From the story: Across the Aegean Sea, through the ice crags of Nortendur, past the land of the desolate wind and deep into the land known locally as Vale, one of the seven deadly sins searches, cries out in thirst…and in this tale…
Envy finds a new host.
My Fellow Seven deadly Sins Writers-List and wording by Michelle Picarella.
The Word beckons you to honor, to take heed to the words of your mother. To the discipline of your father. Some people just don’t care.
Sounds of untold dread and despair overtook the small room. He let out cries of pain and torment…He tried to escape but there was no escape. It was too late. They’ve come for him.
Not to mention two interviews for AmyBeth Fredricksen, a fellow Writer and Friend. Very in depth. The second interview goes to Tamara Mousner, very special writer with a very special sense of greatness :}.
The Stories:Book One is on a mission.
I am gearing up for the destiny that is anxiously waiting on me.
We have to be different if we ever hope to make a difference.
The Stories. The Stories. The Stories. We have all heard about The Stories. Enough.
When can I read it?
This sounds so amazing, I can’t wait to read it?
Wow! Can’t wait! they say.
The blessing is that these are real comments…from real people! :}. Since I’m going traditional and querying-another fact I’m releasing-it will be a while longer before everyone can read it, but I guarantee you-aside from my confidence and all the tremendous, most humbling comments and remarks from the few that have read the intro and chapter-you will be surprised.
The stories you read as a child? Only rumors of what really happened
“We are in the midst of a revolt.
A war.
But what are we fighting for?
Our existence.
Our lives.
Whatever is left of them, that is.
There is no vast army. No strongholds. No one is coming to help us.
There are no, ‘teams’.
Just us…and them.
Logos, I hate them…
We may seem familiar to you.
But you’ll notice things aren’t quite as you remember.
You grew up.
So did we.
You forgot about us.
Things have changed.
We have changed.
Who are we?
We are…The Stories.
In this epic fantasy…legends will be reborn.
As I sit here, listening to Demon Hunter’s “I Play Dead” I remember a very powerful scene I wrote in The Stories. My M/C is alone. She is small. Frail. She should not be able to contend with the beast-twice her size. Should she be vanquished…so be it. But right now…she will come face to face with the monster. She will choose to prove, if only to herself, that she can fight back. FULL EXCERPT of this scene soon.
For now we are the stories, huh? Who are the “stories”? What of them? Fairy tales? If only.
“Let the blood speak, child…”
Well…
L’orrah was just like any other child her age. She had no thoughts of the future or anything else beyond her beloved Grandmother Sarah and her close circle of friends she called family. She lived day to day, enjoying her quiet life with Sarah and always had the biggest smile on her face. Then..the unthinkable. Oh…the evil. She was barely ten years old when her life ceased when everything she knew and loved was taken from her. An evil wolf, the master, fought against her Grandmother, ferociously. Her Grandmother knew him. She said his name-Labadon. Sarah fought this beast valiantly but was no match. As her Grandmother lay, broken, bloodied and dead, L’orrah, having been left for dead herself, crawls through the mud and rain to be at her Grandmother’s side. L’orrah’s life fades quickly with each passing moment.
She awakens under a blue sky, drifting in and out of consciousness barely able to hear the two voices of the ones who came out of nowhere to help her stay alive. A month later, they, too,were gone and L’orrah, able to finally grasp the scope of all that has happened, slips into a black cloud of depression and stays near her Grandmothers grave site of smooth, gray stones. Unable even to open her eyes in the sunlight she chooses death once again, this time by her own hand. She can no longer function. She has no real reason to live. This child, this little girl of barely ten years of age, simply cannot cope.
That is until she unwittingly finds a great set of swords, hidden. They belonged to her Grandmother. They held no magic or special power. The power was in the steel. Greatly enamored by the smaller blade-the kopis-and deeply inspired, at least to find out why her Grandmother used these, why the white beast Labadon called her Lady Sarai and spoke of a great war-she sets out to simply-stay alive. When she first encounters a lone wolf from Labadon’s army, there is no prophecy to fulfill and all is left to choice.
Her life, wrought with pain. With loss and trauma. But she survived. No one, ever again will simply just do what they wish to her. She makes her new home in a hole in the earth…and emerges only at night to fight against herself and her loss. She decides she will be a force to be reckoned with and carries in her heart a mantra, her strength…the last words she heard her Grandmother say: Do. Your. Worst.
Four years pass and L’orrah is ready to walk into the greater reaches of the land in search of anyone. An old Friend, Sunder. A once mighty warrior. His two brothers. Maybe to find the bearers of the two voices that helped her so many years ago. To find the reason her Grandmother was murdered. Sure of her herself and her training, she begins her quest. Along the way, however, L’orrah finds that Labadon’s evil has devastated the entire known world…and a stirring within her, perhaps the voice of her beloved Sarah-calls her to arms against him. It calls from within her soul. A darkness. Her speed is unusual. Her abilities are nigh super-human…and the strange power inside her is growing…with every move she makes.
–“You always did love to stare up at the night sky, L’orrah,” Sarah said softly in her dreams.–
–“She knew she would be dead soon. So she closed her eyes and began to pray as Labadon continued his taunts. Her words were unintelligible, but she knew in her heart they would be received. Labadon continued to speak over her prayers, louder and more forcefully…mocking her shallow voice.”–
In The Stories, many legends of old are represented in an entire new light. My light. Carefully chosen. So that it wouldn’t be a case of adding anyone for the sake of having them. Each must have a reason. Each must have genuine change that reflects the emotion, the feel, the voice of The Stories. It is called The Stories. They are the stories. They have voices. Wants. Desires. They bleed. They scream. They are real. They are alive. They have been transformed. You’ve never seen them like this before. L’orrah, the girl in the red hood, leads these beings in an epic fantasy like no other. In this land, bittersweet endings will come when and only when this evil has been destroyed. But…can one small child hope to defeat a power such as Labadon?
