I created this as a place to share some of the stories I write. All I ask in return is a bit of constructive criticism, and a topic free of hating and flaming. If you don't like it, please don't post.
Before we begin, I'd like to put in a list of people who have earned a gold sticker for awesomeness.
- Solo, for doing illustrations on 'Aryana's Song'
- Aero1, for illustrating 'Through the Fire and the Flames'
- Mnemonist, for illustrating 'Nightmare'
Illustrations can be found below!
Before we begin, I'd like to put in a list of people who have earned a gold sticker for awesomeness.
- Solo, for doing illustrations on 'Aryana's Song'
- Aero1, for illustrating 'Through the Fire and the Flames'
- Mnemonist, for illustrating 'Nightmare'
Illustrations can be found below!
I am in need of an illustrator! PM me, and we can discuss payment for your artwork.
Aryana's Song, Part One
The night was as dark as a bottomless lake, the moon and stars invisible behind clouds with their bellies full of rain. The wind picked up and howled around the trees and rocks, throwing the ocean waves into frenzied motion and whipping the rain into the skin and fur of anyone foolish enough to be outside. Aryana, the only surviving child of Alphas Isabella and Lisk, sat in the entrance of her parents' den and waited for them to come home. Her mother was a healer, as well as the Alpha, so she had gone out to collect herbs earlier that day with her father. The small reddish-brown she-wolf looked out, squinting into the darkness, but even her narrowed eyes could only see so far into the driving rain. Eventually she assumed that they had taken shelter in the forest for the night, and curled up in the back of the den to sleep. Dreams came, happy ones, visions of her near-perfect life.
Here was her father, playing catch-me-if-you-can, and he was running slow on purpose so the young Aryana could catch him. They tumbled into a pile when she finally did, laughing.
Here was a lazy day spent by the river, pouncing on fish when they swam by but never catching them, content merely to be cooled off by the water on a hot summer's day.
Here was her mother, patiently teaching the young she-wolf the different uses of herbs.
Here was her first hunt, where she caught a hare and her father let her eat it all by herself.
Here was her first winter, rolling in the snow until she caught a cold, and here was Isabella, lovingly caring for her fevered daughter.
The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, and Aryana was awakened by Conn, son of Darius, the Beta. Because Aryana had picked up her mother's talent for healing, she often took Conn out into the woodlands to collect herbs. "We're to go out today, Aryana," he said. "Come on, wake up." Aryana rose groggily, stretched, then asked "Have my parents returned yet?" Conn shook his head, saying "I'm sure they'll be back soon, though." Aryana shrugged, then went out of the den into the rainy morning. She trotted ahead of Conn, chatting to him amiably. She always did- Aryana was most likely the most talkative she-wolf in the entire pack. When they reached the meadow in the woodlands where the herbs she needed grew, she and Conn set about gathering the required leaves, flowers, and roots. Every once in a while, Aryana would shoot a loving glance at her friend, but he never saw them. He was always facing the other way. Eventually, though, he turned to her, an angry expression on his face. "Stop doing that!" he snapped, angrily. "Stop doing... what?" Aryana replied, wondering if he had seen her sidelong glances and hoping that it wasn't those he was angry about. "Stop being so... so... you!" snarled her silver friend. Aryana didn't understand. "What?" she asked, tilting her head to one side curiously. Conn growled to himself, and faced her. "My father, Darius, sent me out here to kill you. But I couldn't possibly-" Aryana cut him off with a furious bark, lunging forwards so that she was right in his face. "He what?!" Conn gulped and lowered his head, backing away from her slowly. He muttered something, eyes downcast, and Aryana snarled at him. "Louder," she said, lips pulled back angrily. "-Told me I'd be the Alpha when he was gone." Aryana blinked and took a step back, bewildered by the betrayals. Her friend and a wolf who was as close as family- "How could you?" she whispered, flicking her ears back sadly. Conn shook his head, not meeting her gaze. Then he said, quietly, "I made a mistake. I couldn't possibly kill you." He looked up, blue eyes filled with sorrow and regret. Aryana cocked her head slightly to one side, questioningly, but an answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. Then another, bigger question popped into her head. "Why would Darius want me dead in the first place?" she asked, adding after a second, "Besides the fact that he's a traitorous snake. He should know that getting rid of me won't do him any good- I'm not Alpha yet." Conn looked at the ground, saying quietly, "Actually, you are." Aryana's eyes widened- she wasn't to be Alpha until her parents died. She turned sharply on her heels and began racing towards the camp, tears stinging in her eyes. "Don't go back!" yelled Conn. "They'll kill you!" His words went unheeded- Aryana was already out of earshot. Conn watched her go, hopelessness in his eyes and on his face. Then he he ruffled out his fur angrily, and became resolute. "I'm not a plaything, to be controlled by my father!" shouted the silver wolf at the disapproving gray sky. He raced after Aryana, determined to do everything he could to save her.
