The first thing I wrote on prose.com...
Concept. That was the title. It was about a nearly shadow-black man, who turned out to be the Moon Watcher, navigating a necromancer's maze, and killing him. The story ends with the dyeing necromancer stabbing the Moon Watcher in the gut.
That was my first post.
I have many fantasies and daydreams. Most don't make any sense, but they are mine. I have three to share. One about a group of seven people, The Watchers (I posted about them previously, like, years ago) who are given powers connected to the moon, sun, sea, storm, earth, ice, and fire. One is of superheroes, The White Rose (she is similar to Venom in many ways, but she is a whole thing), Vesuvius, (a man who was infused with the powers of lava after the fall of his city Pompei), The Black Tiger, (A mutant Tiger ninja), Fire Wall (a genius hacker who can break or make any code), and Electron (inspired heavily by our late Tony Stark). Then there is one of a Dragon-man named Dr. Boom (a cooler dragon man version of me) doing cool stuff. Those are my biggest fantasies.
The watchers fight an evil king (a reoccurring thing in my stories, I need to shake it up a bit) who is also a Thithromancer, a wizard who can control animals, and if they are powerful enough, thing with advanced minds like humans, and dragons. Together, they face this powerful king, and his children, all unnatural wizards, meaning that they were not born with their power, but sought it out, doing horrible things to gain this power, like murder, and human sacrifices.
The superheroes are superheroes. I might post their origin stories someday, but not here.
And lastly, Dr. Boom is a very intelligent man, and he is a skilled warrior. He fights injustice in a torn world of war, and hate. Of technological marvels, and magical power!
Those are my fantasies.
I don’t care.
I love that I am me.
To love being me is special, I think.
When I am me, I am not hiding.
Sometimes I even try to hide behind a mask, but I forget.
For a moment I get worried.
"Why did I say that? Do they hate me? Did that sound weird? Why?"
But then I think on my thoughts, and I realize...
I don't care.
The Call/Return/Age of the Drake
Chapters 1-5(Please tell me your favorite name for the book)
I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE UP. I FELT LIKE IT WAS TO EARLY, AND I DIDN'T WANT TO FACE THE DAY.
But mom was pushing harder, and I knew I couldn't hide any longer.
“James, get up,” Mom kept saying.
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I told her.
“Get up, you have work to do.”
She leaves and I get up and get dressed. Then I walked downstairs, and I noticed that it was about time that I weeded the garden, so as Gavin, our hired hand, started his shift, I weaved through the pretty well stocked storage room, and exited the tavern at the back. We were backed up to the woods near the edge of town, but it was on the main road allowing us to be the first place travelers see when they enter the small town of Lonelyton, in Tallis, the Crown of the Dragons.
Lonelyton was an unremarkable village near the southeastern border of Tallis, and it still is. The main reason anyone went there in the first place were the rumors of magical protection from attack, caused by the surrounding, heavily wooded Dragon Claw Mountains, the rumored home of the ancient mother dragon. It’s the kind of town where everyone has met, and no one can get away with anything, because someone will recognize your shoe or something like that. Well, except for the rich kids. They do something, and their parents protect them. Mostly to protect themselves.
Now this is my family
Dad, whose name was John, was the biggest guy in town, so everyone had to look up to talk to his bearded face. His rather intimidating appearance is accompanied by his hard-earned money, and he is a trained sword fighter, because he was some knight's squire at one point or another, so he’s a match for basically everyone. So, no one wanted to make him mad, unless they were too drunk. In that case, Dad had a way of sobering them up rather quickly.
Mom, whose name was Laurie, was kind of mousey, meaning she was small, and had a love for books which she had passed on to my sister. A love that my dad and I couldn’t understand, mostly because he couldn’t read very well, on account of him never being taught how, and me being too impatient to sit through more than a page. She had back hair, and a smooth, soothing voice. She was also really fast, which had been passed on to me, while my dad's beastliness went to my sister in ways that were more mental than physical.
Shara, my sister, when we were not working the tavern or doing a sword or bow lesson with Dad off in the woods, would spend most of her free time reading, while I mud-wrestled my friends. She gets her facial features mostly from mom with dad's brown eyes, and blond hair. I on the other hand look more like Dad, with Mom's bright green eyes, and more of dad’s blond hair. She was stubborn and would eat you alive if you crossed her. She also got that from Dad.
