the city? No, it seemed more meaningful than that.

All stood in silence staring at the crack left by the impact. Light spread across the courtyard as dawn broke from behind the courtyard’s fallen eastern wall. The quiet was broken by the clanging of metal on stone. Jaric looked behind him. Dormanican soldiers were throwing their swords down in surrender. Their God was dead, what was the point of fighting in his name? Jaric threw his sword down and looked towards the Thrwan army. Someone shouted something in the Thrwan language an they raised their bows and aimed at the surrendered soldiers.

This was it at last thought Jaric as he closed his eyes. It was ending.

There was a great rumbling sound when Jaric slowly opened his eyes again. The Thrwan soldiers had lowered their bows and turned in the direction of the sound, which was getting louder. Jaric raised his arm to block the blinding sun and, though the light glare faded, he still could not process what he could see rising high above wreckage of the city.

As part of a larger work, Dice’s story excerpt is a bold telling of war. The Rise and Fall of All reminds us that a war between Gods and Goddesses, however epic, still paints a terrifying picture of destruction. In complete disarray, the city falls, and so do the hearts of men, women and children. The battle between power is a never-ending one, but in the end it’s The Creator who hates herself for all she has unleashed. If you enjoyed Dice’s work in the World of Eate, perhaps view other stories from a fantasy world published on Inkblots, including “The Ascension of the Pilgrim”. 

Featured Image CC // Tim Lucas

 

by Colette

By Force

Written by OrdDiff

“Dragons. Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” The magician said, gazing out of her tower’s window. “Faster and tougher than any beast in the natural world, yet fully aware and able to speak. There isn’t a single adult dragon that hasn’t mastered the arcane.”

The group gathered in the magician’s study was diverse. A military commander fidgeted in ceremonial armour, protecting him from the cold and not much else. A long-nosed bureaucrat scribbled away on a sheet of parchment, recording the meeting for any fuel he might use to ascend a rung on the political ladder. A kind-hearted nobleman sat with rapt attention, while his aide scanned the room for the closest exit.

“You like drakes. We get it,” the bureaucrat interrupted. “Can we please get to the point?”

The magician eyed the bureaucrat with disdain. “Very well. As you know, the secrets of flight have eluded us for the longest time. My predecessor,” she spoke the word with unconstrained vitriol, “declared it an impossibility, stifling any and all research into the area. Young apprentices were intimidated into dropping it, and sponsors were encouraged to invest in more stable research.” She turned her golden gaze to the rich man. “I must thank you again for your trust.”

The nobleman beamed with pride. “You have always done right by me, it was the least I could do.” He said with misguided humility. The bureaucrat made a particularly aggressive note.

“We knew that the secret of flight would never be found on our own,” she continued, “so we turned to the natural world. Thanks to recent accidental discoveries by the military, we gained solid groundwork on the mechanics of mundane, or physical, flight. We found out how birds and other small creatures flew and, through collaboration with the mountain dwarves, created a prototype glider.”

“Which failed.” The commander interjected, much to the magician’s chagrin.

“Indeed.” The magician countered with a sly grin. “While it was capable of carrying an amount of weight over a short distance, it was impossible to create one sturdy enough to carry anything as heavy as an elf, let alone a human or dwarf. So, we left the designs with the dwarves and turned once again to magic. Clearly, birds did not hold the answer.”

“Let me guess,” the bureaucrat said snidely, “dragons did.”

The magician smiled. “Exactly. According to our previous understanding of flight, dragon wings should never be able to carry their immense bulk. We needed their secrets.”

“And that’s where we came in.” The warlord grunted.

“That’s right, and I thank you once again for your sacrifices.” She said somberly.

“Weren’t my sacrifices.” He said, accusingly. A glare from the bureaucrat reminded him of his place, and his brow, previously furrowed, slowly smoothed once again. “Did you get what you needed from the specimen?”

The magician nodded. “Yes. With the live dragon you captured, we were able to study its magic and biology. After several weeks, and a lot of accidents, we finally got it. Gentlemen, you may want to step back.”

