Library of the Four Winds

Invitation to Join Brigits_Flame

lacombe — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 18:05:08 GMT

Hey all!

Thanks to windcharmer for giving me permission to post this, when I asked *ahem* 13 weeks ago. ::: grins ::: Windcharmer, if you'd like to promote your community in a post in mine, I'd be happy to approve it!

I'd like to invite you all to compete in the brigits_flame monthly writing contest, and to share in the community fun. We have a great base of thoughtful, intelligent, and supportive members in the community, with no drama. Our focus is to socialize, become our best in writing, and share our creativity with one another. We've been building our own community web site that shows all our community artwork (of which there are more than 200 icons and banners) and our community FAQ, for those who want to get an overview of what we're about or reference specific contest rules.

Feel free to post your contest writing for the Flame to this community, so you can get feedback from both communities!

Here's a few great reasons to join brigits_flame:

1. Motivation to do your best: With a monthly contest, weekly writing topics, and 50% eliminations each week until week 4, the competition is tight! You'll have to write your best to keep in the running! Click here to learn how the main contest runs.

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Insight

blackstonerises — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 23:48:20 GMT

Plans cancelled. Pam thought it was a good idea, and that was good enough for her. She needed the break.

Between what had happened and who had been there when it happened and the events of the last few months and it all jumbled up together in her mind as she closed the door and locked it behind her. She knew she was focusing on him so she didn't have to think about the rest of it. But she didn't want to think about him either. Gregory with his too-blue eyes and his sweet sweet smile, right up until the eyes went pale and evil and his face darkened with something she had decided to call rage.

She'd thought he was going to hit her. Or try to; she'd prepared herself for it. They'd fought, all right, but no hitting. Just angry words and she thought there had been the angry slam of a door, or maybe that was just her mind putting a punctuation on the moment when he'd walked out of her life the first time. She hadn't even heard him walk away the second time.

Fuck Greg, anyway. Fuck him and the sidewinder he rode in on.

Astrid pushed off from the door and put on Jagged Little Pill, the theme album of ditched chicks everywhere (or so she'd decided some time in the last ten years or so) and started picking up while she organized her evening in her mind. No food but comfort food, which probably included some form of sausages or potatoes or something. A good long glass of wine and a hot bath. Possibly the more private kind of hot bath, no, definitely, given the sorts of thoughts that kept creeping in to her consciousness.

his hands are warm on your cold skin and firm and tight gripping your shoulders pushing you back against the wall and he kisses you like he means it when he whispers your name as he pushes into you and you wrap your legs around his waist hold tight to sturdy hips that gorgeous ass you watched in easy rider jeans walk down the street you saw him and waved and he smiled at you that beautiful smile

She pushed off from the doorframe of her bedroom where she'd been leaning and stalked over to the fridge. Comfort food, but not anything that had to be cooked. Fruit leather. Something she cuold tear with her teeth. And ice cream, chocolate, to ease the pain.

Half an hour later she was in the bath, soaking back in the hot water and she'd finally started to be able to feel her fingers again, or at least to rub the back of her neck without yelping and wanting to curse herself out for the cold cold fingers. There was a bottle of wine chilling in the living room, for afters, as Alex DeLarge would have said. The steam was curling around the mirror and fogging it up, leaving her in a blissful world of maybes and hazy thoughts. Calgon, take me away.

She rested. Let the water with its soft milky texture sooth her skin where it still stubbornly refused to quit peeling around her hips and under her breasts. Let the heat of it unknot the tension pulling her body tight around her neck and down her spine, soothing the pain away. The steam lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom. For now, it was time to stop fighting.

lift your hands and touch him feel the smooth heat and the muscles as your hands slide down his back and dig your nails right there into his ass at his hips because you fit together so well you're nearly the same height after all that he slows down just to brush his hand over your cheek look into your eyes those pretty blue eyes like he actually means it when he says your name as he comes hot and frantic while you're still riding on the afterglow of that last one more second two more seconds and you can both collapse into the bed and each other's arms

One fantasy after another after another. A little more hot water now and then. Two hours later, or thereabouts, Astrid emerged from the bath. To an empty apartment.

That part was over. It was easier to think without those scenes replaying in her mind again and again, scenes that had never and would never be real but damned if it wasn't tempting to think so. She smiled a little to herself. No, girl, you know better.

Into a warm and fluffy robe, and then into a blanket. And then onto the couch. And then back off again when she realized she'd forgotten half of the materials needed for this phase two of the plan. Back onto the couch not just with a blanket, but also with a glass, bottle of wine, bucket of ice, plate of snack foods, TV remote, and all three discs loaded into the DVD player. There. Now she was settled.

The first movie, designed to get out the other kinds of scenes that a hot bath couldn't cure, made her cry. Just that kind of movie. Love wins out and everyone is happy, melt into the arms of your lover and he'll be with you forever. Pretty to think so, she thought, with a lingering trace of hurt-flowed anger as she scrubbed the tears away and set the wine glass aside. And then she curled around her pillow and cried some more, till she was sick with it, hiccuping and headaches.

in the alley throw him around the corner and into the wall makes a sickening sound as his head cracks against it doesn't quite faze him though his eyes (pretty blue eyes) are dazed a little and he doesn't even remember does he turning you inside out and cutting you open up to him but it doesn't do a damn thing and now you really want to kill him but it would kill you just the same

The second movie came on at about two in the morning, which made her think briefly and sadly that it was probably a good thing she'd cancelled all her plans for tomorrow as well. Sunday. Nothing much happened on a Sunday anyway. Second movie, a Sherlock Holmes flick, with nothing to do with anything. Short, because films had been shorter back then. But it's comforting. A little piece of home, sort of. After the War.

