Archive for the ‘UR1Ax3SPFW’ Category

Fiction Week’s Over…

16 Aug

…and I am almost too burnt out to say it went well.

Thanks for all your suggestions/comments/torture devices, people. I think I managed to escape with a shred of dignity.

This week, I’m going to “release” Vatsy and Bruno: From Breakfast to Hell. If you haven’t already, I highly recommend you go read the first Vatsy and Bruno from the link to the right. In fact, I insist. Seriously. Go read it. Pry your eyelids open with toothpicks and Krazy-Glue if you have to.

Also: tomorrow, we’ll have the next entry in my LP of Cahmel, later this week there might be some Rutskarn Action, and there’ll be a grab-bag post at some point. Yep. Takin’ it easy.

Alright, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go smack myself until the notion of ever doing this again falls out and shrivels.

 

Fiction Week: Epilogue

15 Aug

Most of the village turned up; he may not have been a guardian for long, but he was a guardian, and there was a sort of protocol that had to be observed.

The old man said a few words before he was interred. He said that Cahlmek showed promise, and that he died doing what he had always wanted to do. The speech continued for a while, but there was a sense that his heart wasn’t really in it.

The mother watched all of this, disconsolate with grief. She had been ever since she’d found the note. She’d read it, but she hadn’t needed to. Everything he had said had already been said by his father, and it hadn’t helped then either.

And then it was over. The new market square was named after him, when it opened. He was recorded in the book of guardians. They remembered him for a while, and then let his name drift into the peaceful anonymity history provides.

 
 

Fiction Week, Part 6

14 Aug

Before long, the dense jungle fell away. The night sky shone through gaps in the treescape, raining soft illumination on the clearing below. There, in the clearing’s center, the white rock gleamed like a splinter of the moon fallen to earth.

Wordlessly, Kuli stepped past him, rooting through the bushes at the edge of the rock’s pools. After a moment, she retrieved a flat disc like the rock she’d discarded earlier.

“Wait one minute.”

She massaged her throat for a moment, and a hissing so quiet Cahlmek hadn’t even noticed it fell silent. She held the rock up in front of her, squeezed it firmly, and began to speak.

“TaUki pAllimar p’Kahli. Kara. S’iora Kuli A`ra.”

She then bent down, pitching the rock back into the bushes. She re-activated the translator.
Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Fiction Week, Part 5

13 Aug

Cahlmek pushed Kuli out of his mind, concentrating on where he was going. He might not have any idea who Kuli was or what she was talking about, but he knew the jungle well. Poets refer to familiar things as being like extensions of one’s body; Cahlmek didn’t feel this way, but he did feel like the jungle was as much a part of him as, say, his memories or his ideals. For miles, he knew it as well as he knew absolutely anything, and that absolute certainty was more than a little comforting to him now.

What he knew was that they were bound for the Bonerock, an alabaster crag known for the water that pooled about its base. It was only minutes away. Of course, he had absolutely no idea why Kuli wanted to go there, but that was hardly…

A few words of gibberish cut off his thinking. The translation followed:

“I have an additional query regarding the fauna of this area.”

Cahlmek stopped, glancing back at her. “Sorry? What do you want to know?”

She glanced past him. Hastily, she snapped off a few short sentences.

“Specifically, I wished to know whether or not…”

There was a ragged screech as the scalebeast crashed into Cahlmek, throwing him to the jungle floor.

He twisted desperately, catching the foreclaw as it raked down towards his face. Over his own grunts and the sounds of struggle, he could hear the translation continuing on.

“…the small reptilian creatures in the area…”

The other claw sank into his shoulder, tearing away a square of flesh. Calhmek screamed, seizing the foreclaw with both arms and dragging the scalebeat away by it.
Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

User Participation Plox

13 Aug

It’s not enough that I have to write a story in 7 days. It’s not enough that I have to make it up completely as I go. It’s not enough that I have to roll random terms each day. No, it’s time to take this self-imposed obstacle course and throw in a few more bear traps.

Here’s what we’re gonna do:
1.) Post up to three words in the comments below. These can be the words of your choice, so long as they are in English and they’re not terribly profane.

2.) I must roll up 2 random words from this list and use them–as naturally as I can–in the remainder of the story.

3.) That’s it, but, you know. Three terms looks better.

Alright, people, get cracking.

 
 

Fiction Week, Part 4

12 Aug

The figure raised its right arm, placed a single swollen digit on the wrist, and intoned, “dKiul’atk.” There was a faint droning noise and then the wrist lit up bright red.

The figure flinched as if surprised. Before Cahlmek could move, it swung its palm up in his direction.

The brightest, purest light that Cahlmek had ever seen blasted from its hand, slamming him in the eyes like a blow from a sledgehammer. He hit the ground hard, desperately shielding his face with his arms.

“AU`LAkir!”

Cahlmek scambled onto feet, staggering blindly away. He felt his shoulder crack against a tree and he tumbled downwards, stumbling once again into the undergrowth.

“Aukara m’kair, DIdioL! Mek…” The voice paused, then came in again, a little calmer. “MoIr, MoIr, MoIr…teK lisae.”

Through his shut lids, he saw the area plunge again into darkness. Blinking, he opened his eyes.

The figure loomed above him, one hand raised in an open-fingered gesture, the other gently massaging its near-invisible neck. The moonlight outlined its form, leaving its features shrouded in near total darkness.
Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Fiction Week, Part 3

11 Aug

It was growing dark, but he didn’t need the light to see any longer. He knew the trail to the bayou well; the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy was enough to navigate the well-worn path.

