To Look Forward for 2012

1. We can watch The Hunger Games come to life March 23rd!
2. Due to February 29, 2012 will have 366 days. Time to welcome in a leap year!
3. A new year means that there will be a opportunity to read new books.
4. There will be a chance to learn new skills, and expand the ones you already have.
5. A new year means new goals. How many can you keep?
6. You could make new friends or grow closer to those you love. A fresh start should not be wasted.
7. As the year begins, some things might be drawing to a close. Do you have projects that need finishing?
8. A new year gives you the chance to try new things.
9. The closing of one door and the opening of another is an excellent reason to party.
10. As you look forward and plan for 2012, remember all that you learned in 2011. Don't be afraid to look back.

Nightingale High: Nigh, part II

“Since you are the first student at Nightingale High, you will get to pick from any of the twelve rooms on the second floor, miss Valentine.” The young woman who led me up the stairs said with a smile.

She was tall, with a swimmer's body and long, jet black hair. She was dressed in a Norse style pearl white tunic and full length skirt, with a very light, pale blue corset embroidered with a cascading waterfall. She had introduced herself as Isabel Grace, the nurse of Nightingale High.

I found the fact that my father had them name the school after me unsettling, not to mention embarrassing.

We reached the second floor and stepped out of the spiral staircase, and I glanced up as it continued upwards. Isabel smiled when she caught my eye, and nodded to the staircase. “It continues up to the third floor, which is a labyrinth someone thought would make a good attic. I wouldn't suggest going up there unless you have a good sense of direction.” She turned away from the staircase and waved at the square area surrounding the staircase.

There was an opening at each corner of the square, which was tilted slightly sideways so that each hall aligned with a direction on the compass. Though you couldn't see very far down any of the hallways, as each twisted away in an odd pattern.

“Each of these halls leads to the outer ring, and most of the rooms are along the outer wall. Though there are four center rooms that enclose the staircase, making the square we are in.” Isabel tapped one of the walls and winked at me. “The rooms are made in all kinds of shapes and sizes, from the balcony room at the southern edge to one of the northern rooms that is mostly a walk-in closet. There are twelve students on the roster, so each of you will get your own room.”

I nodded, shifting my suitcase from my right hand to my left. “Thank you for taking the time to show me around, miss Grace.” I attempted to smile as she laughed.

“Oh, just Isabel will do, miss Valentine. I really am too young for a title, no matter what Marion insists.” Isabel sighed, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear. “Though sometimes titles are inescapable... But this is a vacation! I should be able to leave titles at home. So how about this; you can call me Isabel, and I'll call you whatever you'd like. Because seriously, miss Grace and miss Valentine makes both of us sound old. And neither of us are at all that old.” Her voice flowed like a river, ageless and soothing.

I had already pinned Isabel Grace as a water elemental from the texture of her voice, and had gleaned from the memories riding her words that she was a leader among her people, despite her youth.

But I would wait until she told me about her life, if she ever told me.

I couldn't stop myself from learning about people through their voice, but I could try to ignore what I learned. I couldn't stop the Siren within, but I could keep it caged.

I tried to smile again, nodding once. “Okay... Isabel. You can call me Gale.”

I had decided that I wouldn't introduce myself as Nightingale if I could help it. Why had they named the school Nightingale High? Why not Richard High, or Siren High? My mother had said that this was the Siren Estate.

Isabel smiled again as she returned to the stairs. “Gale it is. If you need someone to talk to, fill free to come visit the infirmary.” Her voice gave me a detailed image of the infirmary, and the small room connected to it where Isabel would call home.

I let my smile drop as soon as her black-haired head disappeared down the spiral staircase. Shifting my suitcase back to my right hand, I picked a direction and started walking.

The western hall leading away from the stairs had some interesting carvings on the wall. I followed the carving of a beautiful ship on its journey along the wall, then frowned when the hall opened out to melt into what had to be the outer ring. There weren't very many windows on the second floor, and apparently no one had hired an electrician to give this place artificial lighting. But I found the lamplight fitting, the flickering flames causing the carvings to take on their own life I hadn't noticed in the hall.

I looked for the carving of the ship, and found that it had been joined by some half-human, half-bird carvings. I watched as the Sirens circled the ship, and led it towards a group of jagged rocks.

The final carving of the ship was wrecked on the rocks, half-sunk, with the Sirens perched on the edge of the crows-nest.

I knew what the scene was, and how that could easily be me. Yes, the Sirens depicted in the carving had purposefully led the ship to the rocks, but they had sang.

They hadn't held themselves back, placed others over their need to sing. They hadn't broken their Song, and forced it to drown itself in agony, pleading to be released, to spread its wings and fly.

Even now as I thought of it, my Song bubbled to my throat, painfully fighting against me for release. I clenched my teeth, fighting the Song and my heart. I ran down the the outer ring back to way I had come, my eyes starting to tear as the Song fought its way to my tongue, its sweetness filling my mouth.

I couldn't swallow it down, not after having caged it for so long.

A large carving of a bird, wings only slightly opened and it's beak open in song.

Carved onto a door, which would be a barrier between the rest of the school and my Song.

I barely noticed the feather pattern on the doorknob before my hand closed around it and turned. The door opened easily, and I ran into the room. I slammed the door shut and took a few steps into the now completely dark room, before collapsing to the floor.

My back arched, my head lifted upwards as the Song burst free on my lips.

The Song was of the victory that was freedom, and of the sorrow of imprisonment. It sang of darkness, and the frozen silence of misery. The numbness that filled the mind, until anger burned away the nothingness. The Song burned on my lips, crying its defiance and promising an ecstasy that only it could bring. It whispered of secrets that I didn't want to know, that I normally wouldn't want to know. But at the moment, I longed for them.

The Song was like a drug. Like the finest wine, the most valued and delicious fruit ever tasted. Once offered as a taste, twice cultivated the desire, and at thrice it becomes the lifeblood. I needed the Song more then oxygen, more then food and drink. I had been starving myself, and now basked within a feast of wordless melody.