I was weeding the garden and I was not paying much attention to anything, just kind of listening. As the sun rose, it became easier, and easier to see what I was doing. My other family members were getting the tavern ready for the morning rush, as the travel weary travelers and merchants will want to feed themselves, and since the Keeled Koder burnt down, the old Happy Dog was the only inn or tavern in the sleepy little town of Lonelyton.
Other than me, everything seemed still, as the town had not yet shaken the bonds of their mattresses and their blankets.
Suddenly, I heard something running in the woods. I stopped and focused on the sound of this moving creature. It was two legged by the sound of it, but that didn't suit me. It could still have been a thief, a small minitour, maybe even a werewolf?
I drew my knife, my weapon until dad decided that I was deserving of, and ready for, my own sword. The small blade was tipped with silver, to deal with werewolves, the edges were serrated, as to be able to shred flesh, and the pommel has a heavy metal ball to break windows, but it would work well on bone too.
I could hear the thing coming closer, and closer. It vaulted right over the nearly ten-foot-tall fence, and I turned… as it fell on its face.
It was a man, maybe twentyish, as he appeared to have a scruffy beard.
I inched up to him to find that he was younger than I had originally suspected, about my sister's age of sixteen summers. As the sun crested the fence, I rushed to his side, as I saw why he fell. His light brown hair was coated in blood, assumably from the large cut on the back of his head. His ankles, wrists, and neck were encircled by rings, each with a heavy looking chain dangling from them. From his back three arrows stood proudly, happy that they made their mark. His ribs popped up under his skin like little hills, his belly dropping dramatically into a valley. His legs were covered by a pair of tattered wool pants. He was cold to the touch and was breathing shallowly. His back was covered in dry blood, and whip marks crisscrossed all over his back, along with the obvious arrows. On his chest rested a raw crystal of some sort, tied with a rope around his neck. A necklace.
“What happened to you?” I asked his battered and unconscious body. "Dad!?”
“What?!” Called the deep resonant voice that was associated with my father.
“I need you in the garden!”
“You got to see this if you’re to believe it!”
Thunk, thunk, thunk, went to the floorboards as dad walked on them.
“Alright what is i-, oh, what even happened to that guy?”
“No idea Dad, but he needs help.”
“He’s alive?” He jogged over and picked him up. “I'll bring him to the surgeon.
Just finish setting’ up the tavern, and your mother ‘ll work the tavern ’till I get back.
I COULD’NT BELIEVE HOW GOOD THE BOY LOOKED.
His square jaw, his luscious hair, and the strange streaks of white mixed in, and his sculpted chest, with that strange necklace. So handsome.
Stop, I said to myself, you don't even know the guy. You can when he wakes up, which means you need to help him feel better, which will not happen if you goggle at him instead of bandage his wounds.
The tavern was empty. The other day, the surgeon had helped them bring the man to a room, and told them to replace his bandages as needed, and to apply a fowl spelling green salve when we do.
He looks so strong, I thought as my mother, and I finished wrapping his stitched-up body. Mom had applied the paste to his back, but he still hadn't moved much, though he had accepted the broth we feed him with.
He will be fine, I told myself, as I descended down the stairs into the mid-afternoon calm, in-between lunch and dinner, Gavin, the helping hand, was just getting back from serving at another table. I knew he fancied me, but the feeling was not mutual.
The man was a coward, and a liar. He looks like the kind of man who would sell the devil his mother's soul for two silver chips. He was the guy that your parents point out and say, “Stay away from him.” He’s the one that acts like your friend as he slips poison in your coffee. He is skinny, weak, and silky.
His face even bore a resemblance to that of a weasel.
That was his nickname, infact. In Lonelyton, everyone had a nickname that everyone called you. I was Miss Library, James was Garlin (after the burrowing dragon of legend), Dad was Big Man, Big if you're lazy, Mom was Madam Word, and Gavin was Captain Weasel Boy.
I personally hated him.
But sadly, he liked me, and wouldn’t leave me alone for too long.
“How are you darling?” he said in his nasally, oily, and sickening voice.
If he knew I hated him, he definitely wouldn't show it.
He was set on me being with him. Bagh!
I decided not to acknowledge him at all.