Aryana's Song, Part Two
Aryana bolted into camp, but stopped short when she saw the two bloodied bodies lying at the center of camp. Her mother, Isabella, and her father, Lisk. She ran towards them, but the beta Darius stopped her. That cowardly, deceitful, disgusting traitor! He approached her with a disarming smile plastered all over his face, saying "Your parents have died of a terrible disease, Aryana, and you mustn't catch it by going near them." The brown she-wolf snarled at the traitorous Beta. "I'm not a fool. No disease puts blood in the fur of the dead, nor does it leave claw marks at their throats. I'm the Alpha, Darius, and my word is law. I shall do as I please." A furious look crossed his face, but he regained his composure just as quickly. "You're not fit to be Alpha, Aryana." Every brown hair on the she-wolf's body bristled at this outrage. "I am as capable as my mother before me, Darius," she snapped. "Now move aside!" Darius snarled and knocked her to the ground. "Your mother was a disgusting healer! Your father was a fool to take her as his mate." Aryana got to her feet and bared her teeth, blood dripping from a cut on her cheek. Nobody spoke of the dead that way! She wouldn't be surprised if the spirits of her parents rose up and stole the Beta's mind right now, just for saying such disrespectful things. But before she could speak, Darius slammed her backwards again and she fell, hitting her head against a rock. Darius stepped forwards, claws raised to kill the young she-wolf, but a burly brown wolf with a scar through his right eye shoved him aside. He stood protectively in front of her, glaring at the Beta. "This pack has laws, Darius," he growled. "You must challenge Aryana to single combat in order to take her place as Alpha." Darius lowered his claws, not wanting to tangle with a wolf that was obviously more powerful than himself. "So be it," he snarled.
Shortly after Aryana was knocked unconscious, Conn raced into the camp and halted in front of his father, who was wearing an angry- no, furious- expression. "Why didn't you kill her?!" he demanded, getting right down into his son's face. The young silver wolf stood tall, facing his father, brave and proud. "Because I love her," he replied, voice even. A flicker of surprise crossed the old black wolf's face before it became an icy mask once again. "Then you will die as well." Conn flinched slightly, then accepted his fate without argument. "So be it," he replied.
When Aryana came to later that day, she found herself being upright and thrust into a ring of wolves. Shaking her groggy head, she wished she could eat something, then curl up and sleep. However, she soon heard a voice that caused all thought of food or sleep to vanish from her mind. "Aryana!" Her eyes flashed open as she looked up. It was Conn! He raced towards her and pressed his muzzle against hers, whispering "I love you." Aryana pressed her face deeper into his soft, silver fur. "Why did you come back, Conn? They'll kill you." Looking into her green eyes with his deep blue ones, he told her solemnly, "You haven't lived unless you have something to die for." Suddenly, a shadow fell over them and Darius's voice sneered "Ah, how sweet." He grabbed his son and flung him to the center of the ring. All around her, Aryana saw faces she knew. Wolves that had once been united under her mother and father, now shouting for her blood. Darius stood over his son, raising his voice above the jeering and hubbub of the crowd. "This boy is a traitor!" Boos and snarls were heard from the pack. "And what do we do with traitors?!" The pack shouted out, "Kill them!" Aryana raced forwards, screaming, "No!" Darius turned swiftly and struck her, leaving three wide gashes in her side. She was thrown backwards by the brute force and landed on the ground about two feet away. All of a sudden, there was no sound. All noise died away and time seemed to slow down.
She saw Conn get to his feet, running towards her, shouting something.
She saw Darius run to intercept him.