She ushered them away from the desk and moved to the edge of the chamber, pulling on a silken rope. The large table the group had been sitting by moved aside, revealing a large, dark hole. The sound of metal chains clinking against themselves filled the air, and slowly a wrought iron cage ascended from the depths of the tower. Inside, bound by the wrists, was what was once a human. Crimson scales covered her back, leading up to two massive, Draconic wings sprouting from its shoulder blades. A small pair of horns pierced the creature’s forehead, and a thin wisp of smoke escaped from her nose.

The three visitors looked upon the sight in horror. For the first time all night, the scratching of quill-on-parchment could not be heard as the bureaucrat’s board fell to the stone floor. “This is what we have accomplished, gentlemen.” The magician proudly declared. “A successful chimera! The dwarves can keep their gliders, this is the weapon we have truly been searching for. Take note, for we have taken flight from the dragons.”

Inspired as part of a past Half Hour Challenge, OrdDiff’s fantasy piece gives us the chills somewhat. A human turning into a dragon, though not by way of skin-changing it seems. It feels a little like a Marvel or DC superhero comic – swapping the science-fiction for pure fantasy here. By Force closes out our “Tipping the Scales” content for July, and it’s a rather apt piece to conclude on, don’t you think? If you enjoyed OrdDiff’s work, consider viewing his other short stories, including “Hunter and Prey” and “Bronze Regrets”. 

Featured Image CC // Kenneth Lu

 

by Colette

Black Cat’s Doom

Written by Sparky

This is the legacy of an old cat, which has been passed down through countless generations and has survived purely by spoken tradition. It’s the only written copy known to exist today, although many of the details have been lost or changed, as is the passage of time.

Long ago, perhaps too long now to know for sure, a young black cat walked along the beach not far from his current home. Named Sam, short for Samson, though, if anyone called him the latter, they found themselves on the wrong side of his claws. He hated his name; he hated most things about his life. The families near him all viewed him with suspicion, all on account of his colour. Witch hunts were popular in his village and, lately, even innocent animals had also fallen under suspicion. In fact, Sam had almost been walking the cold path to death many times, through close encounters with hunters and mobs.

His stomach growled menacingly under the waning moonlight. Time to attempt a snatch and grab; he hoped that he would not be seen tonight. He hadn’t eaten in days, his strength greatly weakened. As Sam headed back into the village, he kept to the shadows, watching carefully for any signs of life that may betray food or danger.

His nose soon picked up an irresistible smell emanating from a place down the road. He knew that area well and had hunted many rats there. It was the local inn and, for a smart cat who knew the place, easy pickings for a fresh cooked fish or two. He crept closer to the inn, keeping in the darkest shadows to ensure he would not be seen by anyone.

As he came closer to the kitchen, he saw the door was open. Most other cats would take this as good fortune, but not Sam, he had been caught like this before and was not willing to risk it again. He kept to the shadows and watched the hustle and bustle of humans with two marble eyes. He didn’t move until he was certain of the cooking process routine. He saw a fresh fish, raw, and laid on the side near the door. He was not about to pass that opportunity up, danger or no danger.

Sam quietly padded over to the door and listened with his attentive ears. His ears flickered, straining slightly for any human movement close to him, all while never taking his eyes off that fish. As soon as he was sure the coast was clear, he made his move. With a mighty leap to the worktop where the fish was placed, he picked it up in his jaws. A quick glance behind showed the owner was far on the other side of the room. No matter the risk or reward, it was time to run.

The wind rushed past Sam’s face as he bolted down the alleyways and back streets, ones he knew so well from past exploits. The head and tail of the fish flapped back and forth as he ran. And he didn’t stop for breath until he had made the beach and his small sanctuary tucked into the caves. Once there, he put the fish down and began to eat. He hadn’t eaten in days and was savouring every little mouthful of delicious salted fish. Barely an hour had passed before the fish was reduced to nothing more than a skeleton. With all the meat gone and straight into Sam’s waiting stomach, he was finally satiated.