I couldn't close my mouth, and shut out the Song.

And I didn't even want to.

It was what sustained me.

Without the Song, everything was a frozen darkness, with nothing but a slow, crippling, killing Silence. My mother was able to fight the Silence, but I couldn't.

I was too weak.

The Silence was too much for me.

And the Song too tempting to resist.

Superpowers x2

To want superpowers
1. So you can be a hero and save the day!
2. Everyday tasks become easier. No more hard to open pickle jars!
3. Flight, super strength, invisibility, the possibilities are endless for amazing powers!
4. With high intelligence, invulnerability, or super speed, you could become the best in your field of work.
5. Telepaths need not worry about someone keeping secrets from them.
6. Your friends and family will be a great aid for those times you need to feel normal.
7. Training will help to hone your powers into a fine tool.
8. People will be grateful for the help you provide.
9. Your powers will bring people comfort.
10. Superpowers make you unique.

To avoid gaining superpowers
1. Suddenly the world has become your duty to clean, while others keep making it messier.
2. Due to not knowing your limits, everything is now more difficult. Glass covered pickles, anyone?
3. Radioactivity, internal combustion, immortality without youth, the possibilities for horrible powers is unending.
4. Because of your abilities, you can never rise to the top of your field without a guilty conscious.
5. Most telepaths will soon lose touch with reality if they don't have an off switch. With all those voices in their head, how could they stay sane?
6. Family and friends will not be able to fully understand the troubles you face with your powers, unless they have powers as well.
7. Without training, your powers could be devastation waiting to strike.
8. People will blame you when things go wrong.
9. Your powers will cause fear in many.
10. Superpowers make you alone.

From the world of Terrarth

Heart pounding, I raced through a fog covered forest; the sound of twigs snapping alerting my pursuers of my every move. I glanced over my shoulder, but couldn't see anything through the fog. My bare feet hurt, but I couldn't stop running. I didn't know who my pursuers were, but I knew that I had to run.

Run until one of two things happened.

I escaped, or they caught me.

Suddenly a broken branch appeared out the fog in my path. But before I realized the problem, my foot caught underneath the branch and my momentum sent me tumbling to the ground. Hastily pushing myself up, I tried to stand and cried out as pain shot through my ankle. Biting my lip, I fell to my knees and crawled. Then I felt someone kick my side; knocking me into a tree. Gasping for breath, I stared in the direction the kick had come from; searching for any sign of my attacker. Through the fog, I found cold, golden eyes retuning my stare.

Not knowing what else to do, I screamed.

Winter Blues

I must apologize for not posting a Ten Reasons last Friday.
Due to a bout of illness, I was unable to make the post.
I will attempt to make up for the missing post in this Friday's Ten Reasons.
Once again, my apologies.

Happy Holidays,
Erisnyx

Kiss Goodbye

He flinched at the pain in her eyes, and knew that she would never forgive him for this.

“I’m sorry, Holly. I cannot defy the laws of my father’s people.” He heard the dull ring in his normally teasing and slightly sarcastic voice, and knew that she couldn’t hear his anguish.

“You don’t have to go back. I know how you feel about your father.” He looked in her grass green eyes, full of tears she refused to shed and the tiredness of the day.

He shook his head. “How I feel about my father has nothing to do with this. I have to go back.”

She didn’t understand what the choice was.

Return to his father’s people for the allotted time, or death.

But not his death.

She shook her head, then pushed a lock of black hair behind her ear.

“This can’t be the only option.”

“It is the only one that doesn’t force me to fight my nature. If I don’t leave now, then it will overwhelm me.”

Her shoulders shook, but no tears fell.

From the first floor came an infant’s cry that tore his heart to pieces. And roused a primal instinct.

The woman looked over the railing and down the open space in the center of the atrium’s spiral staircase. Then she looked back into his eyes, a small spark going out in her own.

“Please...”

He closed his eyes, forcing the beast within down. It fought, but was finally repelled.

For a few moments, at least.

Opening his eyes, he took three steps and covered the distance between them. He wrapped his arms tenderly around the woman, who had been his wife for two and a half years, and leaned in to kiss her.

The spark seemed to rekindle in her eyes for a moment. Then their lips met, and her eyes closed.

He put all of his love for her into the kiss, and all of his anguish.

Then he forced his body to dissolve into the air, slowly at first.

She didn’t notice when all that was left were his arms and face.

She didn’t notice his arms disappear.

He broke the kiss as his head dissolved into the air, and allowed himself a whisper.

“Goodbye, my love.”

To make someone a gift

1. It is a way to share your talents.
2. A homemade gift will mean more then something from a store.
3. Just think of everything you could make! Food, bookmarks, blankets, or even a walking stick; the possibilities are up to you.
4. If you aren't a crafty  person, then you could write a letter. A handwritten note could make someone's day.
5. Pets enjoy homemade gifts as well. Give your cat that piece of tatting you made a few mistakes on, he or she will have fun with it.
6. The gift could be something they will use often, like a case for their reading glasses or a keyring.
7. Make something personal. You could use their favorite color or add their first initial.
8. Maybe they are a crafty person. If that is the case, then you could make them something to keep their crafts in, like a journal.
9. You could write them a short story. You could use them as the base for the protagonist, or set it in their hometown.
10. Remember with whatever you do, to make it with love.

Terrarth critters: Centaurs and Were-folk

A centaur waited at the crossroad deep within the Darkling Wood. His lower extremities were that of a blood bay stallion with black lower legs, while his torso was muscular, the olive skin of his chest visible underneath the patches of coarse black hair. The hair on his head was black, and grew like a mane down his back. The centaur's long pointed ears suggested that he had elvish blood, though his black eyes suggested differently. The centaur waited, his patience diminishing with each passing second.

Finally he heard the nearly silent sound of feet coming towards him. A moment later, a pale man emerged from the woods. The man was tall with white hair that was cropped short. He was dressed simply, in a plain white shirt and dark pants.