Saw the traitorous Beta sink his terrible fangs into the neck of his own son.
Saw Conn fall to the ground, dead before he hit the dusty earth.
Saw his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, staring blankly up at the sky.
Saw Darius stand over the body, his fangs dripping with Conn's blood.
Aryana's mouth opened and she screamed, a long, terrible wail that drowned out all thoughts in her head expect for one. "He was your son, you disgusting bastard!" The words hit Darius almost like a physical blow, forcing him to take a step back with raw fury alone. Aryana took advantage and leaped forwards, scuffing up a cloud of dust that settled into Conn's fur, dulling it like it had never been dulled in life. Darius snarled at her, but didn't step forwards to face her. Instead he turned to run, but the large brown wolf with the scar shoved him back into the ring with one thick shoulder. Back into the ring, and right under Aryana's paws. "Please!" begged the Beta, "Mercy! Mercy!" Aryana snarled and placed her two front paws on his chest, shoving her muzzle into his face so that he was forced to look up into her eyes. "Did you show mercy to my parents?" she growled, and Darius glanced away with a whimper. She moved her head so that she was staring into his eyes again. "What about your son?" she asked, voice quiet and venomous. "Did you show mercy to him?" Darius's lips quivered as he whimpered again, and she could have done it. She could have bitten into his neck just there and he would have bled his life out into the dirt. Father and son, both dead in the same gray afternoon. But she couldn't. She took her paws off of his chest and kicked him away, growling at him, "Get out of my sight. Off of this territory, Darius, now." She turned her back and began to walk away, towards Conn's body, lying lifeless and bloody in the dirt. Then she heard a sound. A quiet scuff of dirt, and a low, harsh growl. Turning swiftly, she caught Darius by the neck as he charged towards her and bit down hard, severing his jugular with her powerful canines. Then she threw him down, twitching and bleeding into the dirt. "I don't give second chances, Darius," she snarled. And then she watched him die. She watched him take his last choking breath, and she watched him exhale it. And she watched him go still. Still forever. Just like her parents. Just like Conn.
Aryana's Song: The End
It has been a long time since that fateful day. It's a wonder that I still live- indeed, my dreams haunt me every night, even now. In the silence that falls when all others are asleep, I sit and stare up at the moon, thinking that perhaps if I look long enough, I will catch a glimpse of Conn's face in the still silver surface. Though I have grown old, my red-brown fur laced, then coated, then gone entirely silver with the years, Conn's image will be forever in my mind, unchanging, frozen in that one perfect moment.
</o/o/o/o/o/>
Nightmare
He had been here before. Been here a million times.
The vent shaft, the corridor, the lasers. The computer. The alarms. The trip-wire, the electric grid. Stunned, forced to watch helplessly as Agent Seven was dragged away.
Agent Six awoke with a start, Seven's haunting screams following him out of the nightmare.
</o/o/o/o/o/>
Through the Fire and the Flames
Agent Six turned to his partner and growled, “Just because I’m your protector doesn’t mean you can be careless. Got it, rookie?” The young woman beside him nodded, her chin length red-gold hair waving slightly as she did so. “Alright.” said Six. “Here’s how it’s gonna go down. We enter through this vent shaft right here,” he tapped the dark entrance lightly with one finger, “and make our way down, to the control room. I take out the guards. You hack the main computer and download the codes onto this flash drive.” He handed her a slim black drive, which she tucked carefully into a pocket. “Then you trip the self-destruct system and we get the hell out of there. Agent Seven, are you listening?!” The girl flinched slightly, as if she hadn’t been, then nodded. “Of course. Let’s go.” She pulled on her black gloves and began to lower herself into the shaft. Six frowned slightly, then tossed down his own rope and followed the lithe shape of his partner into the darkness that soon swallowed them up.
