We're moving!

Because apparently I'm the cool brother that does hard drugs and accomplishes nothing in my life, we've decided to latch my middling accomplishments to my friend's very high-brow and intellectual blog. So you can get your popcorn entertainment from me, as well as grumpy ramblings, from the new address. It is currently:

http://www.derekgingrich.com/

But that's a little narcissistic and not in my favour so we're currently in the process of migrating things to:

http://www.somewherepostculture.com

Until that's done, the first link should take you there. Eventually, the second link will work. So for anyone following, that's where you can find us.

As an update, I'm one day away from ending my novel in a month challenge so expect better (but not really) posts that actually stick to the schedule. As for what happened Friday, I'm going to blame the website merger and not the fact I was up until 3 in the morning possibly writing.

Update!

So my friend is a big liar and the second link is live. So go here for updates:


http://www.somewherepostculture.com/

Recently Read

I have been struggling of late to find books worthy reading. It has been even more challenging to find one worth writing about - so this is going to be a short post. 

However I was pleasantly surprised by Written in Red by Anne Bishop. I had noticed the covers of this author previously when browsing the library bookshelves. Until now I had been scared off by the blond-haired curvy female dominating the front. Further, I took the enlarged size of the author's name - bigger than the title - as solid indicator the story is likely to be trash. So this was the first of her novels I actually cracked open.

Inside I discovered a world parallel to our own where humans have not dominated the land. Though they have spread to different corners of the world and have developed our modern conveniences, they do not have supremacy over nature. Instead, humans have been restricted to living in only a few cities and towns scattered across the continents and isolated by large, untamed tracts of deadly wilderness. The resources on which humans depend for manufacture and economic growth are controlled by the Others – essentially the fay.

Now, I don’t always like the employment of fairies in stories – they are silly. However, I did appreciate the way Bishop tried to portray these fay as Not Human. She seemed keen to emphasize the fact they are different, wild creatures lacking our narrow opinions and judgements. It was the Others that dominated the world, that won the battle between man and nature that came to control our destinies. I was particularly fond of the Other’s view of humans – intelligent meat. That view point, held pretty consistent throughout the book, was refreshing.It gave the story telling a clean, bright voice that feels different and exciting when compared with the other narratives saturating the market.

Although, I foresee this hardline attitude changing if she were to continue developing the world – which would be a sad loss to the tone of the story. I will not be surprised, after all it is the most common element of paranormal/fantasy to have humans tame the wild creatures of their environment - or enslave, depending on whether we are going for sappy and romantic or asskicking story styles. 

I also liked the pseudo-modern, urban fantasy seeting that both was and was not our world. For once, wild spaces and trees were not a distant memory but the truth of the world. Although cities exist, they are contained, hemmed in and overseen by the fae. This was a refreshingly different point of view, neatly separating it from the numerous paranormal-cop-chick-trashy-romance novels breeding on the library book shelves. 

Not only do I give this book a pass, but I would be interested in reading another story set in this world. 

Masks and Betrayals

Don't ask about the image, there wasn't a whole lot of options.

I have a friend and he hates me. After forcing me to finally finish Neverwinter Nights 2 the Original Campaign (OC), he was adamant that we begin the expansion. As a brief overview, Neverwinter Nights and Mask of the Betrayer are two computer role-playing games (cRPGs) set in the fictitious world of the Forgotten Realms. The Forgotten Realms, themselves, are one of a myriad of different D&D campaign settings published by Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms has the auspicious distinction of being, arguably, the most famous of all the settings.

You have your dwarves, elves and halflings all running around such exotic locations as a city in the north (Icewind Dale) a city in the south (Baldur's Gate) and a city with stupid names like Neverneath (Neverwinter Nights). It's all very derivative Tolkien-esque fare made quite palpable for the masses. There isn't any weighty christological morality, however, so it's freed to explore more complex situations and conflicts than Biblical good vs evil.

It usually doesn't, mind you, but the opportunity exists. Now, as I mentioned, my friend and I finished the OC and there hasn't been many words devoted on my blog to this monumentous achievement mostly because the OC was probably about as exciting as parliamentary debate over a new highway infrastructure. Actually, if given the choice, I'd probably go with the debate to be honest. The plot for the OC was uninspired, convoluted, irrelevant and most offensive of all - boring. And to top it off, it was long.

It also had an annoying dwarf. Screw dwarves. The stumpy midgets aren't useful for anything beyond dragon kibble. But given they're all developing alcoholics, you're more likely to upset your dragon's stomach more than anything. At least they'll slide down nicely.