The third film was a reminder. Not so much that men are scum, because they weren't, and not even that he was scum and she should hate him, because she didn't. Not really. But she felt drained, weakened by, well, everything, and she didn't know what to do or where to go or how to feel. This, now. This was a reminder. Some things were universal. Some things always stayed the same. And one of those things was, sometimes, simply that life moves on. Have a little faith. In yourself, if in no one else.

And it wasn't as though there was no one else, anyway. She had friends. Family.

you look at him and you don't know what you're seeing except those wide blue eyes and his so-kissable lips that shape your name like it matters but it doesn't really saying it is one thing and meaning it is far different from everything you ever thought you knew it was too good to be true when he said it doesn't matter when you can turn and walk away arm in arm with Sascha and Pam and all the rest because after all, tomorrow's a brand new day

Astrid woke up with her head still firmly on her pillow and her mouth slightly slack, dripping onto the chenille. Yuck. The hangover wasn't so bad at least, even with most of the wine gone. The afternoon sun didn't stream in through her living room the way it did through her bedroom, so it was probably a good thing she'd fallen asleep on the couch, with the TV still buzzing.

She felt... good. Better, at least. Cleaner. Safer. Saner.

Feet still in socks sliding off the couch, Astrid smoothed down her skirts and grabbed her dishes and headed into the kitchen for some water and some clean-up. If she wanted to, she could probably make the afternoon game.

Astrid Kessler // Black Stone Rising // 1,382 words

Library Challenge 08-17

windcharmer — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 12:56:52 GMT

Library Challenge 08-17
20 Jul 2008 - 26 Jul 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

chill

Library Challenge 08-16

windcharmer — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 12:45:41 GMT

Library Challenge 08-16
13 Jul 2008 - 19 Jul 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

jump

Insights into the Life of an Enchanted Cat

theknowingone — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 20:41:20 GMT

word count: 1515
original fiction
prompt: 08 15
character: doran

Insight into the life of an Enchanted Cat

My life is one of those you had to be there jokes. If someone had walked up to me a couple of years ago and told me I would be turned into a cat and forced to either live with a couple of crazy witches or survive on the streets I would have told them they were out of their bloody minds and to sod off. Yeah I used to be a real cocky prat, I thought I was above the rules that I was completely invicible. It took a real hag called Medea to prove to me how wrong I was.

I was born Seth Wilde of the Wilde family fortune. My parents own one third of the world. They are the most powerful non-magic people on the bloody planet. La-Dee-Bloody-Da, that doesn’t mean anything in the real world. In Mysterion being Seth Wilde meant nothing. Mysterion is the magical world hidden from the sight of the mundane or non-magical world. You know all those stories you used to here about vampires, werewolves, fairies, witches, and shit. It’s all bloody real all that mythological mumbo-jumbo voodoo crap is real, believe me.

My introduction to Mysterion started when I met Medea Caprice. She was typical of the women I used to date. She was hot, liked to party, and wasn’t interested in anything beyond feeling good and having fun. I never thought it was going to be anything more then a relationship of convenience. We enjoyed each other and that was about it. Show's you how much I knew of the world back then.

Have you ever dated one of those crazy chits that couldn’t take a hint? Let me tell you Medea made those chits look sane. We’d been going out for a while and I was ready to see other people. Medea on the other hand was under the impression that I was her property or something. Now I could have handled her possessiveness in any number of ways. Unfortunately I chose the response that proved that I was one stupid bloke once upon a time. I just blew Medea off.

I started sleeping with some other girl and I didn’t stop for a second to think of the consequences. Well Medea found out and she was not pleased, she freaked out big time. Did I mention the person I slept with her sister? Yes, probably not the smartest move to have made, but we already established that I was an idiot. Apparently Medea thought I was an idiot as well, her exact words were as smart as a brain-dead chicken. Which insidently was exactly what she tried to turn me into, a brain dead chicken. Fortuntely for me she sucked at transfigurations so I turned into a white cat instead.

Let me tell you being turned into a white cat when you didn’t even know magic was real is a real eye opening experience. Especially since the first thing Medea did when she saw my new form was try to turn me into a kitty kabob. I hauled tail out of there and didn't stop running until I had found my way back to my old house. However, I was still stuck as a cat with no idea how to change myself back. I spent a few days just freaking out and trying to come up with ways to contact my family. Eventually I found out that the Hag had called my parents and told them I overdosed at some party. My parents believed her and I gave up ever talking to them again, not that it would have done my any good anyway. My parents aren’t the kind of people that would believe in magic and spells or any other woo-woo nonsense.

Well since I was already stuck as a cat I decided to see if I could find anyone who could change me back into a man. I wandered around a bit and more or less stumbled into Draíocht Basár, the magical hub of London. I kind of drifted around there for a while and managed to learn more then I ever cared to know about the magical world. Years past and I never found anyone who was willing to change me back. Mostly because once I told them the Hag’s name they found other places to be. Eventually I figured out that her family was basically the witch equivalent of the Wildes. They were not the kind of people you messed with especially since a good portion of the people I talked to seemed to think I was lucky she hadn’t turned me into a slug and boiled me in some nasty potions.