“I am Labadon! Belial! I am flux. This land and all who claim it are mine. I will be their end. No one will remember.”
This is only the beginning…this is only…the Genesis.
The Stories. Legends Will Be Reborn. Witness the rebirth.
Arte by Wyldraven
…and coming next: The Stories: “Histories”
Four races of beings once lived peacefully in the lands of Thiend and Folowil. Indeed it was a time of peace and harmony. Then jealousy and envy raged and grew in their hearts.
Man, the apple of the eye of Logos. The Brutaal, the beasts, the animals. The Obscuriot, the Nychtos-the night. The Deluz, The Ascendants…the day.
The River Amblem was where these races once joined in the great war.
They each had many names…but they are The Stories:Prequel “Histories“
A slight man, not too tall, not too short.
Average, at best.
Worked hard at what he did.
He worked with wood and stone.
It says there was nothing really remarkable about him.
His name was Jesus. Continue reading
Like many Writers in this age music is inspiring. More. This brief “look-see” provided by this song. Also when I first heard it…I was literally astounded at the lyrics* for my story…is similar to a certain portion.
This is what I call…a verbal trailer.
“The rain is coming harder,” the giant says. “But, sure as I know her she will only become stronger in it.”
“Indeed, mountain. She is like no other. She leads us,” says the man in beggar’s clothing. “Sts, we await her signal, old friend,” he continues, peering over his shoulder.
“But of course, old friend,” a small voice answers.
A mile or so ahead of them, high atop a cliff the girl raises her hand, high into the air. First, a fist. Then, she extends her index and small finger, simultaneously. The wind blows through them as she gives a blank stare to the terrain before her. She’s calm, though her chest heaves in and out with great force. No words come out of her mouth. Just her hand, in the air. Her hood caresses her face and she closes her eyes tightly. Finally she speaks where only she can hear. “As I am breathing, so are you, Sarah.” She pumps her hand into the air twice and the silence is broken.
First, a tiny creature, scurries through the leaves on the ground. He goes in front of her, ahead of the rest. He is the sight; one with a gift. Precognition. He can’t explain how he does it and doesn’t need to. He jumps off the high cliff she’s standing on, towards the dark valley below.
Her hand remains in the air with her eyes shut. She is praying. Her grandmother taught her how.
The small creature is far ahead of her now just as the man, lithe in stature, but holding more power than any mere mortal being, joins the small creature. In his hand, a rather peculiar looking instrument, made of dark rowan wood. He sprints past the girl, after the creature, and says these words: “And so the time for pretense, the time for hiding in the shadows……is dead.”
He flips head first into the valley below, disappearing from sight.
Then the giant-the mountain- is heard. His every step as loud as the whipping thunder in the sky. He brandishes a special weapon, one never seen by any. “I am my brother’s keeper!” he shouts and smashes it into the rocks at his feet, causing him to catapult next to the girl, landing with an explosive boom. He stands 12 feet to her 5.
The dust has yet to settle and he stands next to her.
“Now… that you know what you are,” he begins.
“Say nothing,” she interrupts. “I am who I am. I am who Sarah made me to be. Beneath this shell is…is…”
“Say nothing,” the giant says, looking out towards the valley.
“Very well,” she says quietly.
“The Ozul was right, you know?”
“I know. It makes sense, D. I always stared into the sky… wondering.”
“You know she loved you.”
“Yes, …and that is why I’ve done all that I have. She’s with us, D. She sent those two……
…to us. We hold the future in our hands, Brother.”
He grunts. Then he looks down at the girl and nods. He puts his hand on the top of her head and closes his eyes.
“Let the blood speak, child. Let the blood speak.”
She says nothing, only nods in return. This is her way.
The giant grabs his weapon, looks intently at it and raises it so high the clouds seemingly part for it.
“Brothers,” he says, beating his weapon against his chest then letting out a bestial roar, and mocks the thunder, again. He then jumps feet first below and joins the two that go before him.
The rain begins to fall onto her. She lifts her head and embraces the hard drops with fervor as she moves her left her hand on the hilt of her blade. “This is …this is who I really am?”
She closes her eyes and the hood falls over her head, shadowing her face.
She breathes, in and out, opens her eyes, and as their amber glow of shines onto her skin, one word falls from her lips.
“Yes.”
She puts her hand in front of her chest and makes a fist, choking the air within. As she lifts her head towards the sky, words she said when she first “became” what she is now come to mind:
In the dark is where I run.
In the dark is where I am strong.
I do not fear, that which I can not see…
For in the dark is where I am free.
She feels guilt about cracking a slight smile, but she does anyway.
“I am no longer alone, Gramma!” she yells. “Yes! The time for pretense! The time for hiding in the shadows…
…is dead! With you. With me.” Her skin begins to glow as bright as the stars above.
“Yes.” she says again. “I am the shadow.”
The light envelops everything around her and as she begins to hover off the ground, she leaps off of the cliff, lighting the valley below.
“Let the blood sssspeak…” sounds an ethereal whisper in the wake.
*hmm.–This would make a cool book/movie trailer. I like the epic feel of your story and the poetic prose. I’m also intrigued by the heroine because she is a girl (and she seems a girly girl–not a total badass. Sooo sick of female main characters who might as well be boys) I like that she is leading all these powerful beings. The dialogue is nice, brief without seeming curt. It cuts right to the bone. Good job! I like it now that I understand what it is! Thanks for sharing.–JMK, from my Writers GroupThank you, J! 🙂
Aspire No More 