Week 2
Running a bit behind on my schedule this, but here's part of the deal. This is mainly just me writing, nothing significant or planned. My future plans include exercises for developing distinct voices for my third-person narrators, but that hasn't happened yet.
2132/2000
Thrav's Beginnings, random draft (1112)
Moonlight sprayed the soft dirt and moss that Thrav ran barefoot across through the forest. Crickets chittered and an owl hooted against the whisper of underbrush. Thrav ran until he heard the start of the sound, the low murmur. His pace quickened, and a smile broke onto his face.
The treeline broke away from a high, craggy cliff that jutted out over a tumultuous bay, and Thrav ran right up to the edge, his breathing hard but barely audibile over the rumble of the deep blue sea below. The waves pounded against the base of the cliff, and Thav stood with the moon shining on his face, his arms outstretched, drinking in the roiling beauty of the night.
Until he heard a faint, discordant note that stretched out to him from the hushed treeline behind him. His face crumpling into a frown, Thrav turned back to the wood to listen. Another cry floated to him, the desperate scream of someone all too familiar.
Thrav dashed back into the trees, his breath still pounding, but with fear, not exhilaration. The ground was still soft, but Thrav's feet struck hard into it. The trees were still silent, but now with sinister anticipation, not reverence. The undergrowth that Thrav burst past no longer caressed, and the owl's hoot was no longer simple ambiance. Thrav ran with the wind that his father said possessed his feet like no other, even though no breeze slipped through the dark forest.
He pulled up short on a prominence that held a view of his home. Peering through a frame of branches that glanced onto the night sky and the heights of a looming hill, Thrav caught sight of a flaming source of light on the hill-side, the place where his home would have been. His heart dropped, and Thrav rose to run again. He caught the sound of snickers and chucklings off to his right, and flattened himself against a tree, listening as a group of ten men passed within a hundred yards, moving quietly and easily through the wood, but not silently.
"That'll teach them to break from the new Kempier. No one betrays [Raxen Jorr, but not]."
"Stupid couples, thinking love and moving away together will save them--well, here's you honeymoon honeys!"
"At least they had the sense not to have a kid."
"Do we know that?'"
"Shut up, no one in the Kempier is stupid enough to have children, even stupid old tradition mutiny rats."
The voices died away, and Thrav, gritting his teeth slipped quickly, but quietly as he could through the impassive and unencouraging dark trees. In minutes he was at the edge of a clearing where a house burned. The flames lept high, illuminating several dark forms scattered around the base of the fiery structure. Thrav started forward, but then caught a groan from another edge of the clearing. He changed direction, and dashed over to two figures lying on the grown, almost to the treeline.
The bright green eyes of his mother looked up at him, flashing in the moonlight, and she whispered out his name in surprise, relief, and fear. He knelt by her side, tears forming in his eyes, and realized that his father lay just behind her, cradling her body and the blood that seeped from them both. His father opened his pale eyes, and then looked quickly around behind Thrav and in the clearing.
Thrav shook his head. "They're gone," he whispered, "I listened to them pass in the woods."
Thrav's father nodded, and drew a ragged breath. "Good, I...want you...to be careful...from now on...You are strong...you can have your...own life...You don't have to follow...ours." The man groaned, and reached out a hand to Thrav, who took it, and felt the tears running down his face as the man gave a comforting squeeze. Thrav caught a sniffle from his mother as she pressed back against his father. Thrav's father tightened his other arm around her, and took another deep breath. "Don't stay angry forever son...I love you both." Thrav tightened his hand around his father's even as the older man's grip relaxed and a dying breath leaked from his lips. Thrav's mother winced, tears flowing silently from her eyes now. She sniffled again, and grabbed Thrav's other arm, pulling him in close to her face. Her eyes were points of emerald fire now.
"I know you get very angry about things, like your father, and I can guess that once you get away from here, you will become very unhappy. I want you to know that we both knew this was coming, not when, not where, not how, but the life your father and I chose," she paused with a wince, and groaned for a moment, then looked back up at him and pressed on, "meant that only divine intervention would keep this from being our end." Her grip on his arm tightened, and he leaned closer, staring into her eyes even more attentively. "This may seem unfair to us, but it is not at all unjust to the people who we wronged in our lives. So, Thrav, you should not feel any obligation to take revenge. You must promise me that you will not spend your life seeking revenge for the people you love, whether it is your father or I, or someone you come to love in the future. If someone you love dies, you must move on and live with their memory." Her grip on his arm was a vice. "Promise me, Thrav."
"I promise," he whispered, trying to blink away the tears now running down his face.