My life wasn’t all bad though. I was learning a lot about the kind of stuff most people only dreamed of. Like I know the formula for turning lead into gold and the spells needed to make someone fall crazy in love with you. Not that it does me much good having no magical powers myself but it certainly made my life interesting. I even managed to make a friend. An old man named Liwei who ran a magical pet store called Dòng Wú Méi at the heart of Draíocht Basár. Liwei was a pretty cool old bloke and he had this awesome friend called Hideo that would visit him occasionally.

Hideo is a Historian; he studies the histories of the various magical cultures. His specialty is the magical cultures of Asia and let me tell you that’s some fascinating stuff. I wish my old history teachers had been like Hideo I probably would have shone to class more often. Hideo had a way of making history seem facinating like a really awesome movie or something. Not to mention that magical history is so much more interesting then mundane history anyway. I mean not only do you have all those old people and crap but you have the myths and legends as well. I loved it when Hideo came around and told me about his work. It didn't hurt that he was one of the few people to treat me like an actual human being rather then a odd talking cat.

Sadly it would be my dear friend Hideo that would land me in my current predicament. I was lounging outside Liwei’s store minding my own business when Hideo shows up. I don’t remember clearly what happened next but the next thing I knew I’m waking up in a box in front of a strange door. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be anyone around so I shook myself off and got ready to make a run for it. Just as I was preparing to leap out of the box and make a mad dash for freedom the door opens and an ear splitting shriek echoes through the air. Next thing I know I'm being pressed against some strange woman's chest while she shrieks something about birthdays, kawaii, and nekos. Before I can gather my wits about me I’m yanked out of the crazy girl's arms and some blonde chit is tugging at the bow around my neck.

Long story short, the two girls turn out to be Miyuki and Veduny. Miyuki is Hideo's niece and the crazy girl that grabbed me from the box. Veduny is Hideo's partners great-niece. The two girls live together in a house left to them by Hideo’s late partner, Kainlen. Apparently Hideo thought the girls needed someone to keep an eye on them because at the time they were only 17 and 18 respectively and they weren't the most responsible of people if you know what I mean. Personally I don't think they've gotten any better with age but whatever.

Anyway Hideo thought the girls needed a minder and so he decides it would be a bloody fantastic idea to nominate me for the job. Thanks a ton mate. Being the glorified babysitter of a bunch of crazy hormonal teenagers, what fun. So that's how I came to be at this point in my life. I've lived with the girls for going on two years now and it's been an adventure. I never had any siblings before and I certainly never planned on having kids. After living with the girls for two years I am insanely glad I never will. Not to say I'm not found of them in a way. I mean they are good kids really and they take good care of me. Not to mention all the fun I have tormenting them.

So yeah I guess my life is one big cosmic joke. I suppose it could have been worse. I could still be Seth Wilde, a ex-party boy forced to work at daddy's company and well on my way to a heart attack or an overdose. I could still be wandering around Draíocht Basár, with no real purpose in life or Magic forbid I could still be stuck with Medea. All things considered my life is pretty good and I for one look forward to getting the last laugh.

</div>

Library Challenge 08-15

windcharmer — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 12:31:56 GMT

Library Challenge 08-15
29 Jun 2008 - 5 Jul 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

insight

charging blindly

cornerofmadness — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 05:14:02 GMT

charging blindly
orginal fiction - savaria
prompt 08 14 charge
word count 2116

Archana lounged on her scented sheets, stroking Smoke’s fur. The gray cat purred indolently and would head-butt her if she dared to stop. That was what Archana liked about animals; they didn’t care about her rank in life. She heard the screams just before the glass shattered in her windows. For a moment, all Archana could do was stare dumfounded at the man climbing through the jagged opening, not able to comprehend the threat. No one would dare to harm her and the temple was defended.

Archana slewed around, racing for the door. Next to it was her practice sword, no good for killing but she could at least break bones with it. She had no guns. No one would think a Living Goddess would need to keep such a thing in her bedchambers. Hearing the screams echoing down the hall, Archana knew her best path of escape was to go through her assailant. The man didn’t waste time with boasts or threats. He came after her in eerie silence. Archana charged him, swinging her sword like she had practiced almost every day of her life, her muscles used to the motion.

He leapt away but not fast enough. Bone audibly broke and his silence shattered into a shower of curses that she ignored as she darted past him, fearful that her thong-sandals wouldn’t protect her from the glass glittering on the thick carpet. Archana leapt up onto the sill then gauged her jump down. She wouldn’t have much time before her attacker recovered enough to come after her if he was determined. She needed to clear the hedgerow that was supposed to keep people from under her window. Archana hit ground hard, the flat, gemstone straps of her sandals yanking tight over her feet painfully. Griping her weapon, she took the only path open to her that didn’t involve crawling through thick, thorny honey locusts; the path down to her beloved reflecting pool.

She hadn’t gotten more than three steps before she realized she should have chosen to push through the hedges and sacrifice some flesh. This was exactly where the man wanted her to go. The netting wrapped around her from above and attackers, covered in heavy clothing and thick gloves, fell from the tall, thorn-trunked trees. “Damn you!” she swore, trying to fight her way out from under the net. A curse from her would make normal people drop to their knees and beg forgiveness but they seemed unimpressed. Archana yelped in unexpected pain as a boot found her mid section. No one should have dared to do such a thing to her.

