Quick note

A quick note to all my readers, yes both of you, I'm focusing on something else at the moment and my writing is going to have to take a serious backseat for a while. Hopefully only five or six months, but I still might post now and again. I will share on Facebook, Twitter, or Google + when I do.

Week 6: Write a page of dialogue between a man who was a changeling (a faerie that takes on the appearance of a child) and the child whose life he stole. (Inspired by The Stolen Child)

The little boy closed the door to his room. It was a nice room, full of toys for little boys. There were little dolls with toy guns and swords, guns that shot out little plastic and foam disks, video games, and coloring books. There were bunk beds in the corner of the room. In the bottom bunk was a five year old boy sleeping.
The little boy, who looked to be about nine had seen hundreds of rooms like this one. Throughout time the toys had changed from basic sticks, balls, and corncob dolls to train sets and toy  cars, and finally to video games and little electronic doodads that did all sorts of things. The boy reached on top of his dresser where a jar sat. In this jar there was what appeared to be a bug, but it would only look like a bug to a normal person, with it’s end all lit up green. The boy could see this bug for what it really was.
“Let me out,” the little bug demanded.
The boy thumped the edge of the glass causing the little bug to cover its ears. Do bugs have ears? I don’t know, but what matters is that it wasn’t a bug in the jar, it was the real little boy, only in the form of a fairy. “Why would I do that, little bug?”
“That’s my room out there.” The little bug fairy boy slammed a little tiny fist against the glass but it did no good. “That’s my little brother in that bed. That’s my mom and dad.”
“Look at this way, I’ve given you a whole new life. You wanted an escape from your life, from the chores, bullies, and little brothers who broke your toys. How many little children dream of life as a fairy? You get to fly through gardens, dodging spider webs and wasp nests. You get to be harassed by a praying mantis and hope that you don’t anger the ant hill. They can be dangerous enemies.” The boy who had been a fairy seemed to be lost in thought for awhile.
“Please,” the little bug fairy boy clasped his tiny hands together. “Let me go, let me be the boy I was.”
“Let you go, yes. I think I will.” The boy who used to be a fairy grabbed the jar and headed out of the room.
“Hey, where are we going?”
“I’m letting you go.”
“I mean let me be me again. Let me be my dad’s ‘little buddy’ again, my mom’s ‘big man,’ and my brother’s ‘bubba.’”
“I thought you hated your mom and dad because they made you take out the trash.”
“I didn’t mean it, I don’t mind taking out the trash.”
“I thought you hated your brother because he broke your toy gun.”
“No, I love my little brother.”
“Well don’t worry, I’ll be very good to them, and then maybe I’ll get one of my friends to send your little brother to you.”
“No.” The little bug fairy boy slammed his fist against the jar. He would not let this monster do that to David.
They were walking out of the house and into the backyard. “Relax, it’s not so bad in the garden. Seriously though, kid, watch out for the spider webs.” When they reached the garden the boy who used to be a fairy unscrewed the lid. “Well, have a good time, and if you run into a spider with only seven eyes, tell her that I’m very sorry, that is if she’ll listen to you before eating you.” He turned the jar upside down and shook it, knocking the little bug fairy boy against the walls, preventing him from clinging to the walls, the boy plummeted to the dirt below.

Week 5: Write a description of a macabre party in the catacombs under Paris. (Inspired by Revolution)

Week 5: Write a description of a macabre party in the catacombs under Paris. (Inspired by Revolution)

