Post by Tiana Calthye on Jan 26, 2006 23:03:32 GMT -5
Author’s note:
This is a parody. This is a parody of epic and grandiose proportions. It is also a novel. Written over the course of NaNoWriMo, it is thereby forgivable for a complete lack of sanity, incidences of randomly occuring chickens, and the ultimate forshadowing end of the universe. No animals were harmed in the writing of this fictional work (beyond maybe our pet birds who happen to live behind where I was writing and may have suffered slight jet lag by the lamp being left on for ridiculous lengths of time.)
If you are unaware as to what NaNoWriMo means, it means in the month of November, millions of genuis authors collect on the internet and write a 50,000 word novel in the course of a month. The amount of caffeine and chocolate consumed to pull off such a feat should thereby redeem the state of this novel, which is as of yet unedited and the first 53,000 words of which were written in a slightly brain dead trance during November.
I am not responsible for any damage you may do to yourself during the reading of this novel, this work of fiction, which utterly has no remote similarity to reality. Really. Beyond perhaps some incidences in which characters hit a small black flatish oval with slightly bent sticks around an icy arena. And pizza.
Critiques are welcomed, as long as the Reader remembers that this story is as of yet mostly unedited.
This is a novel.
Consider yourself warned.
Drinking coffee is not recommended while reading anything beyond the prologue of this story. Finish it up during the prologue. Then leave it. Or you may find that you have to test the waterproof durability of your monitor. We will not assume libility for any coffee or liquid that may penitrate your computer if you spit it out from shock while reading this story.
Signed: THE AUTHOR[/sub]
Through Silver Glass - A Novel
By Tiana Calthye,
Written in the process of NaNoWriMo
Genre: Fantasy/parody/adventure
Rating: PG for violence and tormenting one of the male characters by a brief torturing female fanclub following.
PROLOGUE:
Two people were alone in the shadows. One a woman, the other male—both seemingly human, and yet both in the same manner the complete embodiments of contrast. They paced with a light step about each other as a fight softened into a moment’s rest.
One was tall, the other notably short, but they both shared one thing in common, or perhaps a few more, depending on how you choose to look at things. They both had blood on their hands, torn clothing, the exhausted looks of battle touching their eyes, both well battered swords clutched in their sweaty hands. The shorter, the female, had the expression of one lost, of one who no longer had any remaining hope.
He might have looked royal once, but his garb, though rich, was stained with time and dirt, of blood and battle. Now he just looked as if attempting to change his expression from the hardened stare would shatter his face. Perhaps it would have; there was no way to be truly certain. But now he just looked as if death was the only goal therein. But then, on another note, the very air surrounding them seemed to be alive with the desire to taste death, as if it were more cruel than even the blades the two wielded.
She had switched her blade to her left hand in the lull of the battle, rubbing her right against her tunic in an attempt to wipe some of the sweat from her palms. But it was in her dark eyes; she knew she was losing. To be truthful, a woman is very frequently at the disadvantage in a battle. It’s not to say that the dark haired woman was utterly destined to lose, but it is to say that it’s unlikely any woman could hold up for long against a trained fighter.
“Couldn’t this have stayed with our childhood?” she whispered, voice nearly given out. “We didn’t need to carry this foolish battle out beyond stolen teddy bears. You of all people, surely, should understand purpose...”
The lull had finished. He swung his weapon hard into hers, smashing it against the nearest wall to lock the woman into position. “I seen no position in carrying it on, but you seemed to insist.” He watched as she strained against his lock, fought to keep a grip against one far stronger than she could ever be. Slight of build, her advantage had been in speed, in stealth rather than a direct battle. When it had come to this, she had realized she had been unprepared to truly fight her adversary. A dart had whipped through her dark hair, skimming her cheek, but leaving her face otherwise unblemished. She had frozen, turned around to face the taller man with his humorless expression.
She had sworn upon the realization that her decent into the shadows had been noticed.
“It was a noteworthy attempt,” he had said with an expression that had almost implied a smile for a moment.
“N-no, you don’t understand...” The woman had fought to explain before the battle had opened into a full out fury of an attack. “Tysort! I wasn’t following you!”