“Watch out for her,” the man from her room said, loping up to them, his arm dangling uselessly at his side. “She broke my arm.”

“That’s why we started with this aspect. She would be the hardest to subdue,” one of his companions said.

“Who are you?” Archana tried to get her knees under her and caught another boot under her ribs for her troubles.

“Does it matter?” One of them laughed at her.

Archana kicked, punched and bit as the men flocked around her, tearing off the netting but there were too many of them. Hands bound behind her, Archana tasted the blood of her enemy, getting a piece of the fingers pushing the gag into her mouth. Surprised they didn’t blindfold her, Archana almost wished they would have. She did not feel like a Living Goddess, the Savaria-Militant as they walked her past the slaughter. There was nothing she could do as they prodded and dragged her past priestesses that she knew, past the temple keepers left ravaged and bleeding.

They threw her into the back of a truck, hauling her away from her home. Archana had never been in one before. Cars were fairly new inventions. There were priestesses at the temple who were older enough to remember when the first car was invented. Trucks were a novelty and experiencing one like this had never entered her worse nightmares. The rough swaying made her stomach clench. Archana tried to cap all her feeling, the nausea, the fear, the tears that wanted to spill. The emotions would only hobble her more and if she threw up behind the gag she could die.

Grateful they hadn’t tied her ankles, too, Archana tried to work on the ropes around her wrist. They were far too stout and tight for her to break. They bit into her wrists as she pulled slowly against them. The pain gave her something to concentrate on. She couldn’t struggle too obviously, not with several of her attackers in the back of the truck with her. She thought they might be Yaarian rebels looking for revenge until they took off the winter masks they had used to obscure their features. Each and every one was as Tasina as she was. She wanted to curse them, to call down Savaria herself but Archana contented herself with casting baleful looks as she carefully tried to free herself.

They didn’t say anything to her for a long time, close to the end of forever she was sure until one of them looked at her, an ugly salacious grin on his face. “So who wants to try a living goddess? Can you imagine?” he chuckled. “I saw we roll dice for the privilege.”

Archana couldn’t help the sweat that popped out over her skin. She might have no experience with men but that didn’t mean she was oblivious to his meaning. She wondered how many kicks she could get in before they overpowered her.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” the man with the broken arm said. “We promised Riptide that we would bring him the Living Goddesses to him intact. He was very specific on that.”

“Like he’d know,” the creep snorted. “Does he want to be their first? Does he really think they cleave to those vows of celibacy?”

“The goddess would strike them dead so, yes,” broken-arm said. “Riptide pays us. This is his plan. We’ll stay with it or I’ll cut your throat and dump you out of truck.”

Archana took him seriously and so did the creep. He fell into a sullen silence but his dull eyes never left her for long. She didn’t think they would be so foolish as to let the name of their boss slip, leaving her wondering who was Riptide and how could he be so powerful as to organize this? Finally one of them removed her gag and shoved a canteen against her lips.

“Drink some water. We won’t be thanked if you turn up in bad shape.”

“Go to hell.” She didn’t know if it were drugged or not but she wasn’t dying yet. She could last.

He shrugged and went back to his corner. “Suit yourself.”

They left her gag out which told her there was no one around to hear her scream so she didn’t bother. Archana could feel blood and sweat trickling around her wrist and the ropes felt like they might be slipping. As time wore on – it must be night by now, she thought- her captors drowsed off and on. Archana gave her bonds an experimental tug, feeling skin give, grating off as one wrist pulled free. She swallowed back a groan as blood rushed into her hands, the tingling like having powerfully biting ants all over her skin. Her momentarily rush of glee at impending freedom died seeing the creep standing over her.

“Don’t care what he says. You’re mine.” He leered, reaching down for her.

Archana kicked up as he leaned over, catching him hard in the throat. The creep fell back, gagging, waking up some of the others. “He tried to rape me,” she rasped, her voice painfully dry. With their attention on the creep, Archana inched back toward the rear door. Moving as fast as a striking serpent, she rolled to her feet and flung open the door. Open air then a very hard ground met her.

Her breath knocked free, Archana wanted to just lie there but she could hear the startled cries from inside the truck. Forcing herself up, she charged into the woods. Branches ripped at her arms and slapped into her sides. She had no idea where she was. She had never been as far as the forest before. This was Yaar country, or had been until the war. She ran as fast as she could in the dark until she finally slammed into a tree too slender to be discernible from the gloom. If they were behind her, she couldn’t hear them, at least not close. She thought she heard someone in the distance but who knew how sound traveled here.

The words of her mentors came back to her. People never look up. Shocked that her sandals were still on her feet, Archana took them off and tucked them into her waistband. She used to climb trees in the temple grounds all the time. It didn’t take long to remind her she wasn’t ten any more. Still, in spite of painful, half-numb hands and years of being on solid ground, Archana managed to pull herself up high into the tree, thanking Savaria it was a moonless night.

Finding a stout V in the tree, Archana wedged herself in, resting against the bark. She held her breath as she heard but couldn’t really see the black-clad men moving under her. Nor did they see her and moved on. Finally, the woods fell silent, of human noises at any rate. It was far from quiet with the chirping of frogs and insects. Archana refused to come down out of her rest, however, no matter how much her bladder screamed.

