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                Raven Skylander sighed to herself as she made her way into the upscale apartment building’s lobby as sunset faded into night.  It was the typical place her mother liked to live in; expensive, stylish and it had the air of the elite upper class about it, with its white marble and dark hardwood surfaces, splashes of red here and there to add to the otherwise black and white decor.  Raven was sure the place had some pretentious name as well, just like all the others. She had stopped learning the names awhile back; they all just blended together in her memory anyway.

                Raven looked for the ‘executive’ elevator; a special elevator would lead to her mother’s room on the upper levels, unlike the public elevator that stopped before it reached the elite floors.  She spotted it rather quickly, even in the richly decorated lobby it stuck out. The bloody thing had black doors with silver glided cravings on it. If that did not scream ‘this leads to the money bags’ Raven was not sure what would. Any human who came looking to make a grand heist would know where to go, but man would they be in for a surprise.

                As the young woman made her way to the elevator, she felt the stares of the people in the lobby, even the professional seeming staff glanced her way. She stuck out like a sore thumb so Raven could hardly blame them.  Her street clothes were old, worn and store brands, purple sweater, plain blue jeans, and dirty old runners, as well as a black denim jacket to keep the late autumn chill at bay. 

‘Next place I’m disguising myself as a maid or delivery person. I don’t like this many people taking in details about my looks.’

                A big beefy guard who stood by the elevator unclipped a hand held computer from his belt and moved between Raven and the elevator. His uniform was ridiculously clean and plain. No shiny tags or buttons for an attacker to grab on to. Plain black dress pants, black jacket over red dress shirt.  The man himself smelt utterly clean, even beyond the scent of his soap there was not the slightest trace of any drugs or booze.  He was handsome enough, square masculine jaw, muddy brown hair and observant green eyes. Someone had been on the ball when they hired him.

“I’m sorry miss, but this elevator is for private use only.” His voice was deep and rumbling, nice enough that he would not offend, but hard enough to let Raven know he was not joking.

“I know that. I’m here to see Elizabeth Smith. I should be on the list, Raven Skye.”  Raven said, producing the ID  for  that alias.

The guard checked the ID and his hand held carefully then nodded.

“Sorry about that Miss Skye. “ He said, stepping aside.

“No problem, just doing your job. I know how it is.”  Raven said stepping up to the elevator.  The guard looked relived that Raven was not offended. He probably thought the clients that lived on the private upper floors were high strung and powerful people, like politicians, top crime lords and drug dealers.  Raven snickered to herself. The people on the upper floors who demanded such carefulness be taken to their security were far more dangerous.

                As Raven reached her mother’s front door she paused. She could her mother’s sharp heels clicking hard on the floor. Elizabeth Skylander did not make noise unless she wanted to, or when she paced angrily. By the sounds of it her mother was doing the latter. What on earth had gotten mother so annoyed?

Cautiously Raven opened the door and stepped into the apartment. Her mother was not prone to throwing things when angry, but if she was surprised and in a foul mood she might attack Raven, without realizing it was her daughter at the door. Luckily for Raven, Elizabeth was more occupied with her anger to notice anyone coming in.

Elizabeth was pacing quickly, so fast she looked like a dark green blur in her favourite dress, her heeled boots coming down hard with each step.  Elizabeth was muttering to herself, her voice sounding like the growls of a big cat.  While Raven couldn’t see her mother’s fingers, her hands were clenched into fists behind her back, she was sure her mother’s finger nails looked more like claws than anything human.

                Raven scanned the room, trying to find whatever had her mother in such a rage. There were a bunch of ripped of pages scattered about, so  had someone written an upsetting letter?  Raven’s brows furrowed. Usually mom was calm and cool headed when it came the political petty cat fights and bull shit that made Raven want to pull out her own fangs.   Raven picked up a piece of paper and decided it was definitely not a letter. What writing she could see was typed and anybody who wrote letters to mom actually hand wrote them. And the paper felt wrong for letter writing, the texture felt more like the pages of a paperback.

“Oh shit...” Raven cursed and looked around for the last part of her evidence, just to make sure.  In bits and pieces Raven found at least three books covers.  Despite looking like being used as target practise by a knife thrower Raven recognized them as novels that contained vampires in one shape or another, each written by a different person.

                Raven sighed pinching the bridge of her nose. “Mom you need to calm down. “

Elizabeth whirled on her heel and looked at her daughter, her eyes almost glowing yellow, silted cat pupils glared at the younger brunette.

“Calm down?! Have you read these....things?!”  The rather petite woman literally roared.