The stairwell leading down from the Barrière d'Enfer was quiet and dark. Only the gurgling sound of an aqueduct could be heard, diverting water from the bones of the dead. The map the man had given Steel had him heading down this entrance through a bendy corridor for a stretch. Steel’s torch illuminated the stone walls, chalk marks resembling arrows decorated the stone. Steel wondered just how many people had wandered into this tunnel lost, and then turned back not knowing that freedom was so close. He knew of course that many did die in these tunnels. He tried to push the thought out of his mind.
After walking for twenty minutes or so, Steel came upon a model of a fort. He knew this to be the Fortress Port-Mahon. The stone of the statue had a light coating of moss along its walls but it was exquisite in its detail. Three minutes later the sound sound of music and murmuring began to overpower the gurgling of the aqueducts. Finally he came to an archway, the words Arrête! C'est ici l'empire de la Mort carved above it. Beyond it the passageway was lined with bones and skulls. There was a formation of skulls in the shape of a heart. It made him stop.
“Really, a heart?”
“Yes, what a morbid juxtoposition!”
The voice had come from behind steel. He drew the dagger from his belt and whirlled around to meet the speaker. Behind him there was a hooded man. The man’s head tilted back away from the dagger, however his eyes were not fearful.
“Put that away Monseiur. I mean you no harm. We are headed to the same place, no?”
Steel lowered his dagger but did not relax his posture. “What do you know of this, place we are going?”
…cut out this dialogue because it’s not important to assignment...
In the center of the antechamber a decorative giant bone acted as a support for the ceiling. On closer inspection Steel found that it wasn’t one giant bone, but a sculpture made of hundreds of thousands of bones. Skulls wound their way up the pillar like a spiral staircase. A circle of men in hooded black cloaks stood in a circle around the pillar; their heads were bent and they were murmuring some sort of prayer.

Other Men and women wearing cloaks of blood red and ebony black robes danced with each other to a dreary sort of English waltz. Goblets of either dark red wine or blood, Steel couldn’t tell which, sat on the edge of a round table, like the teeth of some horrible monster. Paper lanterns lined the walls and pillars, casting red and blue lights throughout the room. Several tables sat throughout the room, each adorned with a skull wearing a melting black as a crown. Large roast pigs, huge slabs of beef, and whole pheasants lay on silver plates for the party guests.

At the front of the room there was a large upside down crucifix, made out of some black glossy material. In front of the cross was a raised dais, serving as an altar. A man in red robes wearing a gold circlet on his forehead wielded a huge axe. A large sow in front of him grunted and snorted. The man raised his axe, and when it came down a loud ‘thunk’ echoed through the hall, followed by cheering.
“Monsieur Lefevre, I’m glad to see that you could make it.”

You’re searching through your closet and find an old stuffed animal or doll from your childhood. It starts to bring back a warm memory of a specific night that’s near and dear to your heart. Suddenly, your stuffed companion begins to talk and says, “There’s something you need to know about that night.” Write this scene. (500 Words or Less)

     The power was out at my father’s house. There was no need to keep the power on at a dead man’s house. My brother and I were going to go through our stuff before sending our wives to clean the place up. We hoped the house would bring a hundred-thousand, but in today’s market who’s to say? I got there before my brother, though it was still well past dark when I got there. I had to use a flashlight to make my way through the clutter in the living room. Ever since the death of my mother when I was a child my father hadn’t been the best housekeeper.
  I managed to make it to my old room without breaking my neck. The room was more or less the way I left it. My father hadn’t turned it into a game room or a store room, in fact it was still just as neat as the last time I was here. My old bed was still made, all the pictures of my friends and I still sat on the dresser. Even the posters I had taken out of all the video game magazines still hung on the wall. If it wasn’t for the missing clothes and empty drawers, you’d think someone still lived in this room.
The things I was really after were in my closet. Things I’m glad my brother wasn’t here to see me look through. My stuffed animals. I had a vacuum cleaner box full of them. I used my flashlight and found the box instantly. I stepped into the closet and opened the box and pulled out the first one. It was a stuffed dog I had named Dale. I set Dale on the floor and reached into to pull out a clown. His red shirt was still silky to the touch and his face still creeps me out as much as ever. I reached in again and pulled out my favorite, a pink creature with a white belly, white mouth, white tufts of hair coming off it’s head, a button nose, and plastic eyes. I called him George, and I talked to him, played video games with him, we even watched movies together. I remember getting him, I think when I was eight years old. Yeah, I was 8 because I got him from a girl in a white gown at the hospital, the night my mother died.
“There’s something you need to know about that night.” George’s plastic eyes blinked. They were just painted plastic, but they blinked. His stitched mouth moved too, revealing a crocheted cavity with a little red tongue. I nearly dropped George, but managed to hold on to him.