At the bottom of the sixteen-foot air duct lay a metal grate that Six removed in short order. He saw a single guard patrolling the room, and as the man passed under the vent, Six dropped onto his back and quietly snapped his neck. The tall agent drew his gun as the guard collapsed, and beckoned with one hand for Seven. She dropped silently out of the shaft and landed with all the graceful ease of a cat. Six watched her move silently to the large touch-screen that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room and begin to punch in seemingly random numbers and letters. Then the huge screen displayed the words “ACCESS GRANTED”. Seven plugged in the flash drive and hit a few more buttons on the monitor, and in a matter of seconds had gathered the codes they had come for. She stowed the all-important drive back in her pocket, then held down several keys and once. Alarms began to shriek as the two agents began their ascent of the ventilation duct. They were about halfway up when Six heard a snap and a quiet scream. He reached out just in time to catch Seven as she fell; her broken rope clattered on the floor of the control room, almost twenty feet below. Seven gulped, and sweat dripped down Six’s face and neck from the effort of holding onto both his partner and the rope. Then she swung out of his gold and gripped the line beneath Six’s feet, allowing him to scramble out the top before her. She took off running; Six crouched to cut the rope, in case anyone tried following them up. Then he turned and ran for his life, sprinting fast enough that he caught up with the swifter Agent Seven. They were half a mile away from the base before a huge explosion shook the surrounding desert as though an earthquake had struck. The two agents hit the dusty ground as shrapnel flew over their heads.
Agent Seven stood, grinning as she dusted herself off. “That was close,” she laughed. She was facing away from the ruined base, and as he sat up Agent Six could see what she could not. “Look out!” He shot once, twice, as Seven’s expression changed from joyful triumph to sheer terror. She turned halfway around, fumbling to draw her gun. A squad of armed men- probably alerted from patrol by the explosion- were gaining quickly on the two agents in a desert-camouflaged jeep. Six was not unduly worried- he and his partner would be able to shoot them down easily enough once they were in the proper range.
Then came the machine guns.
Bullets peppered the sandy ground. If the squad came any closer, there would be no chance of escape.
Six continued to shoot, but soon found that the dust cloud kicked up by the jeep was too thick. Seven pulled her gun free and fired as Six stood to take aim. He needn’t have, though, for Seven’s shot was a lucky one. It hit and punctured the vehicle’s gas tank, and a small rock that scraped against the underside caused a spark.
Time seemed to slow down, just as the sand-camouflaged jeep exploded.
The air filled with the unearthly shriek of rending metal and the dying screams of the soldiers.
The air filled with the unearthly shriek of rending metal and the dying screams of the soldiers.
The vehicle had been less than a hundred yards away when it detonated, and razor-sharp scraps of metal were zinging lethally through the air. As an older and more experienced agent, it was Six’s duty to protect any rookies in his mission.
He moved to shield his partner.
Agent Seven moved faster.
Agent Seven moved faster.
She threw herself in front of him and spread her arms wide, taking the full force of the flying shrapnel. A stray piece of metal laid open Six’s shoulder to the bone, but his grunt of pain was drowned by Seven’s otherworldly scream of terror and agony. The cry made Agent Six break out in a cold sweat, and seemed to last forever until the dying girl crumpled backwards into her partner’s arms. “No!” cried Six, falling heavily to his knees under the weight of Seven’s body. The front of her black stealth suit was ripped almost to shreds, and Six could see scraps of bloodstained tan metal glittering coldly amid blood and broken bones. The sight made him want to retch, but it was not the first time he had seen something like this. Agents often died in the field- it was dangerous work. He vainly tried to remove some of the smaller shards of metal, but with each attempt came a fresh pulse of blood. He himself was wounded, but it was a mere scratch compared to the mauling his partner had received. And even though he knew she was beyond hope, he could not give up on Seven. Not while her thin chest continued to feebly rise and fall, each breath counting down to when she would exhale for the last time and breathe no more.
Then her hazel eyes fluttered open slightly, and she looked up at him as though she were pleasantly surprised. “Thomas,” she whispered, her voice weakened and broken by pain. It had been so long since someone used his real name that Agent Six was momentarily confused. His attention was brought back to ground zero as he heard Seven whisper his name again, as if she knew he wasn’t paying attention. "I know death when I see it, Thomas," she murmured, smiling slightly through the pain. "And feel it." "No, Seven, you're not going to die," protested Agent Six, getting carefully to his feet with Seven cradled gently in his arms. "We just have to make it back to the rendezvous point." He took a few steps towards the open desert and felt pain shoot through his injured shoulder; it took all his willpower not to drop Seven. "Six," she snapped, her pained voice sharp. "Don't be stupid." A tear coursed down Six's dirty face, but he shook his head to flick it away. When he looked at Seven again, she was reaching slowly into one pocket.