I can feel his eyes boring into my back.
Why not Betty Morgs, the daughter of the farmer next door? She’s nice, and pretty.
Actually, scratch that. She is my friend. Sandra Gorg then. She is pretty, but also a jerk. She deserves him.
He just needs to go away, before he gets booty hurt… again.
SOME TIME AGO...
I was surrounded by the same walls that have surrounded me for so long. Their cold stones are as cruel as ever. I don't know why I’m here, but I am, and I can barely remember anything beyond the bricks and the pain. I didn’t even know my own name... I was just called Four. I used to get mad, but that just caused them to hurt me more. I barely even tried anymore.
What does the world outside look like? If they let me see... I’d be happier, but they won’t even give me a chance!
No. They don’t like when you do that.
They can see it in your eyes.
Bury the flame.
They don't like it.
They see it in your eyes.
IT’S A REGULAR DAY.
The only thing that was new is the very sleepy guy, and he made his grand entrance a week ago, and hadn’t woken up. He kind of does, but barely, and sporadically. Barely for a few moments. Where his eyes fluttered, and he tried to say something, but sleep reclaimd him first.
It was late, as I listen as my sister reads. My foot is wiggling as I impatiently wait for sleep to take me. I don't understand why she is able to sit there for so long, just reading.
Someone is knocking on my door.
I tell them to come in.
Speaking of the devil!
“What’s up?” I’m asking Shara.
“I have a question.”
“Do you think... will the new guy wake up?”
“Well, we did all we could. Don’t see why not. He’s eating, and he is noticeably rounder. All to do now is pray, right? That’s really all anyone can do.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know, just worried.”
“Well, see you in the morning.”
She is gone, off to bed, and finally, sleep is able to take me.
THE DAY WAS ABOUT ENDED, AND MY SHIFT IS OVER.
I’m going to the new guy's bedroom.
Ba, ba, ba, ba my feet said as they climb the stairs.
Clomp, clomp, clomp my feet said as I walked down the hall.
It’s quiet. Those in the rooms above are asleep or are preparing for sleep.
Creek says the door, and thud, a hand stops the door from opening.
“But why, my beautiful buttercup?”
“One, I am NOT ‘your buttercup’ and two, I don’t like what you're doing, and you know how Dad will have you dealt with if you continue.
His hand is gone, and I enter without ever needing to look at him.
I see the man in his bed, his eyes still closed.
I sat on the chair next to his bed and read to him from an old book of tales about the ancient dragons who apparently protected the land of Tallis. He responds well to these stories. I read to him for a long time, and I only realized that I fell asleep when I woke up, head slumped back, the book in my lap, a crick in my neck. I opened my eyes to see, the bed empty, and the blanket over my lap.
What would my Last meal be?
My last meal would be a slice of Smores cheesecake because it is good. You should try it, it's really good!
Life is like...
My dumbest analagy for life. Hmm. Oh, I got it!
Life is like clothing style trends, always changing!
Watcher Chapter Two
A horse skreeming.
A boy yelling.
A girls skreem.
“Oh no,” I’m wisspering to myself.
I’m oppening the door of the carrage, and father is hopping off the front of the carrage (he insists on driving himself), with his spair whip in his hand.
A small dark skined girl had fallen infront of the carage.
Father is raising his whip.
“Father!” I’m, saying.
Father jumped, and turned around, suprised, and mabye alittle anoied, his armor shining, and since he has no helm, father's short whight hair is glinting like snow.
“You promised.” I reminded him.
He grunted, “Oh yes,” he said, sighing.
He climbed back onto the carrage kinda grumbling to himself.
I'm helping the girl up. Her dark hair hangs like a curtan behind her. Her green eyes look into mine, and she seems releved. A dark skined boy who looks like her brother is running in, along with a bigger light skined boy who must be a freind as I’m walking back to the carriage.
The Prison was ineskapable, but James was doing it.
The thing was, the world was better off with out him.
James was in for meany crimes including armed robery, murder, and other crimes of a similer calaber.
He was their guy. He had openly confesed to all charges with a smile on his fase. The man was a monster.
His solitary confinment cage had just one weakness.
It had a small vent in the middle of the cealing.
The ven was just one foot by a half foot, but James wasnt called Tiny Jamey for nothing.