“Your messenger said you had some information I would find intriguing.” The centaur said, his voice colored with a tone of boredom as he studied the king of the were-folk.

The centaur heard the sound of paws moving through the undergrowth of the forest, surrounding the area. The king's guard still didn't trust a lone centaur, even when taking into account that the were-king could easily win any fight once shifted to his more feral half.

The king's completely black eyes narrowed disapprovingly as he spoke. “Yes, but this particular bit of information comes at great cost.”

The centaur frowned, but reached for the leather purse hanging from his belt. “How much?”

The were-king smiled, touching his fingertips together. “Twenty-five thousand gold.”

The centaur glared at the were-king, but kept his voice calm.

“Now what kind of information could be worth twenty-five thousand? I'll give you fifteen thousand.”

The were-king smiled and shook his head. “You don't want it enough, Milcarek. Twenty thousand.” The centaur named Milcarek glared angrily at the were-king.

They may have been friends for some time, but there were still times when the were-king would slip into a more kingly attitude.

“Seventeen thousand. Take it or leave it, Ranulf.”

The were-king thought for a moment, then growled in agreement. “The money first, then you'll receive the information.”

Milcarek frowned, pawing the ground with one foreleg. “Now Ranulf, you know the deal. Information, and then the money.” Ranulf frowned slightly, a low rumble emerging from his throat as the were-king began to lose patience, and with it, control.

“Fine.

“A human girl appeared at the edge of our northern border. She's moving north, with only a dog and a knife as protection.”

Milcarek hummed thoughtfully at the information as he tossed the purse to Ranulf. The were-king caught it, and made a quick inspection of its contents. Satisfied, the were-king tucked the purse away. “As always, it's been a pleasure.” Without another word, Ranulf turned and walked into the woods, fading away without a trace.

The centaur listened to the faint footfalls change to something almost like a wolf paws, then disappear completely into the silence of Darkling Wood.

Turning towards the north-western fork of the crossroad, the centaur began down it at a smooth trot. His mind was accompanied by the thoughts of the human girl.

A human, in Terra!

It was an insane notion, one that both excited and terrified Milcarek. Humans in Terra were incredibly rare, and the psych leaders, the Council, normally captured any before they let it be known that a new human had appeared.

But now one had appeared within Darkling Wood, and he was certain that the Council hadn't gotten word about the girl yet.

But it was only a matter of time.

Ranulf may have come to him with the information first, but the were-king knew what kind of power knowledge of the human could bring, and the were-folk were a power-hungry species.

Their monarchy was a perfect example of their lust for power.

Like a pack of beasts, they would fight, often to the death, to settle disputes and kingship.

But Ranulf was wiser then his predecessors, and knew that the best way to keep allies was by dealing with them yourself.

And sharing important information was a good tactic for keeping those allies on your side.

The centaur stopped walking and turned south. Letting out an eerie whistle, he allowed a smile to form as a low, moaning howl sounded in the distance.

The call had been answered.

When feeling under the weather...

1. Grab a good book. It may help to comfort you between sneezes.
2. If you have one, cuddle with your cat. A pet can help you feel better.
3. Write how you are feeling. The notes could possibly be used later for a scene.
4. Eat some soup, for it is tasty and warms the belly.
5. Work on an unfinished project; you might be able to complete it.
6. Create a cocoon of blankets and re-watch a favorite movie or show.
7. If you can't keep your eyes open, then take a nap. It might be all the medicine you need.
8. Do some work. Exercise is good, so long as you don't over do it.
9. Check in on a family member or friend. They might also need a friendly conversation.
10. Smile. Being sad won't help you feel better, so turn that frown around!

Endings often change

This was the first draft of an epilogue for a story that has now changed endings.

~X~ 

The sun had set, and the temperature was dropping dangerously fast.

A man shifted further into his coat; the phoenix down it was lined with emitting the warmth of warm coals from a fresh fire.

The man carefully checked the pouch hanging around his neck once more, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips, though the smile did nothing to soften the iciness of his blue eyes, one of which was forever narrowed in a glare because of two painful scars that ran vertically across it.

The man whistled, and a buckskin stallion trotted over from where it had been grazing. Mounting, the man kicked his horse to a gallop, leaving the rich green hills behind. Blackened terrain engulfed them, the smell of death, ashes, and smoke still overwhelming though centuries had passed since the plains had first caught aflame.

This was the sight of the Unquenched Burning, where the home of the elves, the plains formerly called Evermore, had been utterly decimated by the wrath of a single dragon.

The man smiled cruelly, the memories of that dragon fresh in his mind.

Of course, they weren't originally his memories, but those of a dragon elder by the name of Lor'Tae Jaggedpath. The milky-white dragon had been a chore to find, but the information he had provided before death claimed him was well worth the sacrifice.

It took almost three hours to reach the man's destination, a group of crumbling ruins; the entrance sealed shut by a stone door created by magic eons ago.

Pulling his horse to a stop a few feet before the door, the man dismounted. He undid a saddlebag with hands scarred by battle, to retrieve a small silver harp; though most of the silver was hidden by strips of white cloth. It was a simple harp that could easily be held with one arm while leaving the other free to play, and it looked like it had seen better days.

It was the kind of instrument he expected a harper or bard to carry around, not something created by the elves when they were at the height of their power.

The man shook his head to dispel his misgivings about the harp. If it was the one, then it didn't matter what it looked like as long as it worked. Just as it didn't matter that a runaway servant had been the keeper of the harp.

He left his horse saddled and loose, knowing that the stallion would come if called, and walked to the door. The man slowly lifted the harp and began to play a slow, somber piece the elves wrote called the Elegy of Remembrance.

As he played, the man suppressed a shiver and kept playing as the song's mournful notes covered everything nearby with an essence of pure sorrow. Dark clouds seemed to cover the full moon as note after note the harp sang, memories that couldn't possibly be his flooding the man's vision. But still he played, the scenes of endless agony crying out for him to stop playing, to turn around and leave, never to return. But the man ignored the cries, and finished the elegy.