The flash drive was covered in blood, but Six took it carefully as his partner held it out. She smiled at him, seemingly unable to talk, her breath coming in painful gasps. Her hazel eyes fixed faintly on his shoulder, and she reached out as if to touch his wound. Her hand fell back and her last breath sighed away, her eyes flickering shut and moving no longer. "Seven?" cried Six, falling to his knees again. "Seven! No, you can't die on me! Wake up, please, please wake up!" His vision blurred as breathless sobs overtook him. Six's tears fell unheeded in the desert sand, and a hot wind kicked up, blowing grit into his wounded shoulder. He clutched at it, gasping, but the pain cleared his mind. He brushed Seven's red hair out of her eyes one last time, then stood. "Claire, my sister," he murmured, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Then he looked at the bloody flash drive. He tucked it into one pocket and said to Seven's body, "Your death won't be in vain. I swear it." Gritting his teeth, he staggered off into the dunes, west towards the setting sun.
</o/o/o/o/o/>
Clockwork
A quiet rapping at the door brought the young clockwork maiden to full consciousness.
Although she was no longer a slave, people knocking on doors always made her feel nervous. It used to mean bad news for the Boss, and bad news for the Boss meant beatings for his slaves. Even mechanical servants felt pain, and Illyria was no exception.
The gears in her legs moved the joints in her knees, and steam hissed as she stuck first one leg out of bed, and then the other. Still in her nightgown, the ageless young woman made her way to the door and placed one brass hand on the latch.
Dare she open it?
What if it was the Thin Man, coming to take her back to the Boss?
Milo had promised to keep her safe, but he was not here.
His number had come up in the draft nigh on a year ago, and he had left to fight in the Clockwork Wars on the farthest edges of the continent.
Well, she would be strong for him.
She could take care of herself.
A puff of steam accompanied the movement of her mechanical thumb as she pressed the latch down, and a low whistle sounded as she flung the door open wide.
In the darkness, he almost looked like the Thin Man. Illyria took a frightened step backwards, her emotionless brass face turning away from the stranger, her mechanical mind expecting a stinging blow that would dent her polished panels. When none fell, the clockwork maiden's neck-gears turned her face towards the stranger.
He was still standing on the doorstep, hidden by shadows.
Her glass eyes worked to figure out who he was, but no answer was forthcoming. Her thin vocal wires strummed as she cleared her throat, and twanged like a guitar as she said, "Won't you come in?" The shadowy person stepped across the threshold as Illyria found a lamp and lit it. Illyria let the flame grow to a reasonable height, and then turned so that the flickering light fell on the stranger. If clockwork beings needed oxygen, the automaton would have gasped in shock. As it were, she set the lamp down hard on the table and sank into a chair, face in her hands, shuddering uncontrollably. Mechanical beings were not designed with such basic human structures as tear ducts, but if she had had them, Illyria would be sobbing.
Strong arms encircled her, holding her tight against a familiar chest.
One arm she knew, but the other was strange and metallic.
"How?" she finally managed to whisper, turning her face up to that of the young man. "Dragged a friend out of the path of a clockbomb," he answered. Illyria finally managed to stand upright, and the young man let go of her. "You haven't changed a bit," he said, looking her over with a smile that was almost bitter.
"I thought you were dead," Illyria whispered. "When the letters stopped coming-"
The young man looked up at her, shock in his human eyes. "Stopped coming? Illyria, I wrote to you every week."
The clockwork maiden was shuddering again, wanting to let out all of the hurt and anger and sadness but unable to, because she couldn't cry.
"Milo," she said, stepping forwards. He gathered her up again, his new mechanical arm as gentle as his real one had been. "I promised I'd come back, didn't I?" said Milo softly, stepping back a pace so that he could look into her glass eyes and cup one brass cheek in the palm of his hand. Illyria nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest she snap a vocal wire with the tension. "And I promised I'd keep you safe, didn't I?" Illyria nodded again. Milo smiled, and stroked her cheek with his thumb, lightly. "I came home," he said, simply. "I'll never leave you like that again, Illyria. I promise." The clockwork maiden leaned forwards to hug the young man, but he caught her by her brass shoulders and kissed her gently.