I am pleased to announce that Mask of the Betrayer is everything that the OC is not. It's short, interesting, explores the nature of love and faith and is, shockingly fun. I find this in direct negative correlation to the number of dwarves present. Which is to say there are none. Though the game adamantly insists on reminding you that there used to be dwarves like some sort of dangling punishment that they've been so benevolent in staying their hand over. However, we're on the final act and we haven't seen hair nor stench of the runty creatures so I'm feeling quite in the clear on this issue.

The story itself, however, poses a curious conundrum. I'm going to discuss spoilers but given the brevity of the game and the way it constantly reminds you about every plot point no matter what you do, I feel this isn't too disruptive. Now onto my discussion!

For those not aware, there are two essential "magic" systems at play in your standard D&D setting. You have the arcane - purview of wizards and sorcerers - that often requires rigorous study and is usually theorized to shape the very fundamental nature of reality and the universe(s). Then you have the divine. This is the domain of clerics and is the powers bestowed upon them by their god for their strict piety and devotion. So separated are these two sources that they have unique interactions with their own spells and other profane creatures that stalk the realms.

Which is to say, it's really, really, really obvious that when a cleric says he's getting powers from a big bearded dude in the sky there's probably some truth to that. Couple this with the fact that the Forgotten Realms has a serious issue with gods coming down from on high, getting killed and promptly shuffling around their seat in the celestial bureaucracy like a minority government trying in vain to oust their opposition, it seems that their existence based on the very nature of the world really isn't one of uncertainty. For the Forgotten Realms, gods are and it would take an incredible amount of ignorance to deny this fact. Worship is more like a trip to the tracks where you chose the horse you think is likely to give you the greatest pay-out at the end.

But the story for Mask of the Betrayer revolves around a curious structure called the Wall of the Faithless. As the name suggests, it is a wall... formed of faithless individuals. As explained through their own characters, for all the people who insist on not laying a bet at all, when they die their souls are shunted into this ever stretching, moaning and howling structure to add their body onto its swelling length. The major events of the story are propelled by a character's faithlessness but I find it most curious that the actual reason for this lack of belief rather perplexing.

It's like basing a story on the actions of a globe-trotting journalist who insists that the world is flat. At some point there must have arisen a conflict when it seemed reality factually contradicted this person's own beliefs. At the end of the day, Mask of the Betrayer doesn't really delve into true issues of faith and faithlessness but uses these concepts as plot points to further the story. It tells a great tale without actually examining the elements that compose it.

Which is a shame since it's almost a third shorter than then OC. I can't help but feel like this is a gross missed opportunity. Wherein the OC had this plodding tale of some swamp man stumbling out of coddled ignorance into a world filled with two dimensional individuals and hours of inane fetch questing, Mask of the Betrayer jumps erratically between some rather heavy existential ideology with barely a moment to even ponder its own intrinsic consequences. There's so much stuff here to actually explore, like self identity and the nature of souls, but it gets shuffled to the sidelines to push the story further at it's frantic pace.

Why would someone believe? What causes people to lose their faith? What is the nature of man and gods and are either intrinsic or important to its own world's functioning. For example, the nature of good and evil, justice and law. Are these the true creation of these divine beings (remember, they get shuffled about any time one of them has the misfortune of stumbling into the machinations of an epic level character) or are these concepts something far grander and primordial than petty deities squabbling over who gets the worship of stubborn hicks who refuse to move out of their swamp.

At one point, your party comes face to face with a dead god and have a brief conversation about how this divine hierarchy functions. The god then points out that one of your companions himself is faithless, and yet standing on the enormous spine of this echoing skeleton, said companion continues to profess his beliefs that gods don't exist. Yet you're given no time to actually point out or examine this contradictory moment as the narrative quickly pats you on the bum towards the next big point and click killing moment.

It's the stuff you can write great stories about but they've given themselves so little time to actually explore it. The brief taste you get is tantalizing and I really wish that Mask of the Betrayer was the OC and that the OC was... well... just a unfortunate memory much like the dwarf.

Traps Part 5

My sister is taking me to the evil dentist today. She has no soul.

---------------Break ---------------

“Anything?”

Jeremiah looked about. Little light crept down through the scattered holes above him. The effect created dim shafts that speared the pit. The one thing he could discern was how dusty the space was. His knees scratched against the rough stone of the wall and every time he placed his hands to steady his descent, he could feel a thin film stick to his skin.

“Lower!”

The taunt rope suddenly slackened, sending him on a short, gut-wrenching plummet before it stabilized and Jeremiah breathed a sigh of relief that he still wasn't dead.

Course, he was thankful that Keirn thought of lowering him down with the rope instead of blindly jumping off like he imagined. And given the distance he'd already descended, he knew he'd saved himself some serious injury at the very least. But the depth of the pit was much deeper than he first anticipated and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the even dimmer lightning before calling to be dropped even lower.

This entire line of thinking, however, seemed pretty counter-intuitive to Jeremiah. They wanted to go higher to escape, not deeper.