But the markings of betrayal are often hidden. That fish had been left on the side deliberately and it was laced with poison. Truth be told, the villagers had been suspicious of the black cat for many moons, believing Sam was consorting with despicable witches, as well as the Devil.

Sam’s stomach twisted and contorted around itself. He howled out in pain and threw himself against the rocks trying to stop it from hurting. The pain drove him mad, leaping to his demise from the cliff top and into the sea. Nothing was ever seen or heard from Sam again. That cove still has the same name to this day: Black Cat’s Doom.

Inspired to take to up his own writing challenge, Sparky penned this short story many months ago, but it still holds us with interest. Banking on superstition and horror clichés, his fictional piece works with the moral that betrayal may find one when we least expect it. Sometimes our hearts can be in the right place, but caution tells us to keep our distance. And if the heart becomes stained from a poisonous act, it can be hard to find the cure. If you enjoyed Sparky’s story, you can view some of his other published work such as, “Teddy’s Tale” and “The Inkwell”.

Featured Image CC // Stefano Mortellaro 

 

by Colette

Prologue from Aes: Book 0.1 – The Blaze

Written by Rae-Chan

Blazing flames sent shadows dancing around the buildings, the sounds of people’s screams mixing with the noise of gunshots. Freya Park cowered behind her mother, clinging onto her older brother Jun, eyes tight shut, tears leaking out from under her eyelids, and coughing from the smoke that was making its way through the shirt Jun had pressed over her mouth.

Jun was doing his best to hold his breath, he only had one shirt to use as a gas mask and he was much more focused on keeping his little sister safe than himself. He was crouched low where the smoke wasn’t as thick, feeling light-headed as he took shallow breaths, black spots starting to appear before his eyes.

“Jun, take your sister and run,” whispered Kanya Park, stepping away from her children and walking towards the front door.

“Mum, don’t!” Jun cried, immediately his lungs burned as he lifted his head, letting smoke into his lungs.

Jun could hardly see anything anymore, the smoke that was flooding the room already starting to swallow up his mother. He held Freya close to his chest as he choked on the acrid air, her small little hands clinging onto him for dear life.

“Take Freya and run,” Kanya repeated, looking back to offer her son a teary-eyed smile.

Tears spilled from Jun’s own eyes as he bit his lip, pulled Freya closer, and rose just enough to be able to move. Freya whimpered against his body as he sprinted out the back door. He ran as fast as he could, dodging the flames that were quickly spreading from house to house. He heard a gunshot from close by and felt his heart skip a beat. He knew what that gunshot meant.

The noise startled Freya and she buried her face into her brother’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s alright, Freya,” Jun lied, trying to stop his sister from hearing the tears in his voice. “It’s alright.”

Rae-Chan’s gripping prologue from her upcoming Aes series was written on behalf of the Half Hour Challenge in January. Focusing on a traumatic beginning, the prologue simply titled “The Blaze” is a great reflection on strength and how it affects characters both physically and mentally. And as such, it’s fantastic work to close our strength-themed content on this month. If you enjoyed Rae-Chan’s prologue, feel free to view her additional published pieces, including “Remembering War” and “Ignite”. 

Featured Image CC // Kaibab National Forest

by Colette

The Ascension of the Pilgrim

Written by Dice

The gong rang through the old temple.

“Almighty Orlin from the Great Ringed World of Phorlin, you look over us.” Chanted an old priest in practiced rhythm and certainty from his position on a high dais, as he looked over the gathering crowds filling the large main chamber of the temple.

“Blessing to the almighty Orlin,” came the replying chant from a kneeling man dressed in a simple white cloak.

Upon finishing his reply, the man named Damus returned and bowed low, placing his forehead on the holy floor. He knelt in the middle of the six pronged star, each point of equal distance from him. At the tip of each point there stood a thin, three-foot high pedestal. Behind these pedestals, at least from Damus‘s view point, stood a high priest or priestess dressed in the vibrant colours of the Divine One they served.