After the last notes left the harp, the man lifted his head, his eyes cold, calculating. He waited, watching the stone door as the faded runes that covered its surface began to glow, soon becoming so bright that the man had to squint his eyes against the harsh light. Then there was a groan of shifting stone, followed by an implosion. Then there was nothing but the night and dust. Placing the harp in a case, he strapped the case to his back and tied a cloth around his mouth and nose. Then man stepped into the cloud of dust; carefully moving forward over the rubble that was all that remained of the door.

The man slowed as the dust settled, allowing him to see his surrounding. He was in a long corridor that sloped downward, into thick darkness. Using his left hand, the man untied a pouch from his belt, and let it fall open to the ground; releasing a small creature called a Seirios. This seirios looked like a small silver bat with glowing wings. The seirios flew up until it was in front of the man, awaiting his command.

“Vaati, you are to lead me to Cor'zuh by the most direct route, while avoiding any traps the elves set before abandoning this place.” The man ordered. The seirios named Vaati flew in a quick, tight circle before taking off down the corridor with the man following. The man ignored the lingering beauty of the ruins as they went down the corridor, but took note of the various rooms they passed that led to unimaginable secrets left by the elves. After a while, the corridor opened to a large chamber completely covered with mirrors. Vaati paused just inside the chamber, flying in a circle counterclockwise. The man snapped his fingers, and the bat-like seirios grew to the size of a horse. Vaati stopped flying and landed, allowing the man to climb onto it's back. Then it leaped in the air and flew, the reflections of itself proving to be irrelevant in stopping the seirios from finding its way through the chamber. The man closed his eyes as they made their was through the chamber, the mirrors utterly disorienting him. With his eyes closed, the man was able to chart their course after a moment. They were flew in a series of twists and turns, then downwards. Further and further down. Opening his eyes, the man saw that they were no longer in the mirrored chamber. Instead, they were in what he could only guess was a narrow abyss, for both above and below were hidden by darkness, and the walls were just barely two feet away from the seirios wingtips.

Down they flew, for what felt like hours, until finally, the seirios reached a cliff in the abyss. The left the seemingly unending abyss and flew into another corridor that began on the cliff, this one sloping upward.

Then the man had nothing to do but wait as the seirios steadily flew upward, seeming to follow a map with its mind. Then after a while it turned right and flew straight. Another hour passed, and the man could sense that midnight was almost upon them. A left turn, and they were in a cavern.

The seirios flew down and landed on a wide ledge. The man climbed off the seirios and looked around, taking note of the opening in the wall that must be the cave called Cor'zuh. Looking up at the roof of the cavern, the man noticed a small opening that let a faint light in. Satisfied that this was his destination, the man removed the case from his back and and opened it.

Then he settled in to wait.

Time passed by, the light from the opening in the roof slowly growing stronger and stronger. Until finally, it was midnight.

No longer needing the light from the seirios Vaati to see the cave opening, the man gave two short whistles. The seirios shrunk to its original size and flew over to the man and back into the pouch it had emerged from.

The man walked over to the mouth of the cave named Cor'zuh, removing the pouch hanging from his neck. Opening it, he placed the object it held on a flat rock at the mouth of the cave that had strange symbols on it.

Taking a step back into the moonlight, the man lifted the harp out of its case and began to play a song called the Nocturne of Awakening. It began tranquilly, the notes echoing back and forth off the walls of the cavern. Then the music shifted, taking on a more gloomier form. The man continued playing even as the moonbeams began to weave together in the form of a dragon at the mouth of the cave. He played, letting the notes dance together as they echoed back and forth throughout the cave; growing entangled with the moonbeams. On he played, as visions from the past flooded his mind; telling the story of the Chaotic War, of the dragon that brought two races, two enemies, together under the mutual need to survive. The dull black scale he had place at the mouth of the cave began to shine as it joined with the moonbeams and music, bringing back the dragon it had once been a part of. The man finished the song, watching as the Bringer of Chaos, the Dragon of Destruction, awakened.

The metallic black dragon lifted its head, yellow eyes scanning the cavern. Catching sight of the man, the dragon smiled; an action that revealed thin, most likely razor sharp, fangs.

“A psych frees me, using the elves Harp of Harmony.” The dragon spoke, his voice pleased. His thick, whip-like tail wrapped around the man and lifted him up to the dragon's head. From that close, the man could make out four thin scars on the left side of the dragon's snout, and could see just how sharp the horns on his head were, whether it were the two large ones above his eyes, the five fin-like ones on either side of his head, or the small one on his chin.

“So tell me, to whom do I owe thanks for releasing me?” The dragon asked, his breath hot and smelling of decay. The man kept his eyes locked on the dragon's as he answered proudly.

“ I am Sir Magnus of Drake, commander of the North and member of the council of Alistair.” The dragon laughed when Magnus finished speaking, lowering him to the ground but keeping his tail wrapped tightly around the psych.

“The council still rules, eh? Well, I think we should fix that...” With a cold glint in his eyes, the black dragon leaped into the air, unfurling his wings and flying up to the opening in the ceiling. With a roar, he breathed white-hot flames at the opening, widening it until it was large enough for him to fly through. Once outside, the dragon flew north, over the ruins he had been imprisoned within.

The final words of the dragon Lor'Tae echoed in Magnus' mind as he stared at the Plains of Despair from above.

“I warn you now, Sir Magnus, that if you do not turn away from this course now, it will be too late. For you are attempting to release an uncontrollable evil, under the gross assumption that you will be able to control it. Remember my words,Magnus of Drake. If you release the dragon known as Plague from his prison, then you are sentencing all of Terra to the same fate the elves barely escaped.

“Extinction.”