“Lower!”

In the darkness, something seemed to form. He squinted, hoping it was the floor.

“Could I get some more light?”

“What?”

“LIGHT!”

There was the sound of scuffling above and Jeremiah waited, dangling slowly in the air and wondering how long this rope could hold his weight. Then, the walls seemed to be washed in dry orange before he looked up to see a torch plummeting straight for him. He cried, kicking from the wall as the burning wood tumbled by in a flash of heat. He watched it drop, clattering seemingly twenty feet below him.

“Anything?”

“Lower!”

Down and down he was dropped until he felt he was close enough. He then struggled with the tight knots about his waist. Slowly, he began to wiggle the rope loose of his confines until the rope slid from its loops and dropped him roughly on the ground. There was some more shuffling before a distant call echoed down.

“Are you dead?!”

“No!” Jeremiah groaned, as he rolled on his side and immediately regretted not having them lower him further. His chest hurt from where he'd landed but he looked around to gather his surroundings.

The torch still burned close by and he scooped it up, directing the flame towards the darkness.

Small piles of broken tiles littered the rough floor. As Jeremiah took a step, a cloud of dust and dirt exploded upwards and rolled out into the dark. He took his time examining the place, the light of the torch settling over a few tell-tale scattered bones that littered the floor.

However, from his brief inspection, he could not find a way out of the pit. He turned, making his way back to the rope when something caught his eye. Holding the torch above his head, he looked on in wonder at the expansive mural that had been carved into the pit wall.

Great men met upon a lavish field, brandishing swords, spears and bows in their naked hands. Two clear forces engaged each other in a devastating combat. On the one side, came an unimaginable beautiful people from the valleys and hills. Robes and capes fluttered from their lithe, muscular frames. Opposing them was a terrifying band of warriors with wicked weapons and iron helms on their heads. They seemed to swoop down from the very skies as if the clouds had borne them like great boats to this confrontation.

As Jeremiah studied the ancient artwork, a great clatter and shouting erupted above him. He turned, holding his torch to illuminate the shape of a figure quickly descending down the rope. At first he'd assumed that Keirn had grown tired of waiting and was surprised to see Amber dropping the last couple of feet to the floor.

“Where is it?!” she hissed, spinning around.

“Where's what?”

There was more commotion above them and as Jeremiah turned to look, Amber lunged unexpectedly at him. For such a petite girl, she had a ferocious strength as she grabbed the torch and wrestled it from Jeremiah's hands.

“Where's the exit!” she yelled, waving the torch menacingly to keep Jeremiah at bay.

“I didn't say there was one down here.”

“Where is it! Don't try hiding it from me!”

She backed away from him, the torch waving madly in the darkness. She stumbled over a pile of debris, cursing in the darkness before scampering to her feet once more.

In the play between dark and light, she appeared different to him. The shadows seemed to harden the features of her face, turning that once round and soft visage into one of steeled malice. A frantic, almost maniacal, spirit seemed to possess her as she stumbled around. Was this the woman he had once loved? She seemed so remarkably changed from that sweet thing he'd once doted over.

Jeremiah turned from the mural, following slowly after her. Somewhere in the dark, he found his voice.

“I must know – why did you do it? Why did you leave me?”

“You all tried to kill me!” she hissed. “You'd leave me here to die!”

“No, not now. I mean before. Back at Galt.”

“You want to know why? You want to know the real reason!”

And Jeremiah had to pondered the proposition. He had often asked himself, alone in his bunk staring up at the rafters of his small house. He wondered if there was something he could have done. He wondered if he had offended her somehow. He wondered if there was no way for him to make things up with her.

He had feared a confrontation, almost terrified to know what reasons had torn them apart. But if he were to close that chapter of his heart, he had to know the truth.

“Tell me.”

The torch paused its examination of the walls for a secret door. Red hair turned, locking those vibrant eyes with his. For a brief moment, that enchanting smile spread across her lips. But that smile was only a vestige of something long dead. Instead, a wicked sneer quickly took hold.

“Have you looked at yourself recently? Please, Jeremiah, it was a fantasy. I am the daughter of the Gothar. I am a direct link to the divines. And what of you? You're nothing more than some fat, ugly northern barbarian. I can have my pick of any man in the village and you think I'd settle for you?”

And she began to laugh.

But to Jeremiah, it was like some spell had been lifted. Whatever fear had clenched his heart seemed to release. The beauty of the girl seemed to melt away in that moment, driven back like so many shadows before the breaking dawn. All he saw then, in that dank pit, was what she truly was stripped of her fancy clothes and manicured features. Standing naked before him, she was little more than a repulsive, petulant child.

And it was Jeremiah's turn to laugh.