According to religious teachings, the seven Divine Ones were demi-gods. Once mortal, they had been hand chosen by the Great God Orlin to rule and protect each of the seven Shift Worlds; six moons that orbited the large gas planet named Phorlin. The Divine Ones were Orlin’s representatives in the mortal realm and they lived in their temples on their respective worlds, which they shaped and changed as they saw fit.

Damus risked a glance forward. The pedestal directly in front of him had no priest stood behind. Instead, about five yards back, upon an ornate golden throne sat Alynne, the greatest of the Divine Ones. This was his temple, his moon, his world.

Above Alynne the old priest, his High Priest continued the ceremony.
“O’ Pilgrim, you have travelled to each of the six worlds and have received the favour of each of the Divine Ones.”

The gong sounded again and the priest standing behind the first pedestal, and left to the one directly in front of Damus, lifted a small – perhaps fist-sized – shining green orb above his head. The High Priest of Alynne continued.

“Endu, The Young, lover of life and children.”

The gong followed and the next priest to Damus’s left raised a similar orb, but her orb was yellow and slightly larger than the last.

“Sudale, Protector of the Weak, lover of re-balance.”

The High Priest named each of the Divine Ones, Ilture, Galaine and Ninsune, and each respective priest raised their orb. When the High Priest named ‘Alynne, Orlin’s Second and Lord of All’, Alynne himself stood. Raising one empty hand, he breathed into his open palm and an orange orb formed.

“Stand Pilgrim,” demanded the High Priest.

Damus stood, tall and proud, though with a slight shiver.

“Pilgrim, are you ready?” asked the old man in a powerful voice.

“Yes, High Priest,” answered Damus confidently.

“Do you accept the honour placed upon you?”

“I accept and thank the Great Orlin for the honour he has granted me.”

“Are you pure in heart, innocent in life and free from any bonds?”

“I am free to serve.”

“Do you welcome the blessing of the Divine ones?”

“I welcome and thank them for their Blessings.”

“And will you take up service to the Almighty Orlin, who has hand chosen you to serve by his side for one hundred years, after which you will bathe in the glory of his heaven?”

“I will gladly serve.”

“Then may you ascend to his side and serve him well.”

The gong sounded again and the five priests and Alynne stepped forward. In the order of their calling, they placed the orbs upon the pedestal before them. But when Alynne placed his orb, a coloured beam of light erupted from each orb. The beams then connected the orbs together and blended to create a perfect circular beam of white, intersecting each of the orbs.

Damus held his arms outstretched, as a symbol to welcome the light.

“I go to serve Orlin,” he chanted.

There was a great flash of white light from the orbs, which dazzled all in attendance for a brief moment before it vanished. And with it, Damus and the orbs had disappeared, too.

Written on behalf of our Hallowe’en Trick or Treat Fiction Frenzy, Dice’s short fantasy excerpt was originally planned for a NanoWriMo entry. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out the way he had expected, but we did get a great entry for our Fiction Frenzy competition. If you enjoyed Dice’s piece, feel free to view his other published work on Inkblots, including “The Game Parts 1 & 2” and his most recently published Alexander short, “Summer 1943”. 

Featured Image CC // Zach Dischner

by Colette

Sinners – A Brief Introduction

Written by Dizzy Dazzle

The nightmare starts like it does every night.

Dad’s hands, white as ice on the steering wheel. His fingers drum impatiently, while the crackle of the radio lapses into stony silence. The misty morning snakes in through the window, spreading like silk over the glass. I can almost feel the sharp breath of winter through my bones. Outside, the wind is playing its own song and the trees dance and writhe to the rhythm in syncopated harmony.

Tap, tap, tap.

The roads are alive. I can feel the tension and confusion in the air, clogging up the road. I can tell dad feels it too.

Tap, tap, tap.

There’s an opening in the roundabout and dad rams his foot hard on the pedal.
“Dad, I have something to tell you…”

The car rockets forward, and he glances over at me for a split second, his eyes wide and dark like two river stones.

“Willow.”

And that’s when the truck hits us.

