Category / Fantasy

by Colette

The Art of Swordplay

Written by Eruantien

longsword_fencing

A longsword match between two men. Image // Fechtbücher (Commons)

“I’ll draw them,” murmured Garidth to Kurvello. “You lead the others further in.”

“Take the heat off you when they realise we’re already inside the keep?”

“Would be nice,” Garidth nodded to his brother and the others, and strode out of the undergrowth to the front of the gate house. Lowering his buffe to reveal his face, the young knight raised his longsword and his voice: “All glory to the true lord of Janakholm, Kurvello Karvelson! Let any who deny his claim come forth now and challenge me, Sir Garidth of Corlyn; or hide forever behind the skirts of your mothers, like that snivelling boy who calls himself lord!”

Two came forth and Garidth could see a third hovering in the gateway, only half armoured. The other two – wearing maille and open-faced helms – drew their swords and closed on Garidth. Garidth couldn’t help but smile as the words of his old tutor echoed in his ears, “if someone attacks you with his blade in a standard grip when you are in full plate, then he knows nothing of the True Art”. His blood singing, Garidth launched his attack, thrusting hard at the one to his left, but the man’s sword came up in time to glance the thrust to the side. Against the Hämähäkkan’s expectations, Garidth continued his push and quickly whipped his steel-clad left fist forwards in a straight jab, smashing into his opponent’s face. Already turning as the stunned man stumbled back, Garidth blocked the second soldier’s overhand strike with his right vambrace. Garidth couldn’t help but let out a grunt of discomfort as the heavy sword bit into the steel, but before the Hämähäkkan could recover his guard, he swung his blade towards himself and caught it in his left hand. Without pausing, he slammed the pommel into the bridge of his opponent’s nose and fractured his skull. The man dropped. His first opponent began to gather his wits a moment too late as Garidth’s sword got behind his knee and took his feet from under him. Garidth immediately thrust his blade down, two-handed, at the maille protecting the man’s throat. Steel rings split beneath the blade’s tip. Garidth paused for a moment to catch his breath, and withdrew his sword as the third member of the gatehouse came out.

Garidth eyed this new combatant; clad in brigandine, the way in which he held himself was different from the other two Hämähäkkans he’d fought. Unlike the others, this one had adopted a half-sword stance and had solid plates on his arms and legs complimenting the brigandine and visored helm. Garidth found himself suddenly wishing that he hadn’t lowered his buffe earlier; there was no time to secure it back in place now.

Blood dripped from the tip of Garidth’s longsword as he gripped it halfway down the blade. Continue reading →

by Colette

Knight

Written by Ashcloud

knight_armour

We all need a little protection in our lives, even if it’s hidden.

Close the bond between two souls,
Has flourished underneath the sun,
In stained glass caverns, stories made,
Vanquished now the pressing tonne.
A friendship great for eternity,
Laughter the music of precious memory,
Remember to look closely and you will find,
Your true design, your soul, your mind.

 

A short but nevertheless sweet homage poem from Ashcloud. Dedicated to a close friend of hers, Ashcloud says it’s for one “who deserves so much, but asks for so little”. We particularly admired her use of imagery here to reminisce of past times and children’s fantasy stories, stealing us from our slumber to keep us wide-eyed and wondering. An elegant and simple tribute to her friend. If you liked Ashcloud’s poetry, feel free to take a look at “One Day at a Time” – a poem for school leavers. 

 

by Colette

Closure

Written by Lost in a Dream

summer_walk

It’s hard to leave the past behind entirely. Image // Carol Lin

Rose walked away from the high-rise buildings of Tetropolis, towards the fringe of the city. Her bag was heavy and the still, summer heat was particularly overbearing, so the journey took much longer than usual. While it would have been quicker for her to get a cab, she knew that the walk would give her a sense of closure. 

She paused to take a couple of pictures of her favourite places. She laughed at herself for being so damn sentimental. But there was no going back to Tetropolis after all that had happened. 

As she approached the edge of town, Rose found herself pausing outside her first flat. It seemed a lifetime ago. The owner of the grocery store on the other side of the street was sitting in a fold-up chair outside, reading a newspaper, and listening to a tinny radio. She recognised the song playing and it caught her almost by surprise. While she couldn’t remember the lyrics, she knew the rhythm straight away and it took her back to those early days. 