Week 4: Write a humorous scene about a warrior who is brave in battle getting all nervous when getting her ears pierced in preparation for a ball. (Inspired by Song of the Lioness Quartet)

Steel twirled his mustache. He had spent the better part of three years growing it to the length it was now. He waxed and trimmed it with the same precision he used on the battlefield. He tried to put his hand on the hilt of his rapier only to remember it wasn't there right now, neither was his pistol. He only wore his form doublet, breeches, cloak, and feathered hat. The Lioness Ball was in a few hours and it was there he was supposed to meet the contact from the queen, a Monsieur Franques D’Lamont. Monsieur D’Lamont would approach the man with the symbol of fleur-de-lis on his ear. That meant two things; first Steel had to cut his hair, which he had already done, and second he had to get his ear pierced. The man who was to do the deed was set to arrive at any moment.
Pacing back and forth, Steel weighed the earring in his hand. It had been too heavy to glue to his ear. He had thought about tying a string to his ear but it would look strange for a man to be dangling an earring from a string around his ear. Count Domiquo had been firm on the point though, he must be wearing the symbol of the fleur-de-lis on his left ear to get Monsieur D’Lamont’s attention. Steel held up his black mask, it was his disguise for the evening. The Count had suggested that Steel cut his iconic mustache, as it was well known he was a mercenary. This had been the line he had drawn however. He would pierce his ear if he must, he shivered a bit at the thought, but he would not cut his mustache. 
There was a rap at the door. Steel answered it. A man in his late fifties, bald with a turkey like neck stood in the doorway; tools of the trade in hand. 
The man stuck out his hand. “Monsieur Lefevre, how pleasant to meet you.” 
'Lefevre' was the alias that was given to the man. “A pleasure as well. I see you have brought your,” Steel swallowed, “um needle.” He really wished he had his own ‘needle,’ but then again if he did he might just stab the man with it. 
The old man smiled at him and gestured to the chair. Each step to get their was like a sleepless night at sea. His legs felt as if they wobbled back and forth. He managed to make it to the chair which reclined. The chair could have been a torture device in of itself because of how uncomfortable it was.  
The man turned his back to steel and laid out all of his equipment onto a little table. 
“Relax, Monsieur. I’ve done this thousand’s of times.” There was the sharp smell of alcohol and steel closed his eyes, trying to remember the beautiful brown eyes of Victoria.

Week 3: Write a fight scene between a priest wielding a holy spiked chain and a vampire. (Inspired by Realms of the Dead)

Dante stood in what was supposed to be a throne room, what else could it be? Torches of black flame lined the walls casting a haunting glow on the death grey stone of the walls. An intricately carved throne of ebony, trimmed in platinum with onyx stones set at regular intervals. A basin sat on a pedestal next to the throne. If Dante had been a betting me, he would have bet that he knew what was inside the basin. A lush, blood-red carpet took up the main space of the floor, not unlike the practice mat back at the temple. Would this be how the duel was to commence then? He smirked at the thought, Dante the fallen priest vs the Lord of Shadow, with nothing but the stolen weapon and a heart full of doubt.
    “God is the only one who can save you from a power as Evil as the Lord of Shadow, Dante.” The old man had pointed a withered, bony hand at Dante’s face. Father Mayard had forbidden him to go. “Your faith is not strong enough, Dante.” Father Mayard had always been one to let God do the work he was too afraid to do. In Dante’s experience God didn’t do much of anything.
    He gripped the cross in his hand tightly. Not just a symbol of the Christian faith, this particular cross was supposed to be a weapon, but no one alive knew how it was supposed to work. Dante hoped he would have time to find out on his journey, but he had not.
    “So, you have come at last.” A deep resounding voice came from the throne. No, not the throne. There was a figure on the throne, tall and pasty that surely had not been there moments ago. The figure sat on the throne, more like a God than a king. His legs were crossed, long fingers with perfectly cared for finger nails caressed the armrests of his throne.
    “You were waiting for me then?” Had he walked into a trap? Dante looked around to see what else hid in the shadows.
    “Not you, the cross. I have not seen it in years. I lost it back when I claimed this castle. With that holy relic I did many great things, but apparently not so great as to earn my redemption.
    Dante heard a clink coming from inside the cross. Was it responding to the vampire? “Redemption can be bought by one or two big deeds,  especially if those deeds are done for the wrong reason.” Something in the chain seemed to loosen. “You can’t buy redemption, you have to feel the need for it deep in your very bones.”
    “Bah,” the old vampire waved his words away. He stood up from his throne. His frame was thin but looked powerful, like steel. His fingernails were like the talons of a raptor, its exposed chest seemed like a plate of armor. Dante didn’t know what hope he had. he thought back to his adventures and all the probable events that could have occurred and it was then he remembered a guiding hand, a kind of force that had led him in the right direction.
    He pushed the holy cross in front of himself, creating a barrier between the two. With it he placed his faith. It was this that caused the vampire to recoil and a light started emanating from the cross. With the light Dante felt something erupt from the cross, hearing more clinks until it finally all came out, a chain, twelve foot long, created by links that looked as hard as diamond, each one covered with spikes on either side of the link. Dante whirled the chain back and lashed it at the unholy creature like a whip.