The sound shook off the walls, reverberating through the small space to come echoing ferociously back upon her. It struck harder than any sword and she seemed to stumble back from its onslaught.

“Why are you laughing?” she demanded.

And Jeremiah found he couldn't stop. It seemed so ludicrous that it was almost hard to believe it was even true. How could he have ever imagined being with this girl? How had he spent so many nights envisioning the rest of his life with her? He had stupidly looked towards those pegs and pretended to see her cloak dangling from them. It was like some cruel cosmic joke. If there were any gods, then they would certainly be devious tricksters. They were not these romantic visions etched into the walls.

“Stop laughing!”

The self righteousness of her indignation only made Jeremiah laugh even harder. His whole body shook from it that he could feel his sides begin to hurt as if they were about to split. Even if he wanted he didn't think he could stop himself now. And as his voice rose, so did hers.

She let out an ear piercing scream, dropping the torch as his laughs seemed to pin her in from all sides. She raised her hands to her ears in an attempt to block it out. But from the darkness it felt like an entire chorus of people had come to mock and ridicule her.

“Stop it! STOP! IT!” she shouted. “I'm the daughter of the Gothar! Shut UP! I demand you shut up!”

She flung herself at him, but she was nothing. Her fists were little more than feeble taps like raindrops throwing themselves uselessly against the mountains. She tried to dig her nails in, to cut at the laughter and crush it in her fingers. Jeremiah merely lifted his arms to deflect her assault away.

“I'm the important one! Shut up! She's just some ugly little daughter of some filthy whore!”

She screamed at her phantoms, retreating back until she pressed up against the wall. Frightened, she clutched at her ears, trying in vain to block out the unending mockery crashing upon her.

“I'm not crazy! I'm not! These visions – they are of the divine! A gift!”

But still the laughter and rejection assaulted her from all sides.

“There's nothing wrong with me. Nothing! It's the others that are wicked! It's the others we must be wary of! She brought this upon us. Not I!”

In the darkness, Jeremiah could see tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as Amber's inner demons seemed to consume her in the shadows. She huddled and shook by herself – abandoned by those that had been near. As Jeremiah slowly calmed and gathered his senses, the girl he'd loved seemed to lose herself completely in the dark.

A rumble and crumble of tiles signalled movement from above. Minutes seemed to pass in the dark and Jeremiah move to the torch barely burning at Amber's feet. He gently breathed upon the flames, slowly building them into a brightening glow once more. The girl flinched before the flames, crawling away from the revealing light as if it burned at her very skin. He turned towards the hole and dangling rope, watching a dark lump slowly inching its way down. A scramble behind him caused him to turn and he saw, wordlessly, the retreating back of the priestess as she fled into the shadows.

Jeremiah waited as the others slowly made the descent into the pit. Kait took the longest, having to slide her numerous bags down first before committing herself to the climb.

“Where'd the strumpet get off to?” Keirn asked, approaching Jeremiah's side.

“She ran off. Don't know where. What happened up there?”

“Took a good swing at Keirn!” Derrek announced happily. “Looked like she was going for the eyes then she hurried down after you.”

“Why'd she do that.”

“Keirn was threatening to throw her after you since you were taking so long,” Aliessa sighed. She gave a brief shout as another of Kait's bags clattered behind them. Somewhere amongst her folds a frightened bird gave a chirp.

“Are you okay?” Keirn asked. “You look... different.”

“Different?”

“Odd. I don't know. You didn't kill her did you?”

Keirn looked at the scattered bones on the ground.

Jeremiah only shook his head.

“We talked before she left. Cleared some things up.”

“You know she's crazy right?” Keirn asked.

“As a jaybird.”

“Good because some of the things she's said...” Keirn shook his head. “Nevermind. I'm sure Kait will be glad we never have to hear from her again.”

A shocked shout drew their attention back to the rope and they found Kait struggling to extract herself from the pile of bags. Keirn hurried to her side, chiding her as he fished her out from among her things. She looked back up the way they came, giving the rope a soft tug.

“We're not going to leave this behind, are we?” she asked.

“Unless you plan on climbing up and fetching it, it's probably best to leave it.”

“What is this, anyway?” Aliessa asked, stepping to Jeremiah's side and taking a look at the murals over the walls.

“Ah, see! I knew this was the way to go,” Derrek said. “That's why the answer was 'exit.'”

“Dear, you're not making sense.”

“It's simple, the floor above us was a trap.”

“Really, you think?” Keirn said.

“But the solution itself was a false lead. See, if we'd successfully crossed and gone out the door, it would have sealed anyway. And from the looks of the cables overhead, the final corridor has already been coated in a flammable grease. Had we arrived through that exit, we'd have been roasted like a boar.”

“He's not actually being serious, is he?” Kait whispered.

“This way should do it!” Derrek announced, heading into the darkness after plucking the torch from Jeremiah's hands.