Special Thanksgiving Edition— What I am thankful for

1. My family, who are a constant source of love and support.
2. My friends, with whom I share countless laughs.
3. My lovable, fuzzy cat. Thanks for learning to perch on  my shoulder.
4. That I have been able to learn tatting from one of my wonderful leaders. You know who you are.
5. For the blessing of having the gospel in my life, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
6. For good books, and the people who write them. You are amazing.
7. Hot chocolate.
8. That keyboards are lefty friendly.
9. To trampolines, for the stories first imagined upon one.
10. For this blog that I have the opportunity to share my thoughts with.

Nightingale High: Nigh, part I

I walked down the stairs carefully, avoiding the areas that I knew would creek under my weight.

I could hear voices from the parlor; my father's low rumble among them. It was difficult to understand the soft conversation from the stairs. But as I got closer to the partially cracked door to the parlor, I caught their conversation.

“...request sounds fairly reasonable, mister Valentine. But if I may, why set such an unusual term to our agreement?”

I could tell that owner of this voice was elderly by the wobble. And I knew the owner was female by the gentle tones. I would pin her voice as a contralto if she was singing, although there was possibility that she would be a mezzo-soprano.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and concentrated on my father's reply.

“...is a must. She has been expelled from the last two schools we've tried, and no tutor will teach her for more then a few days. My daughter needs discipline, and your project would be the perfect solution. If I am to fund your project and provide a place for it, then she must be a student.”

I held my breath for a moment, then cautiously exhaled softly.

I had known that my father had been upset with my latest track record of three and a half schools and five tutors, but it wasn't my fault that I'd been expelled and that the tutors all ran away after three or four days. I'd been able to keep the last one for an entire week before she had me sing, and the one before that for four days, three hours, and twenty-seven minutes!

But it didn't matter.

It never mattered to Richard Valentine.

Because after a while, all of the tutors had me sing. They just weren't accustom to a teenager not being plugged into music, a teenager who never even hummed. So they'd try to encourage me, under some misguided assumption that I was just self-conscious, or had some kind of inferiority complex. They couldn't understand that I could never sing for them.

Yet I slipped sometimes. It was perfectly understandable that I would slip, because I loved to sing.

It was a natural part of who I was. Singing came easier then breathing. It was in my heart, my mind, even my blood.

“...understand the situation. We have other possible students lined up with similarly dangerous gifts. She will be welcomed and accepted at our school.”

The elderly woman's voice broke my train of thought, and I realized that I had missed a portion of the conversation.

Eavesdropping was not one of my talents.

The next person to speak surprised me, since I hadn't known she was back in town.

“The Siren Estate will be perfect for your school. My great grandfather would be pleased to know that his land was once again the home of a Nihtingale.” My mother's voice rang with an allurement that could be felt even though she hadn't sang in years. Eileen Valentine had only sang once that I could remember in all of my sixteen years.

I had been four, and had sang a child's song to my father. It had been the very first time I had ever sang to anyone, and had almost been the last. My father had fallen under the spell of my voice, and had been driven insane when I stopped singing. My mother had come in and stopped my father from forcing me to sing by catching him in the net of her own voice. My mother's voice was the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing I had ever heard, then and now. She had explained to my young self the dangers of our voices, and how I should never, ever, sing when there was anyone within hearing distance. She had explained that our voices could cause people to live their most desired dreams, or their most feared nightmares and horrifying memories. She had told me of her family, how many had used their gift for ill, and how others had tried to bring happiness through their songs, only to fail every time.

I had made a promise that day, while my mother's song still echoed in my ears, that I would try to never sing for anyone, ever.

I have broken that promise time and time again, and each break tore at my heart, bringing back the echo of her song.

The silence that had followed my mother's comment was finally broken by a new voice, a man's voice. “Does your daughter have your power?” The man asked slowly, though I could hear his normal warmth beneath the coolness that his voice held now.

That was a gift of the Siren; the ability to know a person by simply hearing them speak.

“No. The Song matures with age, becoming one with every Voice.” I could feel the sorrow within my mother, her voice causing the polished wood floor and the darkly stained oak walls to lose some of their color. I knew that the strangers felt even more of the Song then I did, with the wall and half closed door muffling my mother's voice.

“And you have no objections with your daughter coming to Terra, Richard Valentine?” The man asked, his curiosity neatly hidden from his voice. At least to my human father.

“None.” My father's answer came easily, without even a moment's thought. He loved me, but the rebellious attitude he thought I had developed had caused him to lose a little of that love. Now he wanted me out of the house, somewhere far away.

So he would never again hear my Song.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I turned and silently fled up the stairs to the room I would soon leave forever.

For my father was sending me on a one-way trip.

To See A Midnight Showing

1. Before the film,  you may find an opportunity to help friends with Spanish homework.
2. The time you would have spent sleeping can now be used to work on tatting.
3. Due to the late hour, it is quite possible that there will be no crazy kids to throw popcorn in your hair.
4. Sleep deprivation makes after-movie breakfast much more amusing.
5. Depending on the movie, there may be some cute guys to stare at off-screen.
6. The end credits of a film is a wonderful place to find names for future characters.
7. The day after a midnight showing can be used sleeping, if you are lucky.
8. Only obsessed fans go to a midnight showing, thus creating a perfect atmosphere  for research.
9. If something amazing happens, you can alter it for a future scene.
10. Movies are much more fun when you are half-asleep, with good, goofy friends.

P.S. Saw part one of Breaking Dawn!! 12:01 showing, movie was decent. Disliked some scenes, but overall an exciting night out with friends.

Toxin

  Here is the beginning of a vampire story I called Toxin. It never got very far, but I can tell you that there was no romance between human and vampire.
Just a snack break.

