Rest, rest your weary head. The day is long and never ends. Mornings filled with dread, But if you sleep then dream, Of places old and magic. Go, dear one, to the place of dragons. The waking world is cold and cruel, people in it lie. Sleep and dream of fantastic things Where pterasaurs still fly. There you’re free of worldly care To play in fields of flowers. Yes there you can wile away the hours Sleep and dream of happy things, forget for now the misery, for there Lady Aldra sings, That you are filled with magic!
I see you in ever dream, my thoughts always of you. I love you and wish only your utmost happiness. I delight in the softness of your emery black waves; they frame your small round face with delicate curls. The way your lips, ruby painted, frown in disdain at me, or laugh when I tell a story. The confused look your cinnamon brown eyes get when I say the wrong things.
Lately those eyes are drowned in despairs, your slim shoulders have heaved in my arms. You leaned against me weeping and I stroked your hair in comfort. I have clasped your slim hands, perfectly manicured with delicate nails, in my own rough hands and assured you of my devotions.
Yet, how can I save you from your pain, how can I find you? I cannot even save myself. Last night I dreamt once more. Folding laundry on the line, you wore a simple cotton dress, light blue. Your hair pinned up, I watched from the window. Your mother, hair streaked with silver, helped place clothes out, I could hear the bubble of conversation but not the words.
Aniya, nay Anika Sora, Lady of dreams, I would plead you stay with me. Always at my side. That the moments I dream of a normal life, you and I, sitting on the bed chatting. The tv in the living area playing local news. The conversations, talking of the children, enjoying a happy life. The illusion always shattered when you realise I must go again. The tears as I tell you I am leaving, waking from the dream. Last night it happened too. I knew I had to go and held you tight, kissed you, and said goodbye. I will go mad, one day I may wish to remain in dream forever, never to wake again.
I will preface this by stating that this was a dream I had. It is obviously a warped version of the Doctor Who episode “The Girl in the Fire Place.” During the dream it took me a bit to realise this.
Koraki stood at the top of the stairs of a Victorian ballroom. The ballroom walls were lined with mirrors where he felt certain Victorian art ought to be. He, himself, was dressed in a fine suit with a tie.
Anika lay in her tent and stared at the ceiling. She was restless and found it difficult to get to sleep. She sat there with thoughts of home and Atron Reu. He always had made her laugh, and she missed him. The boy often got himself into trouble with the other elves. He had a habit of escaping the village, which caused her to drag him back. If he were to do that now, without her, Arajuan might find him. She despised having to deal with Arajuan’s cruel way of taunting her mind.
Anika felt uneasy about Atron, that he was unhappy without her. She hoped she was wrong as she already worried enough. Whatever the child did she wanted him to stay safe. The Aldarian Army hunted half-dragons now even more than dragons were. Thinking of dragons
“It was a vast burning field where no flowers grew blood covered the embers where no bodies were strewn
Who could do this to a land that committed no crime a place that had peace In a time before time” Anika describing the devastation Arajuan caused through out Aldaria
That morning Anika awoke as the sun peeked into her tent. With the darkness gone the sun beamed the brightest she had ever seen. Only a slight trace of sulfur was on the wind much to her relief. She sat up, her stomach had a dull ache, but her legs healed except for scars on the back of them. Her shoulder where Arajuan gripped her had no wound at all. She had fallen asleep in her travel armor, so she did not need to dress. She left her tent, found Tarnink was already up and had prepared a fire.
Tarnink pulled out a pack of food and handed it to her. She tried to eat but her stomach felt numb. The food just sat and rotted. She tossed the food away from her in frustration.
“Arajuan, that vile beast, he is trying to starve me to death,” she exclaimed. Continue reading →
Arajuan did not have the luxury to stop. A tight schedule meant he had to push on. He could still smell her blood on him, feel her heartbeat against him. His own heart pounded against his ribcage. He knew this feeling, a roar in his chest from a time before he was Arajuan. She was the lady of shadows; how could he do this to her?
Arajuan had to shake this off, aloof, wicked, heartless. This is war, the price of war is death. He would laugh but it was not funny. The men followed him, orcs were the core group, from the same tribe Tsuke and Tuk hailed. The others were victims of towns he decimated. He relished in their fear when new towns he conquered saw his necromantic arts. It was a delight when they knew they bound their fate to him.
The war drums played as they marched. Socrates landed on his shoulder. He knew his master better than anyone; they were bonded as brothers. Socrates sensed Arajuan’s troubled heart.
As the shadowy mist faded away, a foreboding man with charred brittle skin appeared. In the cracks, there glowed what appeared to be red-hot lava. His eyes were embers as he glared at them. Anika regained her bearings, Tarnink behind her, sword drawn. A small troop of twisted men circled them.
Anika found herself faced with this monstrosity. His eyes glowed so hot that his stare burned into her. He was blind, yet Anika felt he could sense her that he was looking at her.
The scar he had on his left eye glowed the brightest red and cut deeper than the other cracks of his flesh. Strapped to his right side he carried a sword, and in his right hand a long spear. His long feathery black hair blended in with the darkness of the forest. He wore a battered
“Those who seek adventure often fail to see the deadly perils that follows after it” The Bird-Child Socrates
Anika awoke the next morning refreshed. She glanced around her palace bedroom. It was a large spacious room with an elegant queen-sized bed. Bright red curtains draped the expansive windows. It had a large cherry wood chest of drawers with an ornate mirror across from her bed. The morning sun spilled in to the room and painted her face in a soft light.
Anika tossed her elafi skinned blanket as she stood up and slipped out of her red silk nightgown. She dressed in a new rohit-elafi, leather armor and found her leather moccasins. She admired in the mirror how perfect the skin from her prey fit. Anika pulled on her new red trimmed traveling cloak. She pulled the hood down letting her beautiful light curls flow over her shoulders. The cloak was airy and well made; it covered her delicate frame with a delightful
A young woman with elven beauty walked along a narrow forest path. Her black and red streaked hair swept past her high cheekbones with a small wind. She froze at the sound of a snapped twig and sniffed the air. She caught the distinct scent of rohit-elafi along with the familiar trace of sulfur. The woman grabbed her bow as she peered out through her emerald eyes, the slit pupils narrowed when she spotted her prey. Her arched eyebrows curved in concentration. It was an older rohit-elafi and was not likely to survive the coming winter; she shot and hit her mark.
The woman approached the small red deer like creature and lifted it over her slender shoulders with ease. The weight shifted on her shoulders. She moved a strand of her wavy hair away from her eyes as she slid down the path. The narrow path grew wider and large trees dotted
“If you fail, I will deliver the most severe of punishments. Pain and suffering will be your only friend.” Gori to Arajuan
The warm sun could not cheer Arajuan’s defeat and losing the twins would cause him even greater pain. He had taken a full troop of men but now he had enough left for one platoon. As they marched towards Lenagard, he halted the men and sniffed the morning air. Mika, she must be taking the hatchling.
“Into cover now, we don’t have the men to fight another dragon!” He ordered.
I am a writer who often dawdles (wastes time). So here I am, procrastinating by talking about organization, writing tips, teaching writing tips, and other random things to keep up my writing habits, when I should be writing my novel, and here you are, dawdling as well. C'mon in and join me for some dawdling (and pretending we're not).