In a moment of nostalgia, she recalled the heavy, black notebook in her bag. The book was never really out of her thoughts, but she tried to push it to the back of her mind. She knew that she should have destroyed it with the other stuff, that’s what Felix said, but when she held the lighter up to the thick cream pages, she couldn’t do it. 

Knowing that she couldn’t take the book with her, Rose resolved to dump it in the next bin. Although she had written the book, she had never read through it. Would those happy, opening pages be laced with irony? Would she herself change through the pages? 

Sitting down at a disused bus stop, she pulled the book out of her bag and decided to give it a read before throwing it away. 

Lost in a Dream’s Closure was written in response to our November Half Hour Challenge theme, Book of Secrets. This short snapshot of Rose’s life leaves us hungry for more. What was in her past that she’s so desperate to throw away? But also, how is it that she cannot part with it? If you’re a diary or journal writer, would you find it sickening to throw your past away like Rose? Maybe it’s the pull of nostalgia that makes this HHC such a simple pleasure. If you liked Lost in a Dream’s writing, make sure you check out some of her poetry as well, such as ‘Parnassus Park‘ and ‘Time Was Standing Still‘.

by Colette

Aldrick The Mad

Written by Dice

stone_table_narnia

Ready for a sacrifice? The Stone Table in Narnia is calling…
Image Courtesy of Concept Art from the Chronicles of Narnia

Here follows the final moments of Aldrick The Mad’s life written by his scribe, who had been ordered by Aldrick himself to watch from a hidden location and record all that he saw. The scribe was not entrusted with the knowledge of what Aldrick was attempting in the forest, gold was the penniless scribe’s only reason for being present.

“Yes, yes a sacrifice, poetic in your demand. I understand, I understand. Elven by birth, elven she is, eleven too, ha! That’s why I chose her, a little humour between us.

“No, no my lord, not a time for joke, time for joking is not now. Soon we will laugh though, soon in our victory… your victory, you will be the victorious one. Yes victory at last against your sister, our mother, the betrayer of our Lord.

“Betrayed you she did, like the mother of the sacrifice, she never bore a male of your line, honoured though she was with the strongest men your temples could find, she failed them all, but her daughter, she’s survived six years, more than most, but find her I did. She is found and will make a perfect key for your cell, won’t she hmm?”

Aldrick drags the young nameless girl in front of him and lifts the frightened child onto a large, yet cracked stone dais; the centrepiece to the clearing Aldrick now stands in. The clearing is a strange place with an unnerving feel to the air, even the trees surrounding the stone dais seem to grow and lean away from the clearing. As such, the ground is devoid of any life, the soil is dry and black with large cracks, as if the ground had been burnt. The four mercenaries Aldrick has hired to protect him ignore the situation, a couple even twiddle a coin to remind them it’s all about the money.

Tears stream down the gagged girl’s cheeks, and Aldrick ties her down. There are stone hands protruding from the edges of the stone dais as if  grasping for the ropes which tie down the sacrifice.

“Bring the knife, no, no, he disappeared, useless servant, never really useful, fun though, fun to order someone, others don’t listen. These do, these here. You, Mercenary, bring me a knife.” Continue reading →

by marleylilith

Rain Men

Written by Lilith

They come through the rain…

“They came through the rain”, the saying went, but in truth it was no ordinary rain that heralded their arrival. The clouds would roll in, the heavens would open, and the downpour would not stop for weeks on end. The villagers kept to their homes, packing sandbags around their doorsteps for when the banks of the river inevitably burst, and nobody dared trying to travel in or out of Kettlebridge. The shrine, a circular stone building in the centre of town, became a safe haven for those whose homes were damaged by the ongoing storms, the old priestesses offering soup and blankets to those in need. And then at last, when the people could take no more of the onslaught from the sky, when fires guttered in their hearths and they could no longer remember what warmth felt like… Then the creatures came.

They looked human. An old man, stooped and withered, skeletal fingers wrapped tight around the silver top of his walking stick; a young woman barely any more than a child, crouching in the mud; and a boy with wide grey eyes who smiled at everything. All the villagers knew what they looked like. They’d seen the creatures from afar, peering through gaps in shutters or flimsy curtains, watching as they walked into the centre of town… but nobody who got close to them ever told the tale.