Raven was not about to tell her mother, that yes she had read these books, and damn near killed herself laughing at them.

“Why do you think I told you not read anything with vampires in it?” Raven said. Truth was she steered her mother away from anything with vampires in it. While Elizabeth Skylander, one of the ruling elders of the Hunter clan in this city, was more relaxed than some full blooded born vampires, an Altus, she still took serious pride in her species, and hated to see it disrespected.  Raven was a Dhampire, a fimus, a half breed of both human and vampire decent.  Vampire society and many vampires themselves were not exactly kind to Raven, she felt many vampires thought too highly of themselves and that they acted like they left rose scented gems in the toilet bowl.  A bit of a knocking down never hurt them, and that’s what some of these novels did, in a sense. Sure vampires were sometimes the heroes, but what had the author done to make them likable?

“I can almost understand the whole idea of us being undead!  We do state that when a human is turned the human self dies and he or she are reborn.  But the idea of us having ... life mates? Or made in Labourites as an act of science? Ridiculous! And if we’re not some shut in rat sucker pining for love and ‘the warm embrace of the sun’ we’re ravenous brutes who are little more than very dangerous dogs for a bunch of humans strong enough to hold the mental leash on us, or fear that the vampire would go on a murderous rampage.” Elizabeth’s fangs were gleaming now.

Raven crossed her arms and leaned against a wall, “And what would you like to do mom? March to these people’s houses and demand they write a letter of apology?   The Grand Council does not try to stop these things because let’s face it, these books, and the movies and TV shows not only make it harder for would be vampires hunters who are not taken in by the Merak to actually go on a rampage and try to kill us all, but it also makes it easier for some vampires to get a quick bite to eat, with just having to spout some bullshit that they are just looking for someone to lead them to the light.” Raven finished with a snort.  Elizabeth had already been starting to calm before her daughter’s speech, but it had helped to take the last of the fire out of her anger.

With her mother’s eyes closed Raven watched as she slid back into looking more human. Her fangs shrank and became normal human canine teeth, when she ran her fingers through her wavy thick black hair, Elizabeth’s finger nails were normal and when she opened her eyes again they were their warm brown, not their Huntress blessed yellow.

“I’m sorry about that little bird. I guess I let myself over react.”

“It’s alright mama. I think the fact your tense from not having a good Hunt for awhile might have to do something with it. Ignautus knows we have been busy lately and not able to have a decent Hunt. What do you feel like?”

“Hmmmmmm......Something with a beefy and manly taste, but healthy.” Elizabeth thought it over, getting her coat.

“Okay, no sports bars then.  Oh! I know. There’s new gym near my apartment. It’s focused on Mixed Martial Arts training, and there is a strict no enhancing drugs rule.”

“Excellent. I hate chemicals in my food.”

NA: I'd like to say first thing first that any and all resemblance other Author's work was not done with the intention of copy writing and I will provide links to website in a moment. Okay before anybody gets upset at me I'd like to say that I am NOT making fun of vampire romance authors, any authors or any books. In fact the things that Elizabeth mentioned as annoying her I have read in book series that I adore, so calm your tits. I mostly wrote this because one I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing Raven and about her world. And two the idea of how Raven and her Mother would react to modern day portrayal of vampires intrigued me and would not get out of my head. Originally it was suppose to be their reaction to Twilight, but it seemed unfair to pick on that one series when their sooo many others I could pick on. That and I realized it was a hornet's nest I had no wish to kick.

Okay. I did stretch the truth a little bit. There are only really two authoress' referenced above.

Lynsay Sands ( http://www.lynsaysands.net/ ) Writes the Argeneau series, among others which contains both the vampires made via technology and the vampires with life mates, Here books are much more than vampire lady porn. They are funny, thoughtful, and the vampires, male or female, are rarely perfect. And while her novels have a tendency to follow  a similar plot line, they are always entertaining.

Ilona (ilona) Andrews ( http://www.ilona-andrews.com/ ) Writes well..a shit ton of books but above I've referanced the Kate Daniels books series. They are a husband and wife team and OMG I. LOVE. the Kate Daniels books they are freaking awesome. They are not romance novels, technically, but the books usually have romantic moments and undertones.... And lots of gore and action and funny moment. /fangirling off.

Well that's all folks, hopefully it won;t be another six months until my next story,. Seeya next moon rise.

History repeating itself.

                Rose shook all over, so angry she could scream. Years of resentment and bottled up feelings beginning to boil over.