He had frowned. “Perhaps not intentionally, but we’re here, alone, and still hate each other, correct, Elnaj?”
She brushed her fingertips against the blood on her cheek, brought to her flesh by the needle-sharp point of the dart. Fortunately not poisoned, she had thought then. First blood, she thought in the now for a brief moment. “I suppose so,” the woman had acknowledged in a dry tone, drawing her finer sword and dropping into a defensive position. They had fought then, letting their blades intercross and parry each other’s thrusts. Step, pace, spin backwards to avoid a slash...
Slowly it had increased in pace. The blood dried on her cheek had dried into a brown gash, stinging in the deadly wind.
She knew she was about to lose. The woman released her hold on her blade a moment before he would’ve shoved it from her sweaty grip, stumbling away from him as her balance suddenly changed. It clattered far from either of their reaches into the canyon. She stumbled to keep herself from completely losing her balance.
But there wasn’t anything she could have done to prevent the face of death staring at her. He spun, blade underneath her chin as she backed away into the cliff face. They were in the bottom of the canyon, away from all other sentient contact. Dark walls rose up around them, the wind hissing nearly silently against all the trees that clutched to a bare life in the deserted location. Acid streaks toned the gray rock with deep gashes, teeth marks of a fatal element.
Death wouldn’t do anything but kill her; screaming would only make it worse. She fell silent, hands raised in an unconscious attempt to defend herself, to offer anything that could prevent him from striking her down where she stood. Within the Inner Realm, killing her would only send her back to where she had come from, leaving her death empty, and fated to be repeated again and again. It wouldn’t destroy her, only force her to remain. Nothing here was real. She refused to accept that fate.
Back, and then her hair brushing the cliff face… There was nowhere left to turn and flee her attacker. She raised her chin in slight defiance to stare the far taller being in the eyes. “So kill me.”
“After all you’ve done, I should merely kill you?” His face didn’t change upon saying this, a dull stoic expression remaining. It kept him from looking angered, cheered, pleased, or revealing any other emotion at the moment. Even gloating, she thought would’ve been easier to take than a lack of emotion. He had the feel of one who thought that showing any emotion would possibly sent him falling to his death from a cliff.
Her expression was frozen. The appearance of one who was going to fall into tears, to weep and plead for mercy, but couldn’t bring herself to lower her dignity that far. She had some level of forced beliefs in dignity, in honor, in facing consequences. He knew she had some honor. “You don’t strike me as the type to take advantage of a female prisoner.”
“You’re certainly correct there.” For a moment he did reveal something, contempt for those who lacked respect for other races, for other genders. Even though his garb was stained red with blood, her blood and his own, he still carried some honor. For that she was relieved. Death was far easier to tolerate at the hands of someone who still respected you for whom and what you were rather than merely seeing you as chance.
Still, even with the addition of some respect to her death, she didn’t want to die. In a sense, he seemed almost loath to kill her, even if his blade rested with an unspoken menace against her throat. “Please...” She hesitated. Pleading? It was so beneath her. “...For some respect for who I am, kill me quickly.” The words were forced from a throat nearly constricted in fear, and he had to salute her inwardly for not revealing it on her face— she was terrified.
The man narrowed his eyes nevertheless, expression flickering just slightly. His eyes seemed to smile without humor. “No.”
Then he hit her over the side of the head with the flat of his blade. For a mere second, her eyes widened, and then rolled back in her head. She slumped forward. Jerking his blade away so she wouldn’t end up accidentally impaling herself, she collapsed in an unconscious slumber. He cast her a slightly disdainful glance, cleaning the blood off his sword on the edge of his tunic. It was destroyed as it was from the battle, and it was far cheaper to buy a new tunic than a new sword once he allowed it to rust from inattention.
He doubted she would die from her wounds. He hadn’t hit her that badly, most of the blood being merely surface wounds carefully cutting her arms in an attempt to disable her. He knew he was mildly wounded likewise, light cuts that crossed his features where her blade had found slight holes in his defenses. No, unless something came across her unconscious body, she would live, if not a bit uncomfortably.