As the sky finally began to lighten, hours later, she was faced with a challenge, wet herself or climb down. Stiffly, she made her way out of the tree, standing among its roots for several long moments waiting to hear if they had somehow found her and just waited her out like a treed fox. Nothing. She relieved herself in the bushes then put on her inappropriate shoes to start walking.

Everything hurt. Her muscles had cramped from hugging a tree all night. Bruises stood out like eggplants on her cinnamon skin. Deep red gullies encircled her wrists like the coarsest of bracelets and an insistent hunger rumbled in her. Having no way to mollify any part of her, Archana started to walk. Those men might not be too far off. She had to find her way back to the capital city. She’d find Major Drake. He’d know what to do. The military had to know about the attack by now. The whole country would be in turmoil if they thought the Living Goddess was dead.

Roses bloomed in the grey of the skin as she walked on, her lips getting dried and cracked. She needed to find water. As the sky lightened, Archana happened upon a stream. She knew she should boil the water but she had no idea how to make fire. She might get sick later but she’d die now without something to drink. Kneeling down, she put her whole chin and mouth in the water, feeling it tickle against her nose as she drank.

“Bad enough you destroy our homes, now you steal from us, too,” a gruff voice said behind her, bringing her head up sharply. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now, Tasi bitch?”

Archana knew she should be afraid but she wasn’t. Fury enveloped her, hot as the spices in a fall festival buffet. She kicked backwards, rewarded by a meaty thump and his squawk of pain. She tried to bolt but he caught her braid, tossing invectives her way. Archana couldn’t get leverage on his hand but managed to catch hold of his free hand. Even as she shifted her weight so she could throw him, something felt wrong. His wrist was too hard, just not right in her hand.

Archana couldn’t keep in the squeal of surprise as his hand tore free of his body. He hit ground, his breath exploding out. Staring at her hand, which refused to let go, she saw a clawed prosthetic clutched in her fingers, its straps pulled free, unable to withstand the torque of his whole body flying up and over someone. Dazed, he pushed himself up with his stump of an arm, a gun in his good hand. Only then did she realize her attacker wasn’t one of her kidnappers. His long blond hair marked him as a Yaarian. Angry displaced Yaarian or kidnapping Tasina, Archana knew it didn’t matter; a bullet from either would be just as deadly.

Guess Prompt

cornerofmadness — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 05:00:11 GMT

prompt 08-13, Guess
new original fiction (we can call it Savaria)
Word count - 1347

Savaria-Archana would rather have slept in than do her morning chores but she knew complaining would do her no good. After all, almost no one had a life as easy as hers, something she chose never to forget. She had met other Savarias who took being the living aspect of the Goddess to mean they were better than everyone else. She refused to see herself like that.

Archana plunged her spoon into the sugared milk froth, something like an airy cheese covered with silver foil sprinkles. It would be set out on the altar for worshippers to eat but duty required her to take a bite of every dish first as a blessing. The froth was her favored morning treat, not quite as good as sleeping but it was hardly laborious.

The hardest thing Archana had to do came next, ritual combat. She was Savaria-Militant and like all the Militants before her, she was the Goddess Savaria’s aspect of war. She never wished to be any other of the Goddess’s thirteen aspects, not even when she limped off the field bruised and hurting. She wore the honor of being given a sliver of the Goddess’s essence like a perfume around her.

All thirteen of the Living Goddesses, the Savaria Chorus, were like Archana, chosen at age five to be the Living Goddess, only the most beautiful and intelligent girls were selected. Sometimes, on her very few ventures into the city, Archana heard the whispers of other girls, envious of her. There were things to envy, without a doubt. She never went hungry or had to work very hard, and she had been honored beyond measure, but her life was not her own. She would never run free and play. Once selected, she could never see her family outside of the temple. In fifteen years, Archana could count on her fingers how many conversations she had with her family.

Pleased that her mentor chose to teach her a new throw, Archana bored her bath servants with all the details as they scrubbed her cinnamon-hued skin until it tingled then rubbed her down with scented oil. Her long raven hair received similar attention before strands of pearls were woven into a braid and Archana was sent off to her most important duty.

If Archana had to guess, she saw no less than a hundred people a day moving in and out of the temple like life’s blood. Many were there just to catch a glimpse of her. Some begged to speak to her and often she granted the request. Soldiers got priority since that was her aspect. She pitied those who wanted help from other Aspects as that would mean traveling to one of the other Star Crown cities to find the one in need.

Though she was ashamed to admit it, Archana had her favorites to grant audiences to and she saw one of her favored people in the temple. Major Drake. Hoping her smile seemed more like one of quiet serenity rather than burning lust, Archana tried to catch his eye. He was ten, maybe twelve years her senior, in his early thirties, at most but the age difference wasn’t what kept her away. Living Goddesses were forbidden a lover until their twenty-first year when they were retired into the priestess hood and their successor chosen. Still, she wasn’t blind to his pale, almost caramelly skin and odd slate-blue eyes. In the center of his forehead, over the Goddess Eye, someone had delicately rendered a flame, a mark of the magic he had been gifted with at birth. She would have had the blue flower of a healer on her forehead but instead a small opal was adhered there, the mark of her rank.

There were several rooms set aside for her to hold an audience. Archana wished one of those could be outside near the reflecting pool but it would never be deemed private enough. Instead, she chose one of the atrium rooms. It was earlier enough in the day that the sun hadn’t heated it to stifling. She saw Major Drake give a nod to his adjutant and followed her. Archana always wondered how the woman ended up in that position or maybe she was one of the few to know that Drake’s partner was one of the crown princesses. Izire, a middle child, had made her own history during the war, taking a combat position over staying safely in the palace. Archana had only been a child at the time but she thought that embodied the spirit of Savaria-Militant far more than she had ever done.