----------------------------
A strange tingling sensation worked it's way up my arm, until it had engulfed my entire being.
The consciousness that kept me immobilized held my arm in it's now burning grasp.
“Only a bit longer, my sweet.”
It's voiced tore through my mind; both causing my blood to stir and my heart to freeze.
I couldn't speak, yet my mind screamed against the voice of my captor.
The voice chuckled, becoming more masculine as the strange tingling sensation began to fade; yet remain in my veins.
“There, my hunger has been sated.”
My eyes, which had been closed for a long time now, finally opened.
I found dark gray eyes watching me with a coveted expression.
I shivered under his gaze, words silently falling from my tongue.
He smiled, revealing a single, bright white fang.
“You should have listened to your instincts, Shania Kemsley.”
I couldn't blink, but only stare in horror as he took out a blindfold and covered my eyes.
“Say goodbye to the life you knew, a prepare to enter into a realm of nightmares.”

For Research

1. Research expands your knowledge, even on things you current know a bit about.
2. Have a test in school? Studying for math can help break writer's block.
3. An idea can form at any moment, but it must have something to originate from.
4. Research doesn't have to be boring. Go to the movies, the park, or just stare out your window. Any moment can be studied for stories.
5. The subject of your research could become a new obsession. Tatting, welding or lemons, there's an obsession waiting for you.
6. Have a pet who ignores you all day? Learning about the construction of bottle caps will bring that jealous kitty right to you.
7. Daily research means you'll always have a conversation starter.
8. If you understand the proper use of a dirk, then your story will thank you.
9. Choose a subject, like corn. Then let your research lead you on a wild chase. You will learn something amazing if you just give it a try.
10. Research is fun.

Love begins with sweets

“Are you going to eat all of those?”

The boy looked up, tilting the brim of his hat back as he looked at the person interrupting his rest. The little girl smiled, revealing a gap from a missing tooth. The boy blinked, then tossed her the small sack of honey bits.

“Don't eat them all at once.” He advised, tilting his hat back over his eyes.

The girl's smile widened in delight as at the older boy's words. She looked down at the fine lavender dress her aunt had given her, then back at the boy laying on the ground.

The boy tried to ignore the girl as she sat on the grass beside him.

The girl looked at the boy as she pulled one of the honey candies out of the bag. She put the candy in her mouth, savoring the sweetness as she looked up at the sky.

As she watched the clouds, the girl tried to contain her excitement.

Aunt Adrianna isn't going to be happy when she finds out I didn't stay with Brita.

The girl shook her head, looking back at the boy.

The wide-brimmed hat hid his sun-streaked chestnut hair. It also hid his soft brown eyes; the color of which always reminded the girl of toffee candies.

“What are you doing?” She asked, hoping to have the boy smile. For the girl liked making people smile.

“Sleeping.” The boy answered without moving , his voice slightly muffled. The girl tilted her head, confusion touching her green eyes.

“How can you answer if you are sleeping?” She asked, lifting his hat.

The boy blinked, then sat up.

“I hadn't fallen asleep yet. I was just trying to.” He took his hat back from the girl and put it beside him on the grass. The boy ran a hand through his rumpled hair, trying to tidy it. The girl looked at the boy, then started to giggle.

“What are you giggling about?” The boy asked, frowning.

The girl shook head, still giggling. The boy's frown deepened as he crossed his arms.

“What's so funny?”

“A caterpillar!” The girl answered, pointing at the boy's head. The boy lifted a hand back to his hair, then felt something crawl over his finger. Carefully closing his hand over the bug, the boy lifted it from his head.

Opening his hand, both the boy and girl watched as the caterpillar crawled across his palm. The boy looked at the bug, then stood. Leaving his hat behind, the boy began walking. Following behind him, the girl spoke.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.” The boy answered, making sure to keep the caterpillar in his hand.

Finally, the boy stopped beside a bush. Kneeling down, he pulled aside a branch to reveal inside the bush. Gently, the boy put the caterpillar inside the bush, then stood and brushed off his hand.

The little girl clapped her hands, a big smile on her face.

“Now the caterpillar won't be stepped on!” She exclaimed, looking up at the boy. He looked down at the girl, then offered a small smile.

“That's right.”

The two children began walking back to where they had begun. After they got there however, a voice reached them.

“Lady Sybil, there you are!” The little girl turned toward the voice, a slight frown appearing on her small face. She looked at the boy, who offered her the bag of sweets. Picking up his hat, the boy nodded to the girl.

“Remember not to eat them all at once, Caterpillar.”

Then he walked away.

The little girl named Sybil watched as her new friend walked away, disappearing into the palace gardens. Even as Brita fussed over the grass stains on the little girl's dress, all the girl could think about was the boy as she clutched the bag of sweets in her hands.

To party

1. In celebration. Whether it be a birth, academic success, or the rise of a inter-galactic empire.
2. A party can be used as an excuse not to get actual work done.
3. Parties are ripe with research opportunities, which can then be used to get work done.
4. The social aspect of parties can lead to new friendships and rivalries.
5. The party is a perfect time to try that new recipe from your second cousin.
6. Parties are good for lifting that frown into a smile. Remember to laugh!
7. You can learn many new things from a party. How to make balloon animals, pass an orange from one person to another, and much more!
8. You can find new hobbies at a party! From tatting to building birdhouses, parties can be a exciting place to learn.
9. Have a toothache? You could invites friends to come share their horror stories about seeing the dentist.
10. The real question is how long your party will last.

Nothing Left

I sat there, watching, waiting.

Waiting for the moment when I would finally know that we were safe.
"What are your orders, Emma? A familiar voice asked from my left. Turning my head, I looked into the shocking copper eyes of my most trusted friend. Jasper returned my gaze, his eyes reflecting the icy blue of mine as the light of a torch briefly lit our hiding place.
"You keep the twins here, while I attempt to lead the Trick away." I answered. I studied his snow white hair for a moment, noticing the hesitation in my second-in-command. I touched his cheek, "Please, do this for me. The twins don't have anyone else." He put his hand over mine, anguish in his voice.
"But Emma, we can't lose you. I can't."
I shook my head, memories of the others we had lost filling my thoughts.
Sally. David. Wallace. Lace.
Each had sacrificed themselves, as I now would.
The sounds outside our hiding place grew louder. Time was running out.