Within minutes, he arrived at the water’s edge. All around him, nature seemed to sigh with noise; the gentle swaying of the treetops, the faint gurgle of the water, the chirps and groans of wildlife. He sat down, staring into the darkness, hands toying anxiously with his bow—then he sighed, set it down, and collapsed against the shore.

He stared up at the stars, something he hadn’t done much before. He’d always heard the villagers speak of the majesty of the night sky; Cahlmek had never felt it was anything special. The stars weren’t magical or magnificent—they were just points of light in the sky. They were just there, something he took entirely for granted.
Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Fiction Week, Part 2

10 Aug

The rest of the ceremony passed a little awkwardly. The old man left immediately afterwards, and Cahlmek got a glimpse of him lighting up a roll-up cigarette as he proceeded to the tattoo altar. There, he found the scribes wordlessly preparing the proper materials. He couldn’t quite catch their eyes as they laid him down, swabbed his back, and went to work a little more quickly then they might have.

Finally, they stepped back, having done all they could. The after-celebration was, by silent and mutual agreement, postponed. Cahlmek was given his ceremonial bow, a gentle pat on the back, and was sent back home.

He found his mother waiting outside their hut, face bleary and tear-stained, hands red from wringing. He tried to speak, but she jabbed a finger at him.
Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Fiction Week, Part 1

09 Aug

The air of the Ritual Chamber was blurred with choking, vibrant energy, with incense smoke and chanting. Those gathered within stared up through the haze, watching as the wizened man in the bloodred robes lit the final candle on the altar.

They watched as he raised his palm above the flickering circle of candles, moving it over them steadily, rhythmically. The flames flickered, then leapt, hissing into white-hot infernos that sent intense waves of heat surging through the crowded room.

Slowly, with the deliberation of practiced ritual, he reached under the altar. When he brought his gnarled hands back up, they cradled an old and pitted skull.

“Let those who watch reflect on the purity of this moment. Let all remember well that this is a ritual handed down from the prophets before us, given unto them by the Three Themselves to safeguard our people from the leviathans. This is not the courts of men, where judgment can fail, or the appointment of the elders, where there is room for a right or a wrong decision. This has passed beyond the doing of men. Let none contest what occurs today.”

There was a slow, murmured chorus of ayes.

The elder nodded once, then placed the skull in the center of the altar. From the smoky rafters, a raven lofted onto the skull’s crown.

“Bring in the chosen.”

The flaps of the Ritual Chamber were opened. Through the mists of ritual, the man stepped forward, body anointed in sacred oils. He hesitated by the entrance, glanced at those assembled, then caught himself and returned his gaze to the altar. Slowly, quietly, he approached.

The robed man raised his right hand above his head, the loose sleeve sliding away to reveal the intricate web of tattoos on his bony arm.

“Let those present acknowledge Cahlmek, man of the Third Tribe, who has performed the rituals to prepare himself for the highest of callings. He has undertaken the Rites of Aurres without flaw. He has hunted three days of game with one arrow. He has proven that the gods have placed the spark of potential within him…that they have prepared him to be a defender of our people.”

The old man thrust his other arm up suddenly. The candles flared again, then blazed a violent blue.

“And so is Cahlmek, man of the Third Tribe, granted the right of the totem.”

Those gathered intoned the proper response, tones tinged with reverence.

Cahlmek shifted, anxious. The old man gazed at him, eyes gleaming blue in the candlelight.

“As the gods work through this ritual, at this holy place, in this holy time, they unlocked the animal spirit held caged within your soul. Whether the have seen fit to grant you the strength of the bear, the speed of the hawk, the deadly strike of the tiger…even…” Despite himself, he shuddered faintly, eyes closing in reverence. “Even the power of the tyrant lizard. That totem of greatest power, that totem that is written in the books of the ancients as the totem that when discovered will lead our people to salvation.” The man paused, then continued, tone lowered. “Make no mistake, you need not be the chosen one to aid our people. You are still our greatest hope, our greatest protector, the vanquisher of the scaled predators. You are no longer merely a man. You are…more.”

The man gazed up to the rafters, as if seeing divine patterns etched upon the gnarled wood overhead. His face tensed, and energy seemed to pour off of his body.

“I can see, in the heat of your bones, in the force that writhes and crackles through your bloodstream, the animal spirit that emerges from your soul.”

Cahlmek took a deep breath, closing his eyes, feeling heat rising through him. Those gathered held their breaths, every gaze fixated on his still form, waiting.

The old man placed his hands on either side of Cahlmek’s head, spindly fingers running over his temples. “I feel the presence within you, Cahlmek of the Third Tribe. You have been gifted with the totem of…”

The old man paused. Under his shadowy hood, his jaw slackened, his eyes widened. Slowly, his lips began to move, as if struck with disbelief.

“The totem of…”

Cahlmek opened his eyes, watching as the old man drew himself up, set his jaw firmly, and spoke aloud:
Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

Uncle Rutsy’s 1st Annual All-American Squirrel Parade Fiction Week…BEGINS!

08 Aug

Welcome, laddies and gentlewomen, to the 1st Annual All-American Squirrel Parade Fiction Week Opening Gala Celebrathon! As of ten minutes ago, this grueling marathon of fiction has officially begun. That means it’s time to turn to my attractive co-host, Invisible Mechanical Squirrel.

When I give Invisy the go sign, she’ll spin the wheel and randomly select three terms. Remember, kiddies, I have to base a 7-part serial fiction on these three terms–let’s hope they’re good ‘uns, eh?

Alright, enough stalling. Invisy, spin the wheel of terms!

Alright, number one, we have…

DUCKS.

Number two, we have…

RAVEN SITTING ON A SKULL.

Number three, we have…

DINOSAURS.


This is gonna be a long week, isn’t it.