The man sighed innerly. All this over a childhood incident concerning a teddy bear. It was ridiculously foolish. For a long moment he was tempted to take his blade, and run her through, just to end any further clamor over this issue. But this was quickly pushed aside. If she died, it would be from the elements, and not his weapon. Enough blood had been shed over a childish vendetta.
Finishing his job on his sword, he sheathed it, and turned to leave the Lesser Cliffsettings. It wouldn’t take long to return to the Major Cliffsettings, a couple hours or less of climbing.
It was several hours before the woman at last stirred, fighting with her waning strength to force an opening back to the Middle Realm.. Back to Endyr. She would be safe there for the time.
But that’s how stories always work. One seemingly unessential event can change a lifetime. When he had stolen her teddy bear as a child, he had not thought ahead and thought that perhaps it would cause him a lifetime of agony. And it is strange, how little events can slowly tie together.
Which is why, in a completely different part of Endyr, a child had a birthday party. A few years later, he had another one, and another one. By the time he was twelve, all the local girls had decided that he was hot, plus a few others beside. As he was a halfling, complete with the adorable features of one, and conveniently a few too many inches tall, he was immediately dubbed unique, and an obvious target of all girls. Halflings do tend to be under at least four foot seven inches, just because they’re supposed to be near half sized.
This one was five foot two inches. In the West Farthings, this meant that all the halfling girls thought he was cute because he was so tall, and all the human girls liked him because he was short enough to look down on, but tall enough to comfortably kiss, being as they were about five foot seven.
He was completely unaware of any vendettas from years past that had been going on the year he had been born. To be truthful, he probably wouldn’t have cared either. Neither would the girls who continually followed him around cared, as they were too fascinated by his gorgeous blue eyes. Though admittedly, he might have at least pretended to care, had it gotten him out of the events preceding his seventeenth birthday.
It all started when his mother forced him to invite those nice girls that just happened to be his friends. Because for one of them, it wasn’t an ordinary event. This made it rather unordinary for him, and thus led forward in a chain of events that would gradually explain how and why teddy bear vendettas made sense.
But enough talk. Welcome to confusion, human...
**
That was a cliffie.
Whee.
I reappear for the sake of posting chapters!
This is a parody. This is a parody of epic and grandiose proportions. It is also a novel. Written over the course of NaNoWriMo, it is thereby forgivable for a complete lack of sanity, incidences of randomly occuring chickens, and the ultimate forshadowing end of the universe. No animals were harmed in the writing of this fictional work (beyond maybe our pet birds who happen to live behind where I was writing and may have suffered slight jet lag by the lamp being left on for ridiculous lengths of time.)
If you are unaware as to what NaNoWriMo means, it means in the month of November, millions of genuis authors collect on the internet and write a 50,000 word novel in the course of a month. The amount of caffeine and chocolate consumed to pull off such a feat should thereby redeem the state of this novel, which is as of yet unedited and the first 53,000 words of which were written in a slightly brain dead trance during November.
I am not responsible for any damage you may do to yourself during the reading of this novel, this work of fiction, which utterly has no remote similarity to reality. Really. Beyond perhaps some incidences in which characters hit a small black flatish oval with slightly bent sticks around an icy arena. And pizza.
Critiques are welcomed, as long as the Reader remembers that this story is as of yet mostly unedited.
This is a novel.
Consider yourself warned.
Drinking coffee is not recommended while reading anything beyond the prologue of this story. Finish it up during the prologue. Then leave it. Or you may find that you have to test the waterproof durability of your monitor. We will not assume libility for any coffee or liquid that may penitrate your computer if you spit it out from shock while reading this story.
Signed: THE AUTHOR[/sub]
Through Silver Glass - A Novel
By Tiana Calthye,
Written in the process of NaNoWriMo
Genre: Fantasy/parody/adventure
Rating: PG for violence and tormenting one of the male characters by a brief torturing female fanclub following.
PROLOGUE:
Two people were alone in the shadows. One a woman, the other male—both seemingly human, and yet both in the same manner the complete embodiments of contrast. They paced with a light step about each other as a fight softened into a moment’s rest.