She took a shaky breath, and but did not relax her grip. "You will have to be careful, I don't think those men knew we had a child. If they did, or if someone learns that you are indeed our son, your life could very easily become the target of a large group of competent, if not expert killers. To stay alive, you must avoid the Kempier. Our organization has been violently compromised, and was only made of thieves and assassins to begin with." She glanced down at his hand still holding his father's. After a moment of silent thought, she looked back into his eyes. "You cannot stay Thrav [Morriken] any longer. He must dissappear with Reste and Lirre Morriken." She suddenly coughed, and he spotted dark crimson slipping from a corner of her mouth. She held his gaze fervently, and he waited.
"We loved you, Thrav. I love you, and your father loves you. He was right, you are strong and smart, and you must not worry, we will always be proud of you."
1st person, Paul Morken (351)
I was eight minutes earlier than Marcus. He stormed in like a wounded bull, the droplets of rain on his sleek leather coat flying off everywhere, onto the floor, nearby tables and chairs. The woman working on a laptop at the table to my left looked up in alarm, and smartly moved her computer to the opposite side of her table, out of harm's way. Marcus collapsed into the chair across from me without removing his coat. He dropped his briefcase carelessly onto the terracotta floor, and leaned his head back over the chair, spewing more water onto the floor. I finished the business section and turned to the obituaries.
"Paul."
There is bad money management. Dying at 86, single without relations, but an estate worth more than $2 billion. Marcus sighed like a pouting child.
"Paul. I'm worried about the stocks."
"This man here is has died with no relations and a two billion dollar estate."
"Paul!"
His public outburst neccessitated no response beyond meeting his eyes. He immediately sighed again and looked away from me, properly scolded, then leaned over to roughly pull something from his briefcase. He slaped a black folder onto the table, causing the woman to my left to look over, startled. Marcus slid the folder across the small table to me, then stood up. He sighed again before leaning over to grab his briefcase. He stood, straight and tall, trying to attract my gaze.
"Paul, I know you think I over worry things, but I will say now that I have never had such deep concerns over something in my left. Perhaps you will give it your utmost attention."
I flipped to the next page. Another billion dollar estate with no heirs. Morons.
I could tell Marcus wanted to say something more, but he simply turned on the heels of his sleek leather shoes and left the coffee shop, spraying another trail of water droplets as he left.
I glanced at the folder. Mercifully it was perfectly dry. I glanced under the cover at the front page.
I don't like excess numbers. In either direction.
blog entry that wanders around the meaning of 'street art' (669)
2132/2000
Thrav's Beginnings, random draft (1112)
Moonlight sprayed the soft dirt and moss that Thrav ran barefoot across through the forest. Crickets chittered and an owl hooted against the whisper of underbrush. Thrav ran until he heard the start of the sound, the low murmur. His pace quickened, and a smile broke onto his face.
The treeline broke away from a high, craggy cliff that jutted out over a tumultuous bay, and Thrav ran right up to the edge, his breathing hard but barely audibile over the rumble of the deep blue sea below. The waves pounded against the base of the cliff, and Thav stood with the moon shining on his face, his arms outstretched, drinking in the roiling beauty of the night.
Until he heard a faint, discordant note that stretched out to him from the hushed treeline behind him. His face crumpling into a frown, Thrav turned back to the wood to listen. Another cry floated to him, the desperate scream of someone all too familiar.
Thrav dashed back into the trees, his breath still pounding, but with fear, not exhilaration. The ground was still soft, but Thrav's feet struck hard into it. The trees were still silent, but now with sinister anticipation, not reverence. The undergrowth that Thrav burst past no longer caressed, and the owl's hoot was no longer simple ambiance. Thrav ran with the wind that his father said possessed his feet like no other, even though no breeze slipped through the dark forest.
He pulled up short on a prominence that held a view of his home. Peering through a frame of branches that glanced onto the night sky and the heights of a looming hill, Thrav caught sight of a flaming source of light on the hill-side, the place where his home would have been. His heart dropped, and Thrav rose to run again. He caught the sound of snickers and chucklings off to his right, and flattened himself against a tree, listening as a group of ten men passed within a hundred yards, moving quietly and easily through the wood, but not silently.
"That'll teach them to break from the new Kempier. No one betrays [Raxen Jorr, but not]."
"Stupid couples, thinking love and moving away together will save them--well, here's you honeymoon honeys!"
"At least they had the sense not to have a kid."
"Do we know that?'"
"Shut up, no one in the Kempier is stupid enough to have children, even stupid old tradition mutiny rats."