He used evrything in his room that wasn't bolted down, his matress, toothbrush, bucket, ect, and he used a knife he had smugled in sumhow as a skrew driver.
As he crawled threw the vents, a guard cheaked on him, found that James was gone, and sounded the alarm.
That was the first part of the plan that went wrong.
The guard wasnt suposed to be their.
He was late to the shift change, and his escape was found to early.
James spead up to cut the time.
He climbed out the vent, and ended up on the south shour of the prison island,
He saw the boat that would sail him away as it was riped to shreads by a patrol boat.
Jameses skream was full of rage and hate.
He kept skreaming as the guards locked him back up, as he ate, and as he died.
Watcher Chapter 1
The wind is blowing my hair, and the salty smell of the sea is in my nostrels. The wet sand is between my toes, and the warm salt water is washing over my feet.
I’m walking along the beach looking for floatsam that has been blown in from the sea.
Gabe is following behind me, further up the shoar, and Cara is level with Gabe, but she is further ahead.
We are headed home from a rather bad catch on the beach, just some old bottles and bits of wood.
Over the rise is the village.
It is a small village. The market is in the center, surounded by the second wall and many homes mostly inhabited by farmers and fishermen. I live in one of the smaller ones with three rooms, closer to the docs. Most of the houses are made of pieses of driftwood thrown together, with stone chimines poacking thrugh the roofs. The richer villas reasting mostly within the second wall nearer to the market are made of fine woods from the only lumberjack in town, which is at the edje squated in front of its oak orcherd, the only wood in sight for a few miles, and smoth stones from some distant quary.
The town is only mostly on land, as the market gose some ways over sea. Their homes were replaced with great hulking merchant ships and the smaller fishing boats, where the more practical shops sit. The marketplace is currantly the most crowded place in town.
Outside the old first gate is a row of cottages faceing the dirt road into town.
We are running down to the town, racing. Caras small form is speeding ahead, passing the cottages on the hill.
Cara has reached the flimsy, creaking first gate of Hann. It dosent look like it will stand well in an actual siege, what with its rotting suports and sagging boardwalk, but it’s been standing for a couple hundred years or so with little to no mantanants so it probubly won't colaps right now.
I’m at the gate with Cara.
“Gabe, hurry up!” she is yelling, dark green eyes shining like stars, dark hair billowing in the wind.
“You had a head start!” He replied in his deap voice his barral chest is heaving and his shirt is coverd in soil and slightly torn.
“Did you trip man?” I ask.
“Ya triped! Did you try to use the shortcut again?”
“Whose guarden did you ruin this time? Mr Finchs? Mr and Miss Shaptons?”
He is giving me a slightly pained look.
“What?!?” Cara is exclaiming.
“Dude I swair that she is actualy a witch,” I’m telling him.
“I know, I know, but I don’t think she saw me.”
“That would be a miracle, what with her seeing stone.”
“You know you don’t need to emphisize that.”
“Let's get out of here while we can,” Cara is saying, giggling.
“Yeah, let's,” I’m saying, smilling at her.
We’re walking thrugh the market down the main road towards the house when a group of kids rushed in, lagphing, and squealing as a small boy tryed to tag them. The boy ran up to Cara, and tryed to tag her but she sliped assid and is now looking at me pleaingly.
“Oh-ok, go ahead.”
She smilled widly as a Chesirecat, and ran off, away from a large girl who had been taged just moments ago.
Gabe and I walked over to the edge of the road and leaned on the back wall of a house in between two stalls, one with an old fisherman, and the other with a plump woman selling shell jewlery.
The crowded streets rushing past and we are just goofin off, waiting of Cara to come back, slightly winded, and ready to go home.
The sun is low in the sky. Father must be at the doc by now.
The crowd is parting in the middle. There are squires walking in telling people to make way. They have white bears on their chest. A coat of arms.
Sir Senitanl, the town knight.
He is a big man, with greying hair, and he always whers his armor, and his sword is always at his side.
He must be riding in his carrage to the doc. This is the cleanest route after all.
Just as the horse came into view, a beautiful, whight mottled creacher, Cara tripped, chasing after a whilowy boy, rolling to avoid being trampled by a mule, and right in front of the carriage pulling horse.
The dark is evry wher. It is in your soul. It is your darkest thought, and your depest hate.