 “It’s just like when I was kid! ‘ Rosalind allow me to show you how a proper elf does it.’ I am not a full blooded elf mother and even if I was I would not do everything exactly like you! I am my own person, you’d think after fifty years you’d figure that out! I mean why did you even come here?! To schmooze with my future in-laws and make sure I didn’t embarrass the ‘family’, gods knows you aren’t here because you’re happy for me. Well I’ll tell you something, Eliaer’s family likes me for me and doesn’t give a damn if I get my hands dirty with animals or that I act more human then elf so you can stuff this proper elven nonsense and you can just take grandmother and go home to your proper elven estate where my uncivilized human life won’t bother you!”  Rose roared, panting hard when her rant was done.  She could probably blame the explosion of emotion on her pregnancy hormones but the reality was she felt she had let out a breath she held for far too long. It felt good to finally let her mother what it felt like to be told she wasn’t good enough.

                For what felt like an eternity on a cliff’s edge mother and daughter just stood there, looking at each other, Lúthiena Telemar, tall, willowy with sharp features and gold specked eyes dark green, straight sun kissed blond hair nearly to her waist, pale skin without a blemish. Her fine blue cotton clothing, cotton because these were her ‘practical clothing’, looking regal without dirt or wrinkle, no fold out of place.  Rosalind Duncan, short, stocky, her features soft and gentle, and copper red curls tamed by a short braid. Her jeans with old stains from during her work as a country vet and today’s cooking and, her t shirt in the same condition and both were snug over Rose’s blooming abdomen. The only feature the two women shared was those expressive dark gold specked green eyes, Rose’s sparkling with anger and Lúthiena’s confused, and even maybe hurt.  Then Lúthiena did something that Rose never expected. She rushed towards her daughter and hugged her. The hug was awkward to say the least, as if Lúthiena was not sure how to handle Rose, like she was an oddly shaped parcel, but it still felt comforting to Rose, and she returned it without even thinking.

“I am sorry Rosalind. I... I did not mean to cause you so much grief. I suppose I caused history to repeat itself.” The she elf said as she released the hug, “You know my pedigree. Daughter of the most scandalous elf lord in the High elf kingdom, my mother would constantly blame any improper behaviour on my father’s ‘bad blood’. “Lúthiena shook her head in distaste, “It drove me to be the picture of what a proper High elf should be. And beyond that it drove me to make you into an example that blood lines did not count in being a proper elf. So much so I resented you when you showed to prefer your human side.”  The older woman rubbed the bridge of her nose looking embarrassed.

“It was childish, but I was young by elf standards when I had you, still an adolescent. But that is not an excuse for my behaviour lately. I am a creature of habit it seems.... I saw this as my last chance to show my mother that parentage does equal their worth, especially since you are marrying into a wealthy and well known silver elf family.” Lúthiena chuckled the irony of her words not lost on her.

“What about the letter?” Rose demanded, arms crossed, tears stinging her eyes just at the memory of the hurtful words burned into her mind in that elegant script.

“That.....That was probably my biggest mistake. I was not in love with your father, I never was,  but I was still fond of him as a friend and fellow student of magic. He and I wrote even after our divorce but he never mentioned his illness. His letters were filled with details of you, which I was happy for but I never knew he was dying. When I did not receive a letter for months I assumed his work and you were taking up his time. That letter from his lawyer was the first news that I received of him even being ill. I was so angry, I felt you had robbed me of knowledge I felt I needed to know, and time with him. If I had known he was sick I would have gone to be with him and you. It is not an excuse for that damnable letter I sent you merely an explanation. There hasn’t been a day I did not regret sending that letter.”

“So why not write another one to say sorry?!”

“Would you have even read it?”

Rose rubbed the back of her neck, blushing a little, “Probably not, if Aunt Meg had given it to me I would have ripped it up...And I guess Aunt Meg would have booted you off the farm the minute you showed up...”

“Indeed, I received a letter from Megan not too long after you went to them... she used some rather colourful language I was not aware she knew telling me if I showed up on her farm ever she’d send her prized bull after me.”

Rose laughed despite herself, “That sounds like Aunt Meg.”

Lúthiena smiled a little, “Were you happy on her farm? I doubt you would have been happy in the guest house on the family’s estates.”

“I was happy, and you are right I would have been bored to tears, and if you had taken me... Well I would have never become a vet, or moved here and not met Eliear and well you know the rest.” Rose smiled, giving her abdomen an affectionate stroke.

Lúthiena nodded, “I am glad you are happy. I dare not ask forgiveness. All I ask you have more wisdom than me and your grandmother and do not make the same mistakes as us with your little one.”

“You have yourself a deal. Now let’s get inside, I think the entire household is watching us by now.” 


