I pulled what would have been called a "double-swindle" today, if I lived in the world of crime. Of course, I can't tell the story because the two people whom I "swindled" read this blog. Maybe someday.
I will update soon, I promise! I've been playing WoW and drawing and I haven't wanted to make a new post until I got the picture coloured...but I see now that is going to take much longer than any of you guys will want to wait.
As I put quill to paper I find myself suddenly at a loss as how to begin my tale. My old teacher would tell me to just start at the beginning and keep going until I reach the end, but I’m afraid that there are few stories that can be told in such a simple way. Perhaps an introduction of myself would be the most polite, if not the most literary fashion in which to begin.
My name is Celune Cyncad—it sounds an ill-chosen name for one such as I, I know, but my father was Caradoc ap Cyncad and it was thought fitting for me to bear his name at my birth, girl though I am. My mother gave me my first name for the moon, for my hair was as silver as that lunar orb from the day I was born.
Her name was Elanor Wheelwright and she was the daughter of carpenter who had been raised in Westfall. She, however, left home at a fairly early age to seek training and instruction when her prodigious talent in the arcane arts became apparent. She was as pale a creature as ever walked the earth; her hair was so light a gold as to be nearly white and her skin was like ivory. She had great blue eyes and a ready smile—these are the things I remember best of her.
My father was a priest, and he was the son of Cyncad ap Rhys, the great paladin. He was as dark as my mother was light, with skin bronzed to a rich copper from years in the sun and hair as black as a raven’s wing. The two were like day and night—the dawn and the twilight come at last together.
That, at least, explains my mongrel looks.
I inherited my father’s temperament and my mother’s penchant for all things arcane, though my skill is very small compared to what hers was. My love of books and learning is something I got from both of them, though I believe I have taken it to entirely new heights.
I was orphaned at the age of five. At least, I believe I was orphaned—to this day I still have no proof of my parents’ death. We spent the early years of my life traveling a great deal. One of my earliest memories is being tucked up in a sling at my mother’s back while she and my father walked down road after endless road. I don’t know why we never settled down, but we were content.
It was an abominably rainy spring night when all of this came to an abrupt halt. We had stopped for the evening and my mother was attempting to light a cook fire—even her talents were being taxed by the buckets of water pouring down on us from the heavens—when there came the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush. I remember my father leaping to his feet and my mother diving for her staff when, out of the undergrowth, stumbled a grizzled man in torn grey robes.
“Ælfwine!” My mother cried, dropping her staff and rushing to support him as he stumbled. “What in all the hells—”
“No time,” he gasped. “Get your gear and move. They’re right on my heels!”
I heard at that moment the most bone-chilling sounds I had ever encountered in my short life, and to this day I have heard none to equal them. It sounded like a thousand old bones being rubbed together, and the trees beyond the ring of firelight shifted and swayed through the rain as though stirred by some great breath.
“Take Celune,” my mother caught me up and thrust me into the man’s arms. “Take her and go. We will hold them off and catch up with you on the road. There’s no way all of us could get away, even if we run!”
Ælfwine nodded and clasped my mother’s hand for a moment, then turned and ran with me in his arms. My last sight of my mother and father was them standing side by side, alert and straight with their magic crackling around them as they stood to face whatever it was that was coming for us.
I will update soon, I promise! I've been playing WoW and drawing and I haven't wanted to make a new post until I got the picture coloured...but I see now that is going to take much longer than any of you guys will want to wait.
I wanted to throw the phone out of the window at work. Phones are are hateful things—unless of course it's your mum or sister or something calling!
There is a guy I am going to strangle. Male delusions are the bane of my sanity.
...the body of my laptop is cracking. Why?? We CAN'T TELL! I think I'm going to save up for a faster laptop with a bigger hard drive anyway, though. When a single photoshop file takes up 35MB, even a 60 gig hard drive can fill up pretty darn fast! So, if you guys hear of any extra money-making opportunities, let me know. Hopefully between the voice acting money I hope to be earning very soon (I'm ready to record that audition when you are, dad!) and what I'll earn from Jim and Gigi for taking care of the dogs it should get me at least started!
At any rate, here's a bit of a story I'm working on, if any of you would like to read it!
As I put quill to paper I find myself suddenly at a loss as how to begin my tale. My old teacher would tell me to just start at the beginning and keep going until I reach the end, but I’m afraid that there are few stories that can be told in such a simple way. Perhaps an introduction of myself would be the most polite, if not the most literary fashion in which to begin.
My name is Celune Cyncad—it sounds an ill-chosen name for one such as I, I know, but my father was Caradoc ap Cyncad and it was thought fitting for me to bear his name at my birth, girl though I am. My mother gave me my first name for the moon, for my hair was as silver as that lunar orb from the day I was born.
Her name was Elanor Wheelwright and she was the daughter of carpenter who had been raised in Westfall. She, however, left home at a fairly early age to seek training and instruction when her prodigious talent in the arcane arts became apparent. She was as pale a creature as ever walked the earth; her hair was so light a gold as to be nearly white and her skin was like ivory. She had great blue eyes and a ready smile—these are the things I remember best of her.
My father was a priest, and he was the son of Cyncad ap Rhys, the great paladin. He was as dark as my mother was light, with skin bronzed to a rich copper from years in the sun and hair as black as a raven’s wing. The two were like day and night—the dawn and the twilight come at last together.
That, at least, explains my mongrel looks.
I inherited my father’s temperament and my mother’s penchant for all things arcane, though my skill is very small compared to what hers was. My love of books and learning is something I got from both of them, though I believe I have taken it to entirely new heights.
I was orphaned at the age of five. At least, I believe I was orphaned—to this day I still have no proof of my parents’ death. We spent the early years of my life traveling a great deal. One of my earliest memories is being tucked up in a sling at my mother’s back while she and my father walked down road after endless road. I don’t know why we never settled down, but we were content.
It was an abominably rainy spring night when all of this came to an abrupt halt. We had stopped for the evening and my mother was attempting to light a cook fire—even her talents were being taxed by the buckets of water pouring down on us from the heavens—when there came the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush. I remember my father leaping to his feet and my mother diving for her staff when, out of the undergrowth, stumbled a grizzled man in torn grey robes.
“Ælfwine!” My mother cried, dropping her staff and rushing to support him as he stumbled. “What in all the hells—”
“No time,” he gasped. “Get your gear and move. They’re right on my heels!”
I heard at that moment the most bone-chilling sounds I had ever encountered in my short life, and to this day I have heard none to equal them. It sounded like a thousand old bones being rubbed together, and the trees beyond the ring of firelight shifted and swayed through the rain as though stirred by some great breath.
“Take Celune,” my mother caught me up and thrust me into the man’s arms. “Take her and go. We will hold them off and catch up with you on the road. There’s no way all of us could get away, even if we run!”
Ælfwine nodded and clasped my mother’s hand for a moment, then turned and ran with me in his arms. My last sight of my mother and father was them standing side by side, alert and straight with their magic crackling around them as they stood to face whatever it was that was coming for us.
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4 comments:
As I know some of the background of some of the crypticisms you've dropped here, I can only say, Glad I'm out of the gene pool!!!
I love the feel, tone and language of your story. So there! A comment.
I really like the story. You're good at creating an environment for the reader when you write. It felt like a person writing, kinda like a scholarly journal. Although, I must say, I don't know how those names are supposed to come out.
The story seriously pulls you in! It's very captivating. So what happens??
And a double swindle, huh? Hmmmm, interesting.
HEHEHE, swindling, I can only say, I giggle with pleasure at knowing what you are talking about...
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