“Just get your bags,” Keirn said. He stepped to Jeremiah's side as they formed rank. He pulled the long rod from his sleeves, admiring it in the light of Jeremiah's torch. “At least we still have this to show for our troubles.”

“Seems rather fortunate that she found it before we did,” Jeremiah said.

“Not really. This isn't the first time that Mai-” Keirn stopped mid-sentence, looking quickly at Jeremiah.

The dark man scowled.

“What was that?”

“Quite a little puzzle, that. I guess we'll never know for sure.”

“You knew she would be here!” Jeremiah cried, grabbing his friend by the wrist before he could sneak off.

Keirn shook his head.

“I didn't know she'd be here. But I won't say it was a surprise. And you seemed so excited when we first bumped into her that I wasn't going to bring it up. Then there was the whole issue of the creature chasing her and then getting stuck in all those traps and it... just never seemed like the right time to mention it.”

“So this whole damnable adventure had been a trap from the start!”

“This way!” Derrek called, waving the group towards a darkened passage. As the torch drew closer it revealed a set of stairs leading up.

“Look, it's not my fault that we're mortal enemies with a woman who has seemingly unending underworld connections.”

“We agreed we wouldn't deal with that witch again!” Jeremiah cried. Keirn hissed at him.

“Look, the others don't know and I don't see why they have to.”

“I'm not keeping your lies now! I can't believe I agreed to all of this.”

“You agreed because you know you're needed. Without you, who would be our moral compass?”

“But you don't ever listen to me!”

“That's not true. We didn't throw the tart down the pit and now we're all better people for it.”

Jeremiah sighed. But perhaps his friend did have a point. Deep down he didn't really think they would throw her in but maybe that's because they knew he would intervene. Perhaps it wasn't the strangers that needed to look up to him at all.

“Oh, before I forget, we packed these up for you,” Keirn said. He held out Jeremiah's scabbard. “But I thought it might be wise to at least give this to you for now. Who knows what else we'll come across.”

Jeremiah took the sword. They paused at the top of the stairs as he handed the torch to Keirn then wrapped the leather thong around his waist. The metal of the scabbard slapped against his unarmoured side and to feel the blade against him without his armour on was a strange sensation. But he patted the handle, its presence somehow easing his mind.

“We really need to get you something new,” Keirn said.

“This is just fine.”

“No, look. The reward for this little beauty is quite high. And now that she-who-we-don't-speak-of has to pay all of us for retrieving it instead of just the little tart, we'll have plenty enough coin to get you something a little more respectable. Something a bit more knightly.”

“It's fine,” Jeremiah said. “It's really not important how it looks but what I do with it that matters.”

And Keirn regarded him curiously as the girls pressed by to continue on after Derrek.

“I'm... glad to hear it. But I insist we get you something. At the very least, let's get that awful armour of yours repaired.”

“Fine but I'm not sure how comfortable I am with giving her some ancient powerful relic.”

Keirn turned the rod over in his hands. He looked down the corridor to make sure the girls were out of earshot before looking back at Jeremiah.

“Look, if the ancient murals are anything to go by I don't think her abuse of this artefact is really going to be an issue. From what I can gather it's for...” Keirn paused as he tried to think of some tact. “Let's just say its powers are for personal use.”

Jeremiah shook his head.

“Now you're joking.”

Keirn smiled.

“Buddy, you've been missing out a lot by skipping temple. Come on, let's get out of this dusty place and I can tell you more. Who knows, the gods may not be as bad as you think.”

They hurried down the corridor to catch up with their compatriots. However, as they approached, they found the others standing before a great iron door. The girls were watching Derrek expectantly as the young man pulled anxiously on the bars.

At the sound of their approach, all three turned around and began shouting. But as Jeremiah stepped into the room, he felt the floor shift slightly. A pressure plate slide beneath his weight and before they could react, a crash of metal sounded behind them. They turned to see a second metal gate had sealed them in.

“Turns out I was wrong,” Derrek muttered. “Seems like it was a trap all along.”

A rumble in the distance caused each member to turn with concern to the other. Jeremiah looked at Keirn.

“I still hate temples.”

Dota 2 - Diary

I woke with a start. The world was dark and sulfurous. Pools of lava warmed the ground and filled my belly with fire. The air smelled like the great volcanoes in the heart of my mountains, but this was not the vast ledge where I roosted with my family. It was not the ancient forest of pine and fir I hunted for food and for sport. This was an unfamiliar world filled with strange creatures.

A spike of black rock curved in a semi-circle around me forming a nest of sorts. Tucked to one side was a funny looking man standing behind a wood stall and offering all sorts of strange objects. He took what little coin I had for potions of green and blue, a funny looking donkey and a stack of twigs. The man, round and chubby and looking more like a tasty treat, assured me that I would find use for these cryptic objects. Before I could press him for more information four strangers appeared at my side.