Good grief its been awhile.  I think my muse went on a junk food binge and has been in a grease induced coma up until now.

Anyway... those of you that have been reading regularly will recognize Rose from this journal entry http://lady-soria24.livejournal.com/2010/07/27/ ( Almost a year ago, jeeeeeez). Rose's story is one I hope to publish one day.. so I guess this is a mini spoiler.... but I have no doubt a lot of things will change between now and the time it is published so I did not flag it. 

Basically last time we saw Rose her mom was portrayed as well... evil. I know most people think evil as someone who murders, steals and kicks puppies for shits and giggles but to me, a parent who is hateful for their child is evil in my books.  Well after some deep thought, I realized that Rose mother, unnamed until now, was made very one dimensional. And for someone who so important to who Rose is I felt I wasn't doing her justice. This piece is my attempt to write while not a likable mother for Rose, one who is understandable. I feel I am still falling short on her, I was leaning towards someone who still has no clue how to be a good mother, but is willing to be a good friend, and admit to her mistakes. She might get some tweakage way down the line, especially considering I am still writing the first story about Rose and this is from the second, hopefully.

Also, I am going to try to update more. The next few updates maybe about Rose and her world, or they be other stuff to give myself a break from her.

Well until next moon rise.

Fictional Writing 101: Character Basics.

Fictional Writing 101: Character Basics.


                Something a little bit different today, but I am thinking about doing a Fictional Writing 101 thing here, and on youtube.. as soon as I figure out why my camera won’t let me post on youtube.  Any road, let us consider this a precursor to see how it goes over mmmkay? 

                So this particular lesson is on creating a characters, the ways you can etc, the fact they will change over any period of time and making  them work.  For this lesson I’m going to be using the group of four in my last story, which should be below this post or the last entry. So let’s get this puppy started.

Creating a Character.

                I am going to be straight with you guys right now: there is no concrete formula for making a character/cast member for your story. The only thing I know for sure is that there are two ways to go about for a particular story. You can make a scratch character just for that story. Using the example of my dwarf stories, Alain and Alistair fall into that category.  Then there are the characters that you’ve head walking around and sometimes shouting, in your head for ages. Jardora and Mave are two characters that fit this bill.  So how do you make a character? Well starting your character is bit like making sketch for a drawing or terrain.  You have a rough sketch, of how it will look, nothing is concrete. Same with your character, you should never try to have them fully formed when you first make them. Why?  Well you will get very frustrated when they don’t work the way you want to.  You should have the rough stuff, basic personality, and race, sex(maybe), general looks, job/Class and maybe a bit of background. Like I said, nothing concrete, you need time to decide what role you want them to have and what they’ll do throughout your story, and other stories you write with them in them.  So my tip for making a character? Keep them fluid be ready to change them if need be. And sometimes the character you created might be better for something else and you need to create a different character for what you want to do right now and just put the character you made on the shelf, or in a note book I guess, for a bit.  Moving right along.


Character Progression/Growing your character.


                Using my sketch metaphor from before this is where you start adding the definition, or start building your terrain.  Don’t get upset or frustrated if your character doesn’t form up exactly as you like, or as quickly as you like.  I find the best way to help figure out your character is to write little short pieces about them. Not only does it help you to see them in action but it also helps you to see irregularities in their personality. And having worked on a character for longer does not make them better formed then other. I would have to say out my dwarf story character Alistair is the most well formed in my head.  The fashion conscious Bard with a talent with languages and a vast knowledge of lore. A bit of a pompous selfish twit but just as intelligent as his wizarding brother, he just uses his intelligence in a different manner and there is a possibility of future jealousy and bitterness due to the respect his brother garners, but that is still up in the air. Also writing down your characters personality/qualities helps to. ; ) 


Character development: the fine line between too much and too little.

                Believe it or not there is such a thing of overdeveloping a character. It’s more common for this to happen to a background character. It is important to remember that your primary character, or characters, should always be among the most interesting, if not the most, interesting people in your story. That isn’t to say that other characters have to be flat, just a little less attention grabbing.

                Also very important, make sure your villain is well developed as well. I have always been so disappointed with ‘evil; character having nothing interesting about them then they are evil, or just utterly pathetic you wonder why the hero was needed.  I feel the only time your villain is allowed to be flat is if he’s a puppet/figurehead or  a goon to a more interesting and powerful villain.


Closing thoughts.

                I want anybody who is reading this to keep in mind that this is merely a rough guide of how *I* write characters. Purely my opinion and if it doesn’t work for you, feel free to develop your own way. I am just trying to offer some advice to people just starting out, or feel they could get better. The most important thing to remember is to enjoy your writing and write what you enjoy.