At first glance the room was nothing more than a brightly arranged sunken garden, but Archana knew every plant in it by heart, each of them medicinal. She sat next to a patch of pretty purple flowers good for taking the fever out of a wound. The major stopped several feet away, kneeling murmuring ‘Savaria.’ She gestured for him to sit and be comfortable.

“Major? Is there something you need of me today?” Archana always chose to think she had very little to do with whatever intercessions the Goddess bestowed but her instructors were very clear on the matter; it flowed through her.

His eyes seemed frenetic today, his jaw tight. Drake’s whole body seemed to scream out with tension, so much so, Archana wanted to send him to the baths for a long, fragrant soak and a massage. Drake sucked in a deep breath. “I need your strength, Goddess. There are things brewing that…” His fingers trailed over his tattoo, ruffling walnut-hued bangs. “I do not know how to explain it.”

“You know what you tell me will never come back to hurt you,” she said, resisting the urge to touch him, to drape a comforting arm around him. That was one of the things forbidden her.

Drake’s head bobbed. “It’s not that, Goddess. I don’t know what it is but I feel something, like smoke before the fire. It’s a warning but I cannot see it clearly. What I wish for is when I do see it, that I have the strength to do so.”

Archana wet her lips. She didn’t like the sound of this. It had been a decade since their people had known war. She couldn’t guess at what the major feared but she could see it in those unusual blue eyes of his that he did. “You have it, I promise.” Seeing his shoulders slump, the muscles of his jaw loosen ever so slightly, Archana felt a bit better.

“Thank you, Savaria-Archana.” He rolled onto his knees, bowing so his tattooed forehead scraped the lush grass of the pathway through the atrium.

“You’re welcome. Please, sit, tell me of the other things weighing on your heart.” Archana listened to the major’s fears and joys, wishing she could bring him more comfort but that was a different aspect of the goddess. She could only help him in the arts of war and maybe, just a little in dealing with the aftermath. Unlike Drake and Izire, Archana had never seen a real battle, didn’t know the agony of living with what had to be done. Deep in his heart, even though he would never confess it, even to her, Archana suspected that Drake hated the battle with the Yaarans in spite of his crucial role in the wars. Archana, herself, had been called on to make a decision, one that the King hadn’t liked, but the thirteen aspects had come together, at the urging of their older counterparts, and had put an end to the war. The Aspects hadn’t wanted to see the broken and homeless Yaarans annihilated.

Eventually Drake left the audience room to be replaced by another. By mid day Archana changed to a subterranean audience room for its coolness. Even after she was through with her audiences and on to other tasks, Archana couldn’t forget what Drake’s eyes held when he spoke. Whatever he felt hiding in the smoke, had infected her with worry as well.

Library Challenge 08-14

windcharmer — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 04:28:53 GMT

Library Challenge 08-14
22 Jun 2008 - 28 Jun 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

charge

Library Challenge 08-13

windcharmer — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 02:06:25 GMT

Library Challenge 08-13
15 Jun 2008 - 21 Jun 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

guess

Library Challenge 08-12

windcharmer — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 09:00:44 GMT

Library Challenge 08-12
8 Jun 2008 - 14 Jun 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

scatter

Library Challenge 08-11

windcharmer — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 19:19:14 GMT

Library Challenge 08-11
1 Jun 2008 - 7 Jun 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

help

Trust prompt

evil_little_dog — Tue, 20 May 2008 11:25:48 GMT

Between the three of them, there was a great deal of trust. They were similar in many ways, after all; orphans, intelligent beyond their years. (Alphonse dared not say ‘wise’, due to the temperaments of his brother and their best friend.) To say that Edward trusted Winry was true. After all, she knew things about Edward that Alphonse didn’t – and that was saying something, considering how close the brothers were. But Alphonse was the one who knew one of Edward’s greatest secrets – that he sometimes called out to Winry at night – and Al wasn’t going to share that with anyone.

At least, not until someone met his price.

</div>

noagreatthief — Sat, 10 May 2008 08:15:30 GMT

Bela Talbot didn't trust many people, she'd learned at a young age that it was easily shattered. The people she trusted the most were the ones that always let her down. It's why she was the way she was. Why she tried not letting anyone get close to her. Defenses were always high and a brick wall would go up. No one had gotten through, not fully anyway. Sure they chipped away a bit here and there but never broke it down, and by the next time they saw her? Those little bits would be repaired and stronger then ever.

Two people could get to her and she hated them for it most of the time. Dean and Sam Winchester. Sure she was good at aggravating them, it was part of her defenses. If you couldn't push them away easily, you drove them away with callousness and heartlessness. It seemed to work well. Until she slipped up and let Sam get a little too close. The dream had been a bit much. Though she was learning to trust again, she was trusting Dean and Sam.

She just hated to admit she needed them at times, especially Sam. He got to her like no other could. She found she enjoyed being wrapped up in his arms. She was trusting Sam with something she said she'd never trust anyone with, her heart.