Looking left and right I counted four others appearing suddenly in this rock-nest. A man in metal, a man smelling of ozone and summonings, a man riding a piece of bird-meat, and a thing wreathed in purple haze. I knew nothing of these beings, though the chubby merchant smiled and sold them more objects from his stall. They were creatures unlike anything that I had seen in my mountains.

From the Great Sky a disembodied voice sited a countdown to the commencement of our hunt. Was this the ancient god of my race?

Dispersing from the rock-nest, I was sent to accompany the glowing purple demon. I hovered close to the wide paths as we trailed armed greenmen. The stagnant air affected my ability to gain the great heights I would reach in my home range. We moved cautiously through a sickly forest. The trees had turned to grey twigs; twisted stumps that hemmed in the path. We passed obsidian black towers as we rounded a corner to suddenly face two heavily armed opponents.

The bearded man hung back shooting at me from a metal tube. His unfamiliar teeth had range. But his lady moved in closer. She appealed to my right half with her silver flakes and touch of frost.

They crossed a mighty river to enter our woods choked with forgotten decay. At their feet, more greenmen rushed into the deadwood; raising spears into the air and sending small fires flying into our own greenmen. Their mall fires were pitiful in comparison to the flames burning in my own belly.

Greenmen attacked greenmen. Their deaths revealed fetid flesh that I would be loath to dine upon. Instead I turned my gaze to the river. The raging waters divided the land itself into the living and the dead. Beyond the ribbon of blue was a healthy forest of green. I knew it was fresh with delicious prey. Only two individuals stood in my way of that prize. Two individuals I would freeze and burn to reach that golden paradise.

Suddenly I am surrounded. Hulking strangers burst into the space around. Swords are hefted overhead and swung in a great arc. A boulder tumbled out of the cloudless sky. An arrow skimmed my outstretched wing.

I had no escape. Figures blurred in my vision. I became confused. , boulders came tumbling from the sky and arrows skim my outstretched wings. I panicked belching fire and breathing ice on those that came close. It didn’t work. Pain erupted in my chest. I fall from the sky hitting the ground hard. I could not lift my heads, every inch of my leather hide burns with pain. It was the end. The end of my own hunt, oblivion took over.

There was sweet blackness, the great release. Then the sulfurous stench of the Earth’s heart fills me once more. I blink awake in a ring of black stone. A nest with a merchant manning a wooden stall. 

Oh Well

Didn't win but here's a short I submitted for a writing competition:

Hayashi no Jinjya:

The Shrine in the Woods

Word Count: 2,466 words

Her scratched fingernails slid aimlessly over the worn keys. The soft glow of the menu highlighted small cuts and dirt smeared across her face. But no matter what settings she tried, or where she waved her arm, she could not get any of those five stubborn bars to light.

Frustrated, she slammed the cellphone closed and pulled her knees beneath her chin.

She eyed the empty festival stalls dotting the lane. Their plastic banners, boldly coloured, hung limp overhead. A deceptive peacefulness filled the front of the shrine. The only sounds penetrating the thick copse of trees were the distant cries of an absent child. Her mother stood on the edge of the tree line, frantically peering between the trunks into the gloom. A colourful pinwheel was clutched to her chest. To Carla it seemed like she had been standing there for hours, never attempting to leave the front court in search for her wayward kid.

Carla flipped her phone open again. The reception bars were still empty.

It was a strange emotion: feeling utterly alone, yet surrounded by so many people. Carla couldn't remember how long she waited on these steps. Time seemed to move slowly at the reclusive shrine. At least the shaking had stopped.

A fire crackled in the late winter night, the glow from a large iron barrel belching thick plumes of smoke into the twilight. Four older men sat around the barrel warming their hands and chatting softly. The kindling came from the same middle school where Carla spent her days teaching. She felt a twinge of guilt when the students' wood projects were broken for fuel but knew it was not her place to say anything.

A tapping overhead caught Carla's attention and she looked up at the thick shimenawa rope. It was a massive knot of woven rice straw with pristine white zig-zag pieces of paper dangling like thick icicles. She never understood their meaning only that they demarcated the transition to places considered sacred.

Carla glanced at her phone. Still no response.

An overbearing sense of anxiety filled the front of the shrine like an unwanted guest. Were they through the worst? Was this just beginning? They had no information and everyone was left literally in the dark as the power had been off since Carla awoke.

The gas lantern at her side hissed at the crunching of gravel beneath soft runners. She looked up from her self-imposed exile to see a round face smile encouragingly.

“Oh, Carla-sensei,” the girl whispered bowing respectfully. Her long black hair tumbled over awkward shoulders. The girl still wore her school clothes which always reminded Carla of an outdated navy uniform.