One was tall, the other notably short, but they both shared one thing in common, or perhaps a few more, depending on how you choose to look at things. They both had blood on their hands, torn clothing, the exhausted looks of battle touching their eyes, both well battered swords clutched in their sweaty hands. The shorter, the female, had the expression of one lost, of one who no longer had any remaining hope.
He might have looked royal once, but his garb, though rich, was stained with time and dirt, of blood and battle. Now he just looked as if attempting to change his expression from the hardened stare would shatter his face. Perhaps it would have; there was no way to be truly certain. But now he just looked as if death was the only goal therein. But then, on another note, the very air surrounding them seemed to be alive with the desire to taste death, as if it were more cruel than even the blades the two wielded.
She had switched her blade to her left hand in the lull of the battle, rubbing her right against her tunic in an attempt to wipe some of the sweat from her palms. But it was in her dark eyes; she knew she was losing. To be truthful, a woman is very frequently at the disadvantage in a battle. It’s not to say that the dark haired woman was utterly destined to lose, but it is to say that it’s unlikely any woman could hold up for long against a trained fighter.
“Couldn’t this have stayed with our childhood?” she whispered, voice nearly given out. “We didn’t need to carry this foolish battle out beyond stolen teddy bears. You of all people, surely, should understand purpose...”
The lull had finished. He swung his weapon hard into hers, smashing it against the nearest wall to lock the woman into position. “I seen no position in carrying it on, but you seemed to insist.” He watched as she strained against his lock, fought to keep a grip against one far stronger than she could ever be. Slight of build, her advantage had been in speed, in stealth rather than a direct battle. When it had come to this, she had realized she had been unprepared to truly fight her adversary. A dart had whipped through her dark hair, skimming her cheek, but leaving her face otherwise unblemished. She had frozen, turned around to face the taller man with his humorless expression.
She had sworn upon the realization that her decent into the shadows had been noticed.
“It was a noteworthy attempt,” he had said with an expression that had almost implied a smile for a moment.
“N-no, you don’t understand...” The woman had fought to explain before the battle had opened into a full out fury of an attack. “Tysort! I wasn’t following you!”
He had frowned. “Perhaps not intentionally, but we’re here, alone, and still hate each other, correct, Elnaj?”
She brushed her fingertips against the blood on her cheek, brought to her flesh by the needle-sharp point of the dart. Fortunately not poisoned, she had thought then. First blood, she thought in the now for a brief moment. “I suppose so,” the woman had acknowledged in a dry tone, drawing her finer sword and dropping into a defensive position. They had fought then, letting their blades intercross and parry each other’s thrusts. Step, pace, spin backwards to avoid a slash...
Slowly it had increased in pace. The blood dried on her cheek had dried into a brown gash, stinging in the deadly wind.
She knew she was about to lose. The woman released her hold on her blade a moment before he would’ve shoved it from her sweaty grip, stumbling away from him as her balance suddenly changed. It clattered far from either of their reaches into the canyon. She stumbled to keep herself from completely losing her balance.
But there wasn’t anything she could have done to prevent the face of death staring at her. He spun, blade underneath her chin as she backed away into the cliff face. They were in the bottom of the canyon, away from all other sentient contact. Dark walls rose up around them, the wind hissing nearly silently against all the trees that clutched to a bare life in the deserted location. Acid streaks toned the gray rock with deep gashes, teeth marks of a fatal element.
Death wouldn’t do anything but kill her; screaming would only make it worse. She fell silent, hands raised in an unconscious attempt to defend herself, to offer anything that could prevent him from striking her down where she stood. Within the Inner Realm, killing her would only send her back to where she had come from, leaving her death empty, and fated to be repeated again and again. It wouldn’t destroy her, only force her to remain. Nothing here was real. She refused to accept that fate.
Back, and then her hair brushing the cliff face… There was nowhere left to turn and flee her attacker. She raised her chin in slight defiance to stare the far taller being in the eyes. “So kill me.”
“After all you’ve done, I should merely kill you?” His face didn’t change upon saying this, a dull stoic expression remaining. It kept him from looking angered, cheered, pleased, or revealing any other emotion at the moment. Even gloating, she thought would’ve been easier to take than a lack of emotion. He had the feel of one who thought that showing any emotion would possibly sent him falling to his death from a cliff.