Week 2: Write a page of dialogue between a dying but powerful dragon and the boy who stumbled into his lair in search of something with which to save his people. (Inspired by The Riftwar Saga)

Garthanax woke up from his nap. His eyes, already blurred and covered with smoke couldn’t make out anything in his dark cave. He could smell something however, a tiny mamailain smell. Probably a rat, or maybe a dog had wandered into his lair. His teeth hurt and he was in no fit state to chew, despite the rumbling in his stomach. Annoyed he closed his eyes, wanting to drift back off to sleep. He might not wake up again, but it would be a relief. He had already lived for nearly 3,000 years. He had seen all there was to see in the nine realms, he had amassed a large fortune that he kept in his lair. He supposed dwarves would be making off with it after he was gone. His only regret was that he had never fathered a child. There were plenty of dragons however, his loss would not be that tragic.
    He heard the scrape of metal against metal, and then a sharp intake of breath.
    “Who is that? Some little doggy, coming to steal my collection of golden bones?”
    There was no response. Garthanax may have bad eyesight, but his hearing and smell was still good. The heartbeat wasn’t right for a dog, and now that he concentrated on it, neither was the smell.
    He grew agitated. “Tell me your name or I will fill this cavern with fire, killing you and melting my gold.” He expected to hear a scurrying towards the cavern entrance, but there wasn’t.
    “Please, great.. dragon.  If you please. I’m Dante.”
    “Hmmm, well, Dante. Why have you come to steal from me? Come to impress your friends? Come on a dare? Or have you come and to try and kill the Great Garthanax?” Garthanax chuckled. The sound of Datne’s voice, he couldn’t be more than a frightened elf.
    “No, most mighty Garth-”
    “Gartharnax.” The dragon pounded his fist, sending coins flying in all directions.
    “Gartharnax.” The little elf was stumbling over his words, he could be no mighty warrior and he was alone. “You see, we had heard you were dead, else I’d never presume-”
    “So you are a grave robber then? How do you know I’m not dead, perhaps I’m the ghost of the dragon Gartharnax.”
    The elf didn’t seem to know how to respond. He kept stammering. Gartharnax could smell the scent of fear, and urine.
    “So, tell me why you decided to rob the dead, and I may let you live.” He was keenly aware that this might be his last conversation with any living thing, he was eager to drag it out.
    The elf took a steady breath. “I”m Dante, I come from Tremial Village, the last human settlement in the nine kingdoms.”
    A surprise, perhaps the last one of his life. “A human, I thought all of you were dead.”
    “Almost, great Gartharnax. That’s why I’m here. I am but a boy, our village is preparing to defend itself against the Dwellar. They will be on us by the next full moon. My father says Dwellar are almost impossible to kill. They are like demons.”
    “That they are boy, that they are. I’m afraid you really don’t stand a chance against them They have skin and muscle thicker than armor and bones like steel. Still, you could always make a run for it I suppose.”
I ran a little long here and didn't have time to grammar check it. Plus there as a lot of stuff going on in my house at the time.