{{Bela Talbot, Supernatural, 229 words}}

Library Challenge 08-10

windcharmer — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 06:09:52 GMT

Library Challenge 08-10
27 Apr 2008 - 3 May 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

trust

Library Challenge 08-09

windcharmer — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 05:50:13 GMT

Library Challenge 08-09
20 Apr 2008 - 26 Apr 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

ritual

Rest

allknightlong — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 01:38:46 GMT

He was sick to death of resting. Life had become boring and he found himself wanting some of the action he used to experience.

Was it wrong to seek excitement? Especially when that excitement usually entailed some kind of life threatening event involving either himself or those he loved.

No, not that kind of thrill. He shivered.

But something.

He loved his beach home, he love the sea, the birds, the sand, walking amongst it all at sunset, but there was a core of him that was built for something else. Deep inside what he was the man who made a difference still existed. He strived to come to the fore, to reach out and save, to do what he had been reborn to do.

Michael was just Michael.

But Michael Knight refused to die.

-o-o-o-

[ Michael | Knight Rider Originated | rest | 135 ]

Library Challenge 08-08

windcharmer — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 13:20:28 GMT

Library Challenge 08-08
13 Apr 2008 - 19 Apr 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

rest

[Library of Winds] Flame

specialnow — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 22:02:57 GMT

[Set on or around Day 64 in Eden]

After the conversation, things settled. He didn't have to know why or to what purpose he was doing it, just that he was. It hadn't been so much a discussion as an open statement of some things and a public (such as it was) acknowledgment. And having acknowledged it, there wasn't much point in fighting it.

They also didn't feel a need to crash on through it, which was sort of a relief. Having gotten it out, if not in specific words that maybe should have been used, they were both content by unspoken agreement to continue on as they had been. To let things unfold moment by moment, as seemed right or appropriate at the time.

Right now the time was late morning, and the sun was streaming lazy and lemony through the window of the upper room. He supposed it had been a bedroom at some point; now it was a room where they practiced their powers. Diffuse enough to keep shadows from forming, it nonetheless cast everything in a cool yellow light, almost giving the impression that he had his hands buried to the wrists in living flame.

She liked having her hair played with, stroked, touched. He liked the normalcy of the gesture, drawing a brush through her hair and pretending that they were shirking some sort of responsibility that was more normal than they had had. Actually they were shirking responsibilities: tearing down houses, examining the land around for crop land, gathering seeds for planting. But nothing that had to be done in the next hour, or even that day. He teased out the last few tangles, ran his fingers through her hair a few more times than strictly necessary to make sure all the tangles were out, just a touch more pink than human normal to his hands as he warmed them with even less radiation than a microwave gave off. Fine control.

He ran his fingers through her hair, lightly down the back of her neck, smiling a little at the way she sighed and slouched further down. Hard as life was and could get these days, even in his life before these were moments that he'd had all too few of. Connection, and peace, and the comfort of knowing that there was at least one other living soul in the world who gave a damn. Who listened. Who even understood.

And, really, truth be told, the comfort also of knowing that there was one living soul in the world who needed him. Actually him, and not the savior Maya had invented for her troubles or the villain Peter and the rest of them had needed to feel righteous. Being able to act and react largely as he was inclined to, not as he needed to to keep up the role or the life, was relaxing. Freeing.

Even when she was about to fall asleep with her head on his knee.

It was probably noon, by now. Or about that; he should get up and get back to scavenging for power sources or seeds and maintaining their equipment, but it didn't seem relevant to the moment. They'd been pretty hard at work on their own time, implementing some of their ideas. Building a greenhouse. Trying to make the heat more efficient. They could afford a short rest.

His fingertips drifted down along the back of her neck again, but this time she didn't stir. He leaned back a little in his chair and let his own eyes half-close, still drawing his fingers through her hair, until she was little more than a blur in front of him. Warm white sweater and soft shapes and his hands still full of flame.

Sylar // Heroes // 626 words

Library Challenge 08-07

windcharmer — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 08:03:21 GMT

Library Challenge 08-07
2 Mar 2008 - 8 Mar 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

young

Status of moderator

windcharmer — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 08:55:20 GMT

Hi, everyone.

Just a quick note to let you know that Nutty is a little off the wall for the moment. I've just recently ended my pregnancy with the birth of a baby girl, Kathryn Jane, and my world is currently upside down, so things may be a little slow around here until I get myself back on the rails.

Thank you all for your patience.

Nutty
(new mum)

Challenge #08-06: Collapse

starbuck_muses — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 02:56:37 GMT

LoW Prompt #08-06: Collapse

She's been looking forward to her collapse.

She's been looking forward to the moment when she can give up, when she can stop, when she can call it quits and allow others to make the decisions for once. Kara's sick of thinking in terms of life and death. She's sick of trying to find a way to do the impossible even though she considers impossible to be her middle name. But sometimes it's too much. Sometimes there's too much impossible. Sometimes the odds start to work against you no matter how you try to avoid them.

Socrata Thrace used to own a tea towel with a saying that her daughter has never forgotten. "When this is all over I'm going to have my nervous breakdown," proclaimed the towel. "I've worked for it, I've earned it and I am going to have it." Kara didn't learn much else from her mother - in fact, she can't think of anything else she might have learned - but she knows that much. Sometimes, your nervous breakdowns have to be earned.