“Hello Ai. How are you?”

The girl chewed her lip. She was shy – a common trait in her students - but one of Carla's favourite pupils. Ai's eagerness to learn impressed Carla, even if she possessed the typical teenage awkwardness and uncertainty. Thankfully, she took her lessons seriously and could converse rather well with Carla. And it was a rare soul who even tried to bridge the language divide.

“I thought you are hungry,” Ai said in that slow drawl the students adopted when they first began speaking English. Carla could almost see her flipping through a mental dictionary as she translated her thoughts. She produced a small round can from behind her uniform.

“It's pan!” Ai offered as if that made things clearer.

Carla gave a polite bow as she took the can with her hands – you always accepted gifts with both hands. She turned the tin over slowly. It was light and the metal cool to her touch. There weren't any labels or familiar markings to suggest what lay within.

She hoped it wasn't fish.

A tab, much like a pop can, was fastened to the top. She caught Ai plucking at the air as if Carla might need further instruction. Carla's cheeks prickled at the implication. She was a foreigner, not an idiot.

She breathed away the indignation. She was stressed and tired. Perhaps food, even smelly salmon, was all she needed.

The can gave a soft pop as she pried the lid off. Instead of a pungent seawater smell, Carla found a soft, spongy yellow substance inside.

“It's pan!”

Confusion knitted Carla's brow as she poked at the food. Pinching a small amount she brought a tentative piece to her lips. Surprised, she tasted the soft linger of pineapple sponge cake. She felt a moment of brief embarrassment wash over her as she made the correction.

“It's bread.”

“Oh yes, so sorry. It's bread!”

Ai bowed hastily in deference to her teacher. Carla smiled and motioned to the stone step. Pulling her skirt beneath her, Ai sat.

The one thing Carla could never appreciate was the sweetness of their bread. Of everything she missed from home, it was a simple fresh, crusty bun that she longed for the most.

“Where did you get this?”

“I find it down way...” Ai paused, struggling with some idea she couldn't quite express. Instead, she merely turned and waved down the road. “Offering for strength and happiness.”

Relief supplies, Carla thought. It would explain the lack of labels. Perhaps things were worse than she thought. There hadn't been any news over the town's public announcement system but that was probably due to the lack of electricity. But she still didn't have contact from her head office. She flipped open her cell but there was still no signal.

“You hear from family?” Ai asked, leaning in to look at the screen.

Carla offered the empty inbox as a reply.

“Don't worry, Carla-sensei,” Ai smiled.

“Thank you,” Carla said, offering Ai a piece of sweet bread.

The girl merely shook her head and rubbed her stomach.

“Ippai.”

No subject, past tense - full. No doubt she had already eaten before thinking of Carla. Carla only wished she knew they were handing out supplies. She could have helped instead of sitting here feeling completely useless.

Carla licked dry lips as she searched for something to say to the third year student.

“Where's Yuki?”

The two girls were best friends and almost inseparable. Ai cocked her head sideways in that curious fashion her students had when asked a question they didn't fully understand.

She gave a short sigh and reached into her pocket, pulling out six hundred-yen coins. She looked morosely at the small collection before turning and glancing at the shrine behind her.

Carla followed her gaze, spotting a pair of vending machines not far from where they sat. Was she thirsty? Carla reached into her pockets and was surprised to find her wallet missing. Then it dawned on her; she'd left her purse in the teacher's office.

Ai looked very curious to see Carla remove her empty hand from her pocket.

“Gone home.”

“Home?”

Carla looked around at the gathered solemn faces. The shrine was an evacuation area indicated by the green sign hanging from the gate. With the worst over, everyone should have returned home. Yet no one here seemed ready to leave.

Carla was waiting for more information. This wasn’t her first earthquake, but it was the worst. She didn't know what to do but the thought of being alone in her dark apartment kept her on the steps before the shrine.

“Yuki was at 4-C,” Ai whispered.

Fourth floor, third room from the front stairs - the music room. Ai was an avid member of the Band Club so it seemed reasonable for her friend to be there. Perhaps she was working on the upcoming student rehearsal for the cherry blossom festival. The trees about them were just about to bud and Carla was excited for that brief week when they would bloom and surround the town in a cloud of soft white and pink.

Carla nodded but was surprised to see tears welling in the girl's eyes.

“What about your parents? Are they coming?” Carla asked.

Ai wiped her eyes with her palm before looking around and shaking her head.

“They're not here.”

“Maybe they will come later.”

“No,” Ai whispered. “No, I do not think they come. It is good. They are safe.”

The girl smiled.

Carla looked at her phone. Still no reception.

“I am sad for Carla here,” Ai said slowly. “You should be home. Gomenasai.”