"Jasper, I'm not asking anymore. As soon as I lead them away, take the twins down to the docks. Look for a ship called the Salt Catcher. Old Jack should be expecting you." I carefully removed an old bronze locket from my neck and handed it to him. "This will buy you passage. Jack knows where to take you." I spoke rapidly, pulling my long black hair off my shoulder.

Jasper nodded once, resigned to the fact that he was now the leader.
For we both knew what tonight would bring.
My Luck be with you." He spoke softly. I smiled sadly as I turned away.
"May she watch over you as well." I whispered as I crawled to the crack in the wall that led outside. I scanned the dark ruins outside, searching for any sign of the Trick.
It wouldn't do to lead the Trick right to where the others were hiding before I had the chance to leave.
Satisfied with the seemingly empty ruins, I crawled outside and stood in a position that would allow me to make a run for it as soon as was necessary. I chose to walk south, towards the torchlight. I kept my movements as quiet as was possible, aware of the noise that the shackle and broken chain around my right ankle made.
But there was nothing I could do about it.
I slowed as I neared the creatures holding the torches. They walked on two legs, like a human, but were completely covered with reflective scales, like some kind of lizard. Their eyes burned a rusty red, and row after row of yellow fangs were visible in their half-opened mouths. About seven feet tall on average, these beasts were called the Trick by my group of escapees because of the unique ability that their mirror-like scales gave them. By catching and reflecting light, the Trick could veil themselves in an illusion.
I hated them, had hated them since the day I was born.
For seventeen long years, I had been nothing more then an experiment living in one of the many prison camps that covered the land of Zal'var. I was experiment 00935 E.M.D. more commonly known as “E.M.M.A.”. I had learned from childhood what my name and classification stood for. E.M.D. stood for Extreme Magical Development, while E.M.M.A. stood for Electrode Magnifier of Maximum Advantage. I wasn't sure what electrode magnifier meant, but I could only assume that it was referring to my ability to absorb electricity from the machines the Trick used. Of course, I had to release all the energy eventually, or else I got sick.
Not the my strange ability would help at the moment, since the Trick were using more traditional torches in their search for me and my companions.
Sneaking as close as I dared, I counted the Trick in this camp. Sixteen, a full pack. There could be a second pack out in the ruins somewhere, but I had to hope that there weren't. Hoping that Luck was with me, I ran right into the camp and out the other side, hearing the angry hiss of the Trick as they attempted to get up and give chase. The Trick were slower at night because of their cold-blood, but once they began a chase, they could continue the hunt for days.
We'd been lucky not to have had the pack catch our scent earlier.
I ran blindly through the ruins, not caring where I led them as long as it was away from Jasper, the twins, and the docks. The Trick were gaining on me, I could hear their taloned feet pounding the ground as the ran.
But I couldn't give up yet.
They depended on me not to give in.
I quickly turned the corner, and jolted to a halt before the wall that blocked my escape. The triumphant screeches from the Trick sounded dully in my ears as I turned to face my death.
Because there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
Nothing left to do but go down fighting.
I shifted my feet as rain began to fall, soaking my hair as the Trick advanced. Thrusting my left hand out in front of me and my right hand towards the sky, I used my ability to scream for lightning; something I had never tried before.
A bolt shot out of the sky and hit my upraised hand, the untamed chaos burning its way through my veins and out my left hand, taking everything I had with it.
The screeches of triumph changed to shrieks of pain as I fell to the ground, my vision darkening.
Before fading to oblivion, a single thought ran through my mind.
Good bye, Jasper... May Luck lead you always...

To think out loud

1.  The sound of your own voice may trigger an idea.
2. Its the perfect conversation starter.
3. It exercises not only your mind, but your vocal cords!
4. If you carry a part of the conversation with your voice, then a character can carry the other half with your mind.
5. Plot creation is more amusing when others can hear it as well.
6. Vocal thinking may be easier to remember then silent thinking.
7. The television characters will hear you better if you shout.
8. Audible thoughts help the battle against unconsciousness.
9. A real voice might help scare away the ones in your head.
10. Its nice to wish yourself a good day.

Terrarth: Tales of the Old Ones

Beginning
An icy glare, from a cold sun. Wind with a touch like death squeezed my heart. The frozen world cried as fire began to burn its core. Twin moons fought the sun for dominance of the sky.
Light and Shadow, Frost and Ember, Sky and Ground.
The entirety of the world fought and raged against itself.
There was nothing, simply a thousand possibilities.
Life was new, not quite aware of itself yet.
There were a few creatures awakening to what they were, as I had at the beginning.
My heart beat, my eyes saw, and thoughts swarmed my mind. I was alive, and one of the first.
An Old One, these new creatures would call me.
Shadow.
I turned my gaze from the sky, and looked down at the new world. My people were scrambling around, mingling with the Other Kind. I watched them build an empire, the first of many. We were building the world, preparing it for the creatures to come. Though it was a foolish thing, to prepare for another. Why should we toil, and allow another to claim the spoils?
The Other Kind thought it was best, that it was right.
But what is right? What is the meaning of wrong?
Nothing was perfected yet, everything was flawed.
We had yet to shape the laws of this world, what would be considered good.
It was our duty, not that of the Other Kind. Yes, they were our kin. But what would that mean, kin?
I looked away, my vision focusing on nothing. Then a sound came.
Footsteps, coming to join me in my brooding.
I ignored my companion, one the the Other Kind.
"What are you searching for, Shadow?" She asked, her voice curious.
"Nothing," Was my gruff answer, followed after a moment by, "everything."
She entered my vision, a small creature slight of build, with the sun in her hair and the moon in her eyes.
"Come now, that can't be all." She teased, a smile flashing like lightning onto her face. I turned away, not allowing her charm to enthrall me.

We may have been paired together, but that meant nothing.

As soon as our work was complete, I would leave her.