Illyria shivered under his touch, unable to move, to think, to do anything until Milo released her.
"I love you, Illyria," he said, taking her hands in his.
"It's not allowed," whispered the mechanical maiden, vocal wires strumming at pianissimo. "Humans and machines," she added, knowing she had said the same words to him a hundred times before. "But I'm not entirely human any more," said Milo with a grin, squeezing her slender fingers lightly with his new clockwork hand. "The rules no longer apply." Illyria smiled, dropped her head, then raised it again to look Milo in the eyes. "In that case," she said with a shy smile, "I love you, too."
Although she was no longer a slave, people knocking on doors always made her feel nervous. It used to mean bad news for the Boss, and bad news for the Boss meant beatings for his slaves. Even mechanical servants felt pain, and Illyria was no exception.
The gears in her legs moved the joints in her knees, and steam hissed as she stuck first one leg out of bed, and then the other. Still in her nightgown, the ageless young woman made her way to the door and placed one brass hand on the latch.
Dare she open it?
What if it was the Thin Man, coming to take her back to the Boss?
Milo had promised to keep her safe, but he was not here.
His number had come up in the draft nigh on a year ago, and he had left to fight in the Clockwork Wars on the farthest edges of the continent.
Well, she would be strong for him.
She could take care of herself.
A puff of steam accompanied the movement of her mechanical thumb as she pressed the latch down, and a low whistle sounded as she flung the door open wide.
In the darkness, he almost looked like the Thin Man. Illyria took a frightened step backwards, her emotionless brass face turning away from the stranger, her mechanical mind expecting a stinging blow that would dent her polished panels. When none fell, the clockwork maiden's neck-gears turned her face towards the stranger.
He was still standing on the doorstep, hidden by shadows.
Her glass eyes worked to figure out who he was, but no answer was forthcoming. Her thin vocal wires strummed as she cleared her throat, and twanged like a guitar as she said, "Won't you come in?" The shadowy person stepped across the threshold as Illyria found a lamp and lit it. Illyria let the flame grow to a reasonable height, and then turned so that the flickering light fell on the stranger. If clockwork beings needed oxygen, the automaton would have gasped in shock. As it were, she set the lamp down hard on the table and sank into a chair, face in her hands, shuddering uncontrollably. Mechanical beings were not designed with such basic human structures as tear ducts, but if she had had them, Illyria would be sobbing.
Strong arms encircled her, holding her tight against a familiar chest.
One arm she knew, but the other was strange and metallic.
"How?" she finally managed to whisper, turning her face up to that of the young man. "Dragged a friend out of the path of a clockbomb," he answered. Illyria finally managed to stand upright, and the young man let go of her. "You haven't changed a bit," he said, looking her over with a smile that was almost bitter.
"I thought you were dead," Illyria whispered. "When the letters stopped coming-"
The young man looked up at her, shock in his human eyes. "Stopped coming? Illyria, I wrote to you every week."
The clockwork maiden was shuddering again, wanting to let out all of the hurt and anger and sadness but unable to, because she couldn't cry.
"Milo," she said, stepping forwards. He gathered her up again, his new mechanical arm as gentle as his real one had been. "I promised I'd come back, didn't I?" said Milo softly, stepping back a pace so that he could look into her glass eyes and cup one brass cheek in the palm of his hand. Illyria nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest she snap a vocal wire with the tension. "And I promised I'd keep you safe, didn't I?" Illyria nodded again. Milo smiled, and stroked her cheek with his thumb, lightly. "I came home," he said, simply. "I'll never leave you like that again, Illyria. I promise." The clockwork maiden leaned forwards to hug the young man, but he caught her by her brass shoulders and kissed her gently.
Illyria shivered under his touch, unable to move, to think, to do anything until Milo released her.
"I love you, Illyria," he said, taking her hands in his.
"It's not allowed," whispered the mechanical maiden, vocal wires strumming at pianissimo. "Humans and machines," she added, knowing she had said the same words to him a hundred times before. "But I'm not entirely human any more," said Milo with a grin, squeezing her slender fingers lightly with his new clockwork hand. "The rules no longer apply." Illyria smiled, dropped her head, then raised it again to look Milo in the eyes. "In that case," she said with a shy smile, "I love you, too."