Her expression was frozen. The appearance of one who was going to fall into tears, to weep and plead for mercy, but couldn’t bring herself to lower her dignity that far. She had some level of forced beliefs in dignity, in honor, in facing consequences. He knew she had some honor. “You don’t strike me as the type to take advantage of a female prisoner.”
“You’re certainly correct there.” For a moment he did reveal something, contempt for those who lacked respect for other races, for other genders. Even though his garb was stained red with blood, her blood and his own, he still carried some honor. For that she was relieved. Death was far easier to tolerate at the hands of someone who still respected you for whom and what you were rather than merely seeing you as chance.
Still, even with the addition of some respect to her death, she didn’t want to die. In a sense, he seemed almost loath to kill her, even if his blade rested with an unspoken menace against her throat. “Please...” She hesitated. Pleading? It was so beneath her. “...For some respect for who I am, kill me quickly.” The words were forced from a throat nearly constricted in fear, and he had to salute her inwardly for not revealing it on her face— she was terrified.
The man narrowed his eyes nevertheless, expression flickering just slightly. His eyes seemed to smile without humor. “No.”
Then he hit her over the side of the head with the flat of his blade. For a mere second, her eyes widened, and then rolled back in her head. She slumped forward. Jerking his blade away so she wouldn’t end up accidentally impaling herself, she collapsed in an unconscious slumber. He cast her a slightly disdainful glance, cleaning the blood off his sword on the edge of his tunic. It was destroyed as it was from the battle, and it was far cheaper to buy a new tunic than a new sword once he allowed it to rust from inattention.
He doubted she would die from her wounds. He hadn’t hit her that badly, most of the blood being merely surface wounds carefully cutting her arms in an attempt to disable her. He knew he was mildly wounded likewise, light cuts that crossed his features where her blade had found slight holes in his defenses. No, unless something came across her unconscious body, she would live, if not a bit uncomfortably.
The man sighed innerly. All this over a childhood incident concerning a teddy bear. It was ridiculously foolish. For a long moment he was tempted to take his blade, and run her through, just to end any further clamor over this issue. But this was quickly pushed aside. If she died, it would be from the elements, and not his weapon. Enough blood had been shed over a childish vendetta.
Finishing his job on his sword, he sheathed it, and turned to leave the Lesser Cliffsettings. It wouldn’t take long to return to the Major Cliffsettings, a couple hours or less of climbing.
It was several hours before the woman at last stirred, fighting with her waning strength to force an opening back to the Middle Realm.. Back to Endyr. She would be safe there for the time.
But that’s how stories always work. One seemingly unessential event can change a lifetime. When he had stolen her teddy bear as a child, he had not thought ahead and thought that perhaps it would cause him a lifetime of agony. And it is strange, how little events can slowly tie together.
Which is why, in a completely different part of Endyr, a child had a birthday party. A few years later, he had another one, and another one. By the time he was twelve, all the local girls had decided that he was hot, plus a few others beside. As he was a halfling, complete with the adorable features of one, and conveniently a few too many inches tall, he was immediately dubbed unique, and an obvious target of all girls. Halflings do tend to be under at least four foot seven inches, just because they’re supposed to be near half sized.
This one was five foot two inches. In the West Farthings, this meant that all the halfling girls thought he was cute because he was so tall, and all the human girls liked him because he was short enough to look down on, but tall enough to comfortably kiss, being as they were about five foot seven.
He was completely unaware of any vendettas from years past that had been going on the year he had been born. To be truthful, he probably wouldn’t have cared either. Neither would the girls who continually followed him around cared, as they were too fascinated by his gorgeous blue eyes. Though admittedly, he might have at least pretended to care, had it gotten him out of the events preceding his seventeenth birthday.
It all started when his mother forced him to invite those nice girls that just happened to be his friends. Because for one of them, it wasn’t an ordinary event. This made it rather unordinary for him, and thus led forward in a chain of events that would gradually explain how and why teddy bear vendettas made sense.
But enough talk. Welcome to confusion, human...
**
That was a cliffie.
Whee.
I reappear for the sake of posting chapters!
