The Wooden Door - A Live Write!

Live Write Challenge Given by Breana McKee

1) A bold merchant with a catty mouth.
2) The forgotten dungeon in a secret wall of a castle (or hidden in a forest!).
3) Representation of a mute, or the cause of turning someone mute (perhaps the removing of tongues)?
4) A golden eyed feline sculpture — "Said to send one into a spiral of deep depression if one stares into its eyes too long - You can either see your demise, or your soul. Either way it upsets them all.

 

Marden spotted the wanderer the moment he stepped into the line of stalls where the merchant had set up.  You had to watch the little creatures.  Fortunately, their method of colorful and often mismatched dress made spotting them easy.  They looked like young teenage humans for the most part except that their eyes were a little more almond shaped, and they had a slight point to their ears.  That was not what made them dangerous.  Wanderers believed in trading fairly.  The problem was that they did not hold value to items in the same way that most others did.  They might give you a worthless, albeit very colorful, feather in hopes of receiving a gold bracelet.  Trying to explain the lack of value to the item usually ended in frustration for the merchant.

A Second Look

A Second Look
Reader's Challenge Live Write

Elements Submitted by Theresa Snyder:

A hunchbacked prince with a gift for gab, 
the imaginary land of sand and stone, 
a torturous climb, 
a sentient mute snake

Submitted by Theresa Snyder

((I will admit, this has been one of the harder ones for me so far))

Jomas had gone for a long walk.  He was the prince of a large country called Nestar.  He had decided to take a break from the ball.  It was his twentieth birthday celebration.  He had hoped for any other type of celebration other than a ball but his mother had insisted.  While his quick wit and gift of tongue insured that he did not lack for conversation, his hunched back meant that few damsels would dance with him.  Balls always reminded him that despite his status and intelligence, he would most likely never marry for love.

His father had told him that he would arrange a marriage for him.  Jomas knew that he would most likely end up with some homely princess whose father had a great deal to offer the kingdom.  His only hope in that was that if she were homely enough, perhaps she would look passed his own physical appearance.

Insertion - Live Writing

(Please remember that other than a quick spell check, live writes are not edited. They are warm-ups for me, glimpses for my readers of the world of Vesta beyond the great isle, and ideas for future novels.  I love feedback so if you see something that you would like me to move to novel ... please let me know.)


     


Hythinca placed the poultice on her leg and carefully bound it with strips of cloth.  She was going to have to admit to King Jesparian that she had again failed to get close to the dwarven king.  The man had a second sense for magic of any nature close to him.  She had thought she had kept just far away enough that he would not sense her true nature. Hythinca winced as she tied the strips tight over the poultice.

Her error had almost gotten her killed.   If this leg wound did not start healing, it would still do so.  She sighed as she pulled down her leather skirt.  She might as well get this over with for King Jesparian was not a man to keep waiting.  She did not fear death at his hands.  He had no other shapeshifter at his call.  Her gift seemed outside any sphere of magic.  It was a unique manifestation of magic and it was the only magic she held.

It was no surprise when she was ushered straight into the King's private parlor.  He was sitting with his feet on his writing table.  The room was plush and furnished in shades of deep greens.  The table seemed almost a trunk of wood to the sprawling carpets and forest wall hangings.  

Hythinca limped to stand before it and laid several sheets of parchment before him.  She dropped a deep curtsy then stood quietly with her hands clasped behind her back.  

Position Open for Sheriff - Live Writing Exercise!

The sound of the creaking wood and the rhythmic tapping was the first of Brandwil's realizations. The second was the fact his hands were chained above his head to a wall.  Confusion surged through him as he groaned.  The third realization as that his chest was on fire and his head pounded with a deafening headache.  It seemed to surge with the tapping that seemed close.

"Hello?" he called.  He used his arms to try to work off the blindfold that he could feel on his face. 

"Ah yes, he awakens." The voice sounded weak and old.  "Such timely coming you have made."  The hiss of the voice made it somewhat ominous.

Brandwil tried to recall how he had come to be here.  He had been out at the Jensen's homestead. There had been three children dead with no signs of what had caused their demise.  The only thing Mrs. Jensen had been able to tell him was that the children had spoken of a strange nest they had found the night before.  Despite the level of her grief, Brandwil had been able to get from the distraught mother the directions the children had spoken of before they went to bed.

A Dragon's Menhir - Live Writing

Nate hit the cold dark marble floor as the two guards tossed him forward.  His hands were bound behind him, so he was unable to catch himself.  The throne room of Jesparian Nethandial was not a welcome place as he managed to pick his head up enough to look about.  The pillars, the floor and even the walls were lined with the same black stone.  The trimmings were all in blood red and the only brightness to the vast room was the crackling fire behind the dais.

Nate did not dare to pick up his head any higher to look upon that dais.  The only sound was the rustling of the two guards, the crackling of the fire, and his own labored breathing.  Fear made his heart pound as an additional sound was slowly added; a slow determined step.  The sound of boots slowly making their steps down from the dais above him till at last he could see the toes of them shining in the torch light just inches from his face.

"Raise him up." The command was curt and held no warmth.

Nate cried out as his hair was grabbed by one of the two guards and he was jerked to his knees. Despite being fully upright now, he kept his eyes down cast.  He wanted to give this man no reason to cause any further harm to him.

"Look at me boy."