“Oh, no! This is good. I'm happy to be here!” Carla said.

“Happy?”

Ai tilted her head.

“Of course!” Carla sighed. “To tell you the truth, I was very scared. When it started, I didn't know what was happening. It wasn't until Takuma stood and shouted that I knew something was wrong.”

Carla paused but Ai sat patiently, staring at her. She couldn't tell if the girl was waiting for her to continue or completely lost in the words. Oddly enough, Carla didn't care.

“I crawled under a desk with everyone else. That's when I felt it. The whole school seemed to shake and the windows sounded like they were going to shatter in their frames. But it was the floor that scared me the most. It bent and waved beneath my hands like it was made of water. I thought... I really thought it was going to collapse.”

Carla could feel that fear building up in her again. She shuddered and pulled her suit jacket tighter about her.

“And then everything was still. I remember Iwai-sensei opening the door and yelling for everyone to evacuate. The class ran. I followed but just as I reached the stairs, I remembered that Megumi asked to use the bathroom. I was worried she would get left behind. I ran to find her and then the building began to shake again. The floor shifted beneath my feet and the walls rumbled so loudly. And then...”

Everything else was a haze. Her best memories were a jumble of noise and chaos. She could vaguely recall the burning of dust in her eyes and the sharp stabs of pain running up her body. But she must have got out, how else could she get to the shrine? The last thing Carla remembered was collapsing against the wall with the girl's bathroom only feet from her. Had she heard someone crying within?

She felt that growing knot of worry in her stomach return. She had so many unanswered questions. Were the rest of her students alright? What of her co-workers? She didn't know them all that well even after a year together. Few spoke with her, perhaps fearful of making a mistake with their English, but Carla felt she was beginning to understand them. Even if it was just a little.

She didn't notice Ai move until she felt warm arms wrapping around her and the young face pressing against her shoulder.

“Carla-sensei! I... I thank you.”

“For what?” Carla asked shocked that the shiest girl in her class would suddenly embrace her.

“For being so brave.”

“I'm not brave.”

“You are! I could not... I didn't leave my desk. But you went for Megumi. You came here and alone! Your stories of travel inspired me. I wanted to see your world. I wanted to be you. You are brave and pretty. And... I say thank you! Thank you for coming. I could not be brave without you.”

Her arms tightened and Carla lifted hers to return the embrace. She was speechless. Not because these people were reserved with showing affection but as a teacher there had always been a distance between them. A gap created more by her strangeness than her position. She wasn't Japanese and this cursed her forever as an outsider in their world.

“Well, I think that's a good goal,” Carla said. “I love travelling and I think you will too.”

She wasn't sure what it was, but the hug was comforting. Perhaps it was the contact, that little bit of tenderness, Carla needed. For a moment the two women sat on the steps of the shrine in peace.

A gust pulled the trees, bowing their great heads to its passage and the thick rice straw rope swung above them.

“Almost my time,” Ai whispered.

The girl pulled back, her hands briefly taking Carla's.

“Gambare, Sensei. You will do well!”

An encouraging phrase – good luck. As she stood, Carla felt the girl slip something cold into her hand. She looked down to see Ai's six coins.

“I can't take these!” Carla cried as Ai turned.

“Yes,” Ai said, bowing respectfully. “Carla was brave. It is Ai's turn to be brave. Don't worry, Sensei, I don't need them. I am good swimmer. I have family who help me on my travel. I now help you on yours.”

The great shrine doors groaned opened before a hunched priest with the barest wisps of hair dotting his spotted head. Ai gave a bright smile before turning and passing beneath the faded wood torii gate. The old man raised a gnarled hand to stop her but Ai merely shook her head. Wordlessly he nodded, moving aside. Carla cried out, standing and hurrying up the steps after her student. As she rushed towards the gates, the aged priest eyed her briefly before slamming the doors shut.

Carla stood there, staring at the cracked wood. It was then she noticed the mural etched on the front. She ran one hand over the stylized ukiyoe etching of a grand, forked river. A trickling stream of downcast people made their way towards the waters. Before them stood a balding man in faded robes holding out his hand.

For those with enough coins they passed over the river along a marvellous bridge. Those with less picked carefully along a ford; the water pulling at their exposed ankles.

The last group, those without coins, passed naked by a tree covered in clothes. They waded into the turgid waters; their faces petrified as the waves curled around their bodies wrapping like thick snakes about their arms and neck.

It was a passing but not for the living. Carla looked down at the coins in her hand then to the dead cellphone in her other. She began to realize that she would never receive word from her family.

And yet, as she turned back to the gate, there was a worrying fear those doors would never open for her either. They were not built for her. They were built for everyone else. They were built for the Japanese who looked upon them and understood.

In the distance, the unanswered cry of a lost child echoed through the night.