Continue reading →

by Colette

A Boy Who Fell In Love

Written by Rivers of Tarmac

the_boy_and_the_moon

Debuting at the Giffoni Film Festival in Italy two years ago, The Boy and the Moon is a short animation describing his love for the moon.
Image Courtesy of the giffonifilmfestival.it/en/ Film Archives

This is a story about a boy who fell in love. An ordinary boy, at first glance, and he lived an ordinary life. But he was entrusted with a great secret: there is only so much happiness in the world. This boy was the only child who knew this – and at first, that was fine, because with the secret came a responsibility; he could hand out this happiness as he chose. He tried with all his might to keep the happiness fair for everyone. Sometimes, however, he neglected somebody. When this happened, he had to give them something special. Something wonderful. But to hand out something wonderful would mean a big change in the happiness levels somebody would have to lose (edit). And when this happened, whatever it was they lost – if it was their lover, their money, or their pride – he would take it and cast it into the sky, where it would shine brilliantly to remind us that we all must pay the price, but that life can still be beautiful. And while they where there, they could be company for the moon.

The moon had been lonely; lonely for years. Each night, when the boy was finished his tiring work, he would go and watch her. Her dazzling beauty, her kindly generosity, her contained splendour. And as he watched, he felt his heart grow and swell; when he cast friends into the sky for her, however, he felt a cold burn in his chest that he had never known: jealousy. For the boy had come to love the moon as he watched her shining defiantly in the murky, cloudy sky. This innocent young boy with a terrible gift had never felt jealousy – how could you be jealous of anyone when you knew their happiness was another’s pain? And so, as he watched the moon’s stars, the boy felt for the first time in his short life, the stomach twisting envy of another. Continue reading →

by Colette

Inkblots New Year Special: Festive Fiction (Part 2)

Image Courtesy of fimfiction-static.net

The sun rises on a new year, and we’ve got some spectacular HHC entries to kick it off in style!
Image Courtesy of fimfiction-static.net

Welcome to our New Year Special – the second and final part of our festive fiction bonanza. Both entries published below have been picked for their startling creativity given the half hour time limit. Doishy’s piece is of particular interest, having taken inspiration from the ingenious and innovative HHC entries we’ve had over the year. The second HHC from Dice – featured after the read more tag – we just couldn’t resist in posting up! It’s another of his Alexander shorts, so we hope you enjoy! 

– Silver, Inkblots Editor

tinkerbell_fairy_wings

We believe in fairies, we do, we do!
Screen taken from Disney’s Secret of the Wings

Door 7 – Fairies

This is Jeremy:
(o.o)

How are you feeling today, J?
(o.o)b

Pretty good then?
d(o.o)b

And why is that?
(O.o)- <3_______________________(*o.o*)

You’ve met a nice girl? That’s wonderful! What’s her name?
-(o.o)-

You don’t know? Why not talk to her?
(@.@)

Ah, nerves. Tell you what… why don’t I talk to her for you?
(o.o)b

Awesome. Excuse me….miss?
(*o.o*) ?

Hi, my name’s Narrator and I was wondering if you would like to go talk to my friend over there, Jeremy.
(<.<) ___________________________(*o.O*)

He is a pretty cool guy, if sometimes a little out of it.
(*o.o*)b

You will talk to him! Awesome. I will let you be then.
(o.o) _____________________________(*o.o*)

(o.o) _________________(*o.o*)

(o.o)_________(*o.o*)

(O.o)_____(*o.O*)

(O.o) <3__(*o.O*)

(O.o) <3__(*o.o*)

(O.o) <3__(*O.o*)

(O.o) <\3_____________(*O.o*)

Well that didn’t go so well did it, J?
(O.O) <\3_______________________________________ (*O.o*)

Faeries aye, am I right?
(¬.¬)

Ah well. Shall we go get drunk instead?
(¬.¬)b

Good lad!
*A few hours later*

f(=.o)- u(o.O) <Riiight……
< And I’m telling you, there was this voice talking to me and a magic girl and it’…it wa’s assuM!

Continue reading →

by marleylilith

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Written by Lilith

One of the six, Michael's wrath is feared by all...