The voices died away, and Thrav, gritting his teeth slipped quickly, but quietly as he could through the impassive and unencouraging dark trees. In minutes he was at the edge of a clearing where a house burned. The flames lept high, illuminating several dark forms scattered around the base of the fiery structure. Thrav started forward, but then caught a groan from another edge of the clearing. He changed direction, and dashed over to two figures lying on the grown, almost to the treeline.
The bright green eyes of his mother looked up at him, flashing in the moonlight, and she whispered out his name in surprise, relief, and fear. He knelt by her side, tears forming in his eyes, and realized that his father lay just behind her, cradling her body and the blood that seeped from them both. His father opened his pale eyes, and then looked quickly around behind Thrav and in the clearing.
Thrav shook his head. "They're gone," he whispered, "I listened to them pass in the woods."
Thrav's father nodded, and drew a ragged breath. "Good, I...want you...to be careful...from now on...You are strong...you can have your...own life...You don't have to follow...ours." The man groaned, and reached out a hand to Thrav, who took it, and felt the tears running down his face as the man gave a comforting squeeze. Thrav caught a sniffle from his mother as she pressed back against his father. Thrav's father tightened his other arm around her, and took another deep breath. "Don't stay angry forever son...I love you both." Thrav tightened his hand around his father's even as the older man's grip relaxed and a dying breath leaked from his lips. Thrav's mother winced, tears flowing silently from her eyes now. She sniffled again, and grabbed Thrav's other arm, pulling him in close to her face. Her eyes were points of emerald fire now.
"I know you get very angry about things, like your father, and I can guess that once you get away from here, you will become very unhappy. I want you to know that we both knew this was coming, not when, not where, not how, but the life your father and I chose," she paused with a wince, and groaned for a moment, then looked back up at him and pressed on, "meant that only divine intervention would keep this from being our end." Her grip on his arm tightened, and he leaned closer, staring into her eyes even more attentively. "This may seem unfair to us, but it is not at all unjust to the people who we wronged in our lives. So, Thrav, you should not feel any obligation to take revenge. You must promise me that you will not spend your life seeking revenge for the people you love, whether it is your father or I, or someone you come to love in the future. If someone you love dies, you must move on and live with their memory." Her grip on his arm was a vice. "Promise me, Thrav."
"I promise," he whispered, trying to blink away the tears now running down his face.
She took a shaky breath, and but did not relax her grip. "You will have to be careful, I don't think those men knew we had a child. If they did, or if someone learns that you are indeed our son, your life could very easily become the target of a large group of competent, if not expert killers. To stay alive, you must avoid the Kempier. Our organization has been violently compromised, and was only made of thieves and assassins to begin with." She glanced down at his hand still holding his father's. After a moment of silent thought, she looked back into his eyes. "You cannot stay Thrav [Morriken] any longer. He must dissappear with Reste and Lirre Morriken." She suddenly coughed, and he spotted dark crimson slipping from a corner of her mouth. She held his gaze fervently, and he waited.
"We loved you, Thrav. I love you, and your father loves you. He was right, you are strong and smart, and you must not worry, we will always be proud of you."
1st person, Paul Morken (351)
I was eight minutes earlier than Marcus. He stormed in like a wounded bull, the droplets of rain on his sleek leather coat flying off everywhere, onto the floor, nearby tables and chairs. The woman working on a laptop at the table to my left looked up in alarm, and smartly moved her computer to the opposite side of her table, out of harm's way. Marcus collapsed into the chair across from me without removing his coat. He dropped his briefcase carelessly onto the terracotta floor, and leaned his head back over the chair, spewing more water onto the floor. I finished the business section and turned to the obituaries.
"Paul."
There is bad money management. Dying at 86, single without relations, but an estate worth more than $2 billion. Marcus sighed like a pouting child.
"Paul. I'm worried about the stocks."
"This man here is has died with no relations and a two billion dollar estate."
"Paul!"
His public outburst neccessitated no response beyond meeting his eyes. He immediately sighed again and looked away from me, properly scolded, then leaned over to roughly pull something from his briefcase. He slaped a black folder onto the table, causing the woman to my left to look over, startled. Marcus slid the folder across the small table to me, then stood up. He sighed again before leaning over to grab his briefcase. He stood, straight and tall, trying to attract my gaze.
"Paul, I know you think I over worry things, but I will say now that I have never had such deep concerns over something in my left. Perhaps you will give it your utmost attention."
I flipped to the next page. Another billion dollar estate with no heirs. Morons.
I could tell Marcus wanted to say something more, but he simply turned on the heels of his sleek leather shoes and left the coffee shop, spraying another trail of water droplets as he left.
I glanced at the folder. Mercifully it was perfectly dry. I glanced under the cover at the front page.
I don't like excess numbers. In either direction.
blog entry that wanders around the meaning of 'street art' (669)