There’s a real hushing moment that drifts over us whenever we read this story excerpt from Dizzy Dazzle. Though it’s a very brief introduction to her story, it’s such a remarkable beginning that we’re a little taken aback. Her piece just seems to lull us in and then throw us into the fog with no bearing on what may come. If you enjoyed Dizzy Dazzle’s excerpt from Sinners, make sure you check out her other notable work including poems, “Rain” and “The Humanitarian“. 

Featured Image CC // April Mo

 

by Colette

Diaries of the Gods

Written by Terrestris Veritas

angel_weeping

Is it so hard to just be at peace with each other? Image // Alisa Perne

You humans; all you ever do is fight. None of you can comprehend the destruction that you impose on that which is never at fault. You were a mistake…you were never meant to be.

A curse is a terrible thing. To be constricted to a single condition and never let free. The pain of that never lessens. But you’d know all about that. For you are but pieces of a shattered dream.

You were insignificant to us, we let you breed and run wild. Then we believed you had power over us. That was our mistake. You dragged us into your meaningless wars, made us watch as your hollow ambitions swallowed you all. And we thought we couldn’t escape you.

Time and time again you would annihilate yourselves only to rise once more from the debris. None of you could recognize your own faulty ways. All you ever did was build in order to destroy. Create to kill.

Money, land, politics and possessions. The four curses of your race. Each can easily be forsaken, only you didn’t know how to live without them. And that scared you, enough to turn on your friends and allies. But when you gazed over a burning land of death, you finally realized your foolishness. You did away with yourself, unable to live all alone with your four, foul curses.

Thus, the land burned. We thought you humans had learnt your lesson. But the years turned to centuries, which rolled into millennia, which eventually became eons. You were thought as a legend, as a fable as new people came to be. Then, they turned into the one we still call ‘you’.

A dozen times history repeated itself, the land suffering while only we could hear its screams. How deaf you all were, how obsessed you were with the frail “self”. Perhaps, this was your curse.

Regardless, you hurt us and the world. You even hurt yourselves but again you ignored it. You ignored the screams, the cries for mercy, the children that begged you to stop. And you killed part of us. Always using others, too afraid to look your enemy in the eye as you take their life. Instead, you are content to observe from afar, safe and warm, healthy in your golden frocks. While you slowly killed us.

You would never learn, but who could blame you? The eons were nought but dust, and soot and ash lend no lessons on life. You are the smallest pieces in this puzzle, this wretched puzzle, and you cost us our freedom.

Your part in the puzzle is done. So why do you still hurt us? Why do you still kill yourselves senselessly? You humans, not even content with just being alive. And the funny thing is; you’ve all but forgotten that you were never part of the bigger picture. Just a toy. Just a sad mistake.

Terrestris Veritas had labelled this piece as somewhat experimental, and he wasn’t sure where it would fit. We’re likely to call it a fantasy monologue featuring a livid God and his private thoughts. A reflection upon our society, ‘Diaries of the Gods’ lends itself to this month’s theme light – if only in a small sense. A light above the world, or below it, Gods and Goddesses will peer into the lives of men and women. Terra’s piece gazes upon such atrocities and documents them. If you enjoyed this short piece of fiction, you might like some of Terra’s other work, including but not limited to, ‘Race‘ and ‘The Servant‘. 

by Colette

The Hosting of Thrwa

Written by Dice

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The lone elf watches. Is he waiting for war? Image // Deviantart user Fadly Romdhani

The Hosting of Thrwa
The host marches on Sliabhnarea,
Coming-to-the-lands of the young and fair,
The eyes of Thrwa a burning flare,
Elves running away, runaway,
Away, runaway.

Mortal men fear, their hope is gone,
From over the wall, comes the marching drum,
Men let out a cry, as they burn and bleed,
Where are the Maysa, in our time of need?

The host marches on Sliabhnarea,
Coming-to-the-lands of the young and fair,
The eyes of Thrwa a burning flare,
Elves running away, runaway,
Away, runaway.

He reaches our wall, the end will start,
When out of the gloom, flies an eagle so grand,
She comes between him and the bane of his heart,
She comes between him and the deed of his hand.