And Gods know she's earned this one. She survived a crashdown that probably would have killed a lesser pilot, but only broke her knee. She dragged herself, knee and all, away from her Viper because hells, she had to go somewhere. Through a stroke of pure luck she found a downed Cylon Raider with breathable oxygen. (A good thing, Kara thinks, because her own oxygen gauge was sitting at zero when she stumbled on the monstrosity.) And her skills as a gifted pilot allowed her to work out how to fly it, and to take off from the desolate moon that would be her tomb.

Now Kara wants her nervous breakdown. She wants it badly.

She sets coordinates for Galactica's last location, knowing full well that her appearance in a Raider will ruffle some feathers. She'll be lucky not to get blasted out of the sky once they spot her on Dradus. But luck is something with which Kara Thrace has never had a problem. She just hopes Galactica is still there to be found.

Her knee gives a desperate throb as she jumps into view, eliciting an involuntary wince and a muttered curse. That curse is the only respect she will accord the pain, because she's got bigger problems. A squadron of Vipers, flying directly towards her. Frak. This time Kara shouts the word, loudly and clearly. Frak, it's me! Don't frakking shoot!

The leader's Lee, she can tell that immediately from the flying style. She weaves to meet him, adding a couple of loops for emphasis and not touching the weapons controls. That alone, she knows, will get their attention. A smart Cylon Raider would start firing as soon as it jumped to within sight of Galactica. It's Cylon strategy, and it's good. But Kara's not a Cylon. She's not a Cylon and she desperately needs them to know that.

The lead Viper arms its weapons. Frak! Kara shouts again. Obviously she will need to be more explicit. She loops once more, twice, three times. Now she's directly under Lee and she can see his weapons have retracted. Clearly, he's puzzled. Good, Kara mutters to herself. Stay puzzled, Apollo. Stay puzzled.

She matches him move for move until he flips unexpectedly. But she's still on him. She upends the Raider just long enough for him to see the white letters chalked on the hull.

S-T-A-R-B-U-C-K.

Then everything changes.

Kara sighs with relief as the Raiders move into escort position, leading her in. She prepares herself for the inevitable decompression that comes with clanking onto the hangar deck. Somehow she manages to pop the hatch, slide out in a blizzard of organic liquid, close her eyes as five pairs of hands lift her and position her on a stretcher and an IV needle pokes into her arm.

She doesn't have her nervous breakdown. Not yet. Not while Lee's talking to her, not while she's joking about him giving her a shower, not while he caresses her cheek just before the orderlies speed the stretcher to sickbay.

No. It is when Commander Adama arrives, when her knee's been splinted and she's hopped up on pain meds and she sees forgiveness and thankfulness in every line of his face. It is when he bends to kiss her on the forehead, much as a father would do to a beloved daughter.

That is when Kara Thrace has her nervous breakdown.

She's worked for it, she's earned it, and she's going to have it.

Kara "Starbuck" Thrace
Battlestar Galactica
758 words

Library Challenge 08-06

windcharmer — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 13:16:14 GMT

Library Challenge 08-06
17 Feb 2008 - 23 Feb 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

collapse

Library Challenge 08-05

windcharmer — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 21:27:53 GMT

Library Challenge 08-05
10 Feb 2008 - 16 Feb 2008

Write a piece of fiction (minimum 100 words), piece of poetry (minimum 4 lines) or create an icon inspired by the word...

birthday

Children

specialnow — Sat, 09 Feb 2008 18:22:26 GMT

The sunlight was just starting to creep onto the porch, which was nice. Heading into spring, the air still had a bite to it and the winds still chilled the skin when they picked up. She smiled, tucking her feet a little further under the blankets he'd insisted she bring out with her. She was just getting over a winter cold, and they couldn't afford to take chances with even the smallest illness anymore.

That didn't mean they had to stay cooped up inside, though. And today was a Sunday, which they still kept as a day of rest if not to the restrictions they had had as children. By quiet mutual agreement they had formed their own little denomination of spirituality without stiff restraints.

The morning had been given over to readings, thoughtful discussions, and now the afternoon was given over to rest and play which meant that the whole gang was out on the grass.

"No powers, no powers!"

Not that it helped. He toppled over, easy enough to do as light and thin as he was, under the weight of two dogs and three children and all of them giggling and chattering in their own languages.

"Your father said no powers," she called, but being on the porch in the shade her words didn't carry too much weight. That, and she hadn't used the authority of a mother, so they were free to ignore her.

It really was a nice day. After a little while Wilson joined her on the porch, getting on in years and no longer as inclined to play so much as he used to. He draped himself over her feet and seemed to have taken it upon herself to keep her feet warm, for he had the heating capacity of several hot water bottles.

The kids seemed to have invented a new variant on freeze tag, while he refereed from the sidelines and provided a more literal element. She thought about pointing out that if she wasn't allowed to have chilled feet neither were they, but the ice never lasted for very long and the rules sort of degenerated into another free for all that wound up with Billy draped over his shoulders and as he spun around in a circle.

Fortunately, no one was sick. And it seemed to have the desired effect of getting everyone but Bogey exhausted. Which was to be expected of a puppy.

"Good day?" she asked, teasing, as he came up the stairs for a glass of water and a kiss.

He laughed. "So far." One by one the children came tromping up the stairs, and were summarily reminded to wipe their muddy and still slightly slushy feet before going inside. "Have you thought about dinner yet?"

"Yes," she grinned at him impishly, managing somehow to gather all of her blankets between herself and her shadow creeping in from the sunlight. "I thought I'd let you make it."

Sylar/Gabriel Gray // Heroes // 486 words