One of the six, Michael’s wrath is feared by all…

Michael’s shadow fell over the land, his outstretched wings blocking the light over acres of blood-soaked soil as he reached out to the souls beneath him and collected them into his wake. There had been a great battle today; some bastard king or other was warring against his younger brother in the east and the conflicts were spreading far and wide. Michael was helping them spread, in his own way, his gift of wrath turning father against son, mother against daughter and bringing the common people to arms to join the fight. The war itself had been begun by Michael’s younger brother, the angel Lucifer, who had domain over pride. It had taken very little interference to push the royal brothers into a full blown civil war when both their egos were on the line.

Somewhere below Michael’s shadow a voice cried out – one living soul struggling amidst a sea of death. He searched the fields until his bright blue eyes came to rest upon the body of a young man, his face smeared with mud, his clothes stained with the blood of his enemies, or his friends. His body shook as he cried, but he seemed to be entirely unharmed. His curiosity piqued, the Angel of Death swept down towards the boy. Continue reading →

by Colette

Fiction Frenzy Winner’s Piece – The Princess and the Dragon

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil 

princess_dragon

The intriguing relationship between a princess and a dragon.

“You know, I’ve never really got Halloween,” he said to himself, trundling down the street. Packs of squealing children ran wild, with worn-out adults trailing after them like old sheepdogs herding baby sheep. Scratching absent-mindedly at one of the patches of dead skin that afflicted his face, half hidden by an unkempt beard, he continued chattering away to himself.

“Kids spend their nights terrified of the monsters under the bed and in the closet, but once a year they dress up as little monsters and go around knocking on doors, demanding candy. Trick or treat, they say. What is that? Is it like the saying: your money or your life? It’d make sense; I’ve never once seen one of the home-owners give them a trick.”

If he noticed that most of the adults were steering the kids as far away from him as possible, he did not show it.

“Or maybe they’re just worried about getting egged? Kids expecting sweets and getting a show of someone pretending to pull their thumb off might very well get peeved. Or maybe they’d use toilet paper? Or rocks? I’m not sure what kids throw about these days but -”

“Who’re you talking to?”

He jumped, making an odd yelping noise as he did so, when he heard the little voice, wondering for a second if his mind had actually started talking back to him. But it was just a little girl, all dressed up as a little princess. The tiara that was loosely placed on her head wobbled a bit. She tilted her head to the side in her curiosity. Continue reading →

by Doishy

Death’s Mistress Prologue

Written by Miss Smiley

Phone a friend

When will you get the call?

She hums softly, hiding her musings under her breath as her hairbrush glides slowly through her hair. Her eyes hook dreamily into the two green eyes that stare at her, a dazed smile spreading across her lips.

“Corinth! Hurry up!”

Corinth jolts back to life before the mirror, broken from her reverie. Hastily coming to her senses, she pulls her smooth, auburn locks into a quick ponytail. She tugs at it impatiently before slinging a courier bag across her thin shoulders and rushing from the room.

“Corinth!”

“I’m coming, Mum!” She rolls her eyes. “Jeez!” she mumbles to herself. “Anyone would think it was life or death!”

She quickly reviews this statement and, frowning, wonders if it actually is a matter of life or death. The news article she is meant to be writing today is a big one, and one sure to be a direct focus of the librarian, Mrs. Connelly, who ran the school newsletter. Not known for her sensibility or any particular semblance of wit or intelligence, Mrs. Connelly would, no doubt, have no issues with making any student’s life hell for the sake of her beloved newsletter. Corinth often wondered how a woman so superbly unsuitable for human interaction had come to be deemed fit for running a school library, let alone a school newsletter.
Shaking the thought from her head, she checks herself.

Camera…check.

Notepad…check.

Um…

Pencils! She rummages in the kitchen drawers, carelessly sharpening a stubby pencil into the fork compartment. Check.

Satisfied, she plucks a green apple from the fruit bowl sitting on the table, a present from her older brother, and glances hurriedly out of the windows. A glimpse of her mother pacing the driveway, not unlike a caged tigress, catches her eye and she smirks to herself on her way out of the house.

Corinth yanks the heavy door open.

“Cori—! Oh, there you are. Come on! Are we going or not?”

Corinth nods silently, making her way to the door of her mother’s Volvo. She slides her petite frame onto the leather seat and quietly closes her door.

Continue reading →