The host marches on Sliabhnarea,
Coming-to-the-lands of the young and fair,
The eyes of Thrwa a burning flare,
Madb calling ‘fray, to the fray,’
‘Fray, to the fray.’

Dice’s lyrical ensemble was written on behalf of his work-in-progress fantasy novel, telling the wonderful tale of how the Maysa came to be. While you won’t be familiar with the Maysa, you may know of the song this was inspired by: The Waterboys’s “Hosting of Shee” adapted from the Yeats poem The Hosting of the Sidhe, of which you catch the original song at the link, here. We thought this was a great way to conclude this month’s performance theme, so if you enjoyed reading (or, perhaps, singing) then feel free to leave a like or a comment. You can also check out Dice’s other work such as his Alexander shorts, “Summer 1943“‘ and “A Wonderful Thing“.  

by Colette

Hunter And Prey

Written by OrdDiff

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In the vast world of Skyrim, only the Dragonborn can slay dragons. Image // Bethesda

The hunter breathed in.

Kale crept through the undergrowth as quietly as he could. He knew his prey was near, and the slightest disturbance would alert it to his presence. The midday heat was stifling, making every action ten times harder than it should be. Flying insects harassed the woodsman sneaking by their homes. Kale did his best to ignore them.

Passing a spectacular oak tree, the large hunter spotted the gleaming scales of his quarry. It was seated over a waterfall, looking over the lands it thought of as its own. “Such arrogance,” thought Kale. He strung the massive bow he’d been carrying on his back, the bowstring resembling more of a rope than the twine of traditional limbs. He nocked the great arrow, almost as thick as his arm, and braced the weapon in the ground. The beast had still not noticed. Kale drew the string back…

—

“Stupid hornets”, thought Kale. “What a place to build a nest.”

The determined hunter ascended the rocky face of Heaven’s Key mountain. Frost coated the light beard he had grown in his travels, and he could barely feel his fingers. The hornet’s sting had cost him one of them, impairing his abilities and causing pain with every handhold. The thick coat he had bartered from the villagers down below did little to protect him against the bitter mountain winds, and he worried that the chattering of his teeth alone would alert the beast. Wiping his goggles clear of white snow once again, he crested the ridge and gained footing on solid ground.

Over a chasm, Kale spotted crimson scales. He could barely make out the beast’s details through the blizzard, but he couldn’t waste this shot. Fumbling with numb appendages, he strung his bow and nocked an arrow. Just a single shot…

—

“Damn winds,” thought Kale.

The weary hunter trudged across the plains, longing for home. When he had taken it upon himself to down the monster, he had underestimated the sheer scale of his task. The dragon could cross immeasurable distances in a day, leaving a hunter with weeks of travel. Kale’s supplies were running low, and he had been forced to ration harshly. As long grass brushed against his thick leather boots, he drank the last of his water. His beard scratched his neck as he forced himself to continue, knowing that stopping now meant certain death.

The hunter’s ears twitched. “No,” thought Kale, “it couldn’t be.”

Now alert, he strung his massive bow. The great limbs groaned in protest at the lack of maintenance, but submitted to the will of the hunter. Kale’s ears twitched again; he’d heard the flapping of giant wings. He dropped his pack, the travelling pots clanging and sounding throughout the valley. It didn’t matter if the beast heard him now.

From behind a peak, Kale spotted the dragon. There was fire building in its maw, and it was circling the hunter. With resolve, Kale drew his bow for the last time. The dragon dived at the man, and then hunter and prey locked eyes.

The hunter breathed out.

—

“Sir!” The squire burst into the warlord’s tent. All eyes fell on the young boy, just twelve years of age.

“Well?” The grizzled old general demanded. “Spit it out!”

“He grounded the dragon!”

OrdDiff’s Half Hour Challenge was submitted as part of last month’s theme, Chase. He’s done a remarkable job in building the tension in such a short piece, and we love it. Given the 12-year-old boy’s impressive performance – hunting a dragon, of all things – it was a sure shoe-in for this month’s content. If you enjoyed OrdDiff’s piece, you can check out his first published work for Inkblots, “Bronze Regrets“, at the link.