I did not want one of the Other Kind in my life. They were our opposites, the light to our shadow. Yet without the light, there would be no shadow...

“Leave me be, Light.” I spoke roughly, never allowing her to get close to me. That light may be tantalizing, but I could survive without it.

Her fingers touched my check, turning my head toward her. Her smile was still there, dancing in her eyes. “Never. We're a pair, and tonight we get to pick our true names.”

Then she slipped her hand into mine, and I allowed the light to lead me down into our world.

Into Terrarth.

Why cats sleep most of the day

1. Lacking opposable thumbs, the common house cat must resort to long hours of meditation in order to unlock telekinetic abilities.
2. Cats store their energy during the day in preparation for nocturnal raids against the household.
3. A cat may find the activities surrounding them to be dull, and will show their disinterest by sleeping.
4. After a few hours of exertion, a cat needs to rest. What exactly a cat does however, is unknown.
5. Silence is a trait cats must develop through long hours of stillness.
6. The cat is a master of strategy; carefully plotting each step toward their final objective while feigning unconsciousness.
7. Due to the amount of time it takes to clean their fur, cats have no time left for any activity other then sleep.
8. A spoiled feline is quite lazy.
9. The cat meticulously prepares itself to destroy their enemy: the dog.
10. Due to an excess of servants, felines have no need to do anything beneath them. Because of this, they have unlimited hours to devote to sleep.

Myths from the P.o.D.

Welcome! Sorry for the late post, I've been slightly busy. Today begins another series! This series will be known as "Myths from the P.o.D.". Named after my stash of free-writing, this series will be stories from my free-writing. Some of these tales may have sequels added after them, while others may simply be stand-alone.

To begin, here is the start of a story which I call "First Theft". This story is currently unfinished.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was simple in design; rectangular shape, smooth concrete walls, two exits and a low ceiling. At the moment the long table in the center of the room was occupied with the company's council members.

“I won't allow it!” Shouted one large man at the end of the table. He was fairly short with a stout figure, and his salt and pepper hair was nearly nonexistent. The other board members watched this man carefully, not wanting to be the one to incite his rage.

“It's already been done sir.” The oldest councilor stated, not bothering to look up from his papers.

“What?” The first man shouted, slamming his fist on the table. The oldest councilor gave a single nod, shifting through his papers.

“The test occurred late last evening. Suffice it to say, failure was the result.”

“Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?” The first man's voice held no trace of his former anger; a fact that terrified the rest of the council, for it meant that severe punishment was just around the corner. The oldest councilor finally looked up from his papers, to turn cynical brown eyes on the head of the company.

“Sir, if we had told you about the test before, then you would have shut us down. The risk was calculated, and found to be acceptable.”

“Acceptable? My son's life is not an acceptable risk.” Mendel Linch, head of Linch Enterprises, spoke with a cold detachment. While within, his heart screamed for the child he had lost. Regret far bitter then Mendel had ever experienced stabbed like knives as he remembered the last words he had ever spoken to his son.

“If you continue to defy me, then you are no son of mine!”

“Then I am not your son.”

“Foolish boy, she's nothing but a distraction!”

“No father, she is my fiancée.”

“Get out! If you marry her, then I will disinherit you!”

“Then this is farewell. Enjoy a frozen heart, and an empty home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If I were a car

            __

  ____/[ ]\__

 :_ _____ _ -\

   (_)      (_)

If I were a car, I would be a truck.

So I could go off-roading.

But if I was a truck, oh how I'd get stuck,

In the mud for all the morning.

~~~~

Not what I meant to post today, but it will do for now.

An actual story will be here on Wednesday!

Ten Reasons...

Welcome to a new series I'll be doing on Friday!
This series will be ten thoughts I have on a subject. Now this can be anything from folding a piece of paper to building a time machine.
So to start us off, I've picked a rather simple subject:

Why raising a dragon may be hazardous to your health.

1. Young dragons have an insatiable curiosity. This commonly leads to the destruction of new furniture.  
2. During adolescence, some types of dragons cannot control their expulsion of combustible gases. This may lead to minor burns, household fires, and loss of eyebrows.
3. During meal times, some dragons may display aggressive behavior. Please remember to use caution when attempting to remove any dishes from around your dragon.
4. Dragons are notorious kleptomaniacs. Common items taken include jewelry, socks, and car keys. 
5. Due to their rapid growth, dragons are not recommended for families with small children or for people living in large cities.
6. Highly territorial, dragons should not be raised in large numbers. The migration of other animals is also common when introducing a dragon into a new ecosystem.
7. If raised improperly, dragons have a high tendency to become feral.
8. Some types of dragons dislike cold temperatures, and may become irritable if not given the proper climate.
9. Due to acute hearing, it is recommended that all electronic devices be removed from the household before receiving your dragon.
10. Some types of dragons, especially fledglings caught in the wild, may have a preference for human. It is recommended that you report any of these dragons to your local animal control.

Beginnings

"You might make me into a servant, but I will hold your heart."

With a single sentence, the lives of two characters become inseparably connected.
Welcome to Terrarth Tales.
Here, I will tell you stories of heroes and villains, of sentient vegetables and ridiculous phantasms. Tales of sorrow, courage, and laughter.
It is my hope that you will find something here to interest your mind. Whether that is a snippet of a story, my thoughts on a mythical creature, or simply an intriguing book I've read.

Join with me, as a new beginning rises from the internet.

To start us off, here is an interesting new book I've been following, which comes out December 3rd!





http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IY95wH2YrL8
Cobbogoth is about a seventeen year old girl named Norah Lukens, who begins a journey to discover the truth about the murder of her archeologist uncle. But Norah learns that his murder is covering up something far more sinister; and to save others from suffering her uncle's fate, she must go to Iceland in order to learn the truth once and for all..

If she succeeds, she'll gain the one thing she's always longed for.

But if she fails, not even the gods can help her.


I for one, am very excited about this book, which is the first of its series by new author
Hannah L. Clark.