The tower.

Long time coming I know I am sorry I have not been able to post anything in so long, been working on stuff I am considering sending to a publisher.  But I did this because a friend's terrain video inspired me His name is Bill this is Channel http://www.youtube.com/user/terrainaholic he is truely awesome and I recommend you taking a look, even if you don't play miniwar games or make terrain.  Bill is very insightful, entertaining and over all a very nice guy. Any road here she is.


The Tower.


“This ‘ad to be made by dwarfs.” Jardora Deepaxe said as she studied the stone wall with careful eyes, and could not help but admire it.  The wall was expertly constructed to be strong and long lasting; keeping any would be attackers out. It was made of a dark almost ash coloured stone that Jardora had not seen the likes of before.  The stone looked ageless; it did not have the qualities of either a newly built structure or that of that stood for centuries. Running a hand over the stone work Jardora found it unnaturally smooth; neither tools nor time seemed to touch this stone.

 Stepping back as she put her gauntlet back on Jardora looked at the tower that was protected by the enclosing wall. It looked to be made of the same stone as the wall, and half way up was an open area where Jardora could make out a very large figure.  Most impressive though was the vents of lava that travelled through the stone work of the tower and even in the wall itself, including a massive lava ‘gate’ at the center of the wall.  Certainly kept your average treasure hunter back. The wide lava rivers at the top kept most people from just climbing over so that made getting in very difficult.  At least very difficult for a group without its own wizard.

“I have to say big brother, your friend’s idea of a ‘small favour’ is a bit odd.”  Alistair Quickweather, younger brother to the group’s wizard and the group’s bard commented eyeing the structure with distaste. As always the bard was dressed in what Jardora considered impractical style. Black and red with silver and ruby jewellery was his colour scheme of this adventure, even his armour and weapons matched. Jadora was not entirely sure where the clothes horse found a black washed chainmail shirt, but it wouldn’t surprise her if Alistair had a chainmail shirt every colour found in nature.

“Nadia never called it a small favour. She called it a repayment of debt, which I do owe her for. And she not my friend, merely another student of our teacher.” Alain Quickweather said, never taking his eyes off the wall and tower. While both brothers shared the same brown hair, although Alistair’s hair had blonde streaks in his, and the same build, tall and thin, it would be still difficult for an outsider to make the connection that they are siblings. Where Alistair was a fashion chaser and insistent everything matched, Alain only care if his clothes were neat and clean. Today the wizard was dressed in a plain white shirt and light trousers, over both was padded leather and cloth armour, he would probably wear more if  too much armour did not interfere with magic casting.

“She’s more like a jealous rival if you ask me. “ Mave said, eyeing the wall and tower like it was a giant death trap. Mave was not normally a paranoid individual, and even in cities was fairly relaxed, despite being a ranger, but she had a sore spot with her husband’s fellow former student, something about how Nadia was either trying to bed Alain or kill him.  Nadia never did anything directly, but enough to make the half elf ranger very nervous. In this ‘outing’ Mave forgo her more subtle and camouflaged leather gear for her more protective chainmail and leather armour, her fingers nervously playing on one of her twin sword hilts. 

“You might be right, but Nadia wants this gem too much to send me off to go get killed.”   Alain said, taking steps towards  the lava ‘gate’, both hand grasping his staff, “ Get ready to run, I don’t know how long this spell will last.”  The wizard then  braced his legs wide apart with a shout of  a word Jardora did not know he brought  up over his head then down hard on the ground in front of the lava veil.  The ground rumbled and the lava veil pulled back,  giving the group access into the court yard.  Jardora quickly ran after her more long legged companions, grumbling to herself about running being something meant for deer and horses to do. Alain quickly followed, just barely rolling into the court yard, avoiding getting burnt by the ‘gate’ as it closed behind him by inches.

“Definitely a good way of keeping a large army from coming in.” Alistair commented.

“Aye, I doubt yew can keep that spell up for more than a few minutes.” Jardora commented. 

Alain nodded wiping sweat from his brow, “ That spell requires a lot of focus, and causes a lot of pressure on the body keeping it going, so  you are correct Jardora, it is not an easy spell to keep up. ”

                “And it would be a good way to keep anybody from checking for traps, so everybody be on the lookout for nasties.  “ Mave said as she notched an arrow into her bow.  The other followed suit, readying weapons and   forming a loose semi circle. 

                Soon  the group was at the large pool of lava at the center of the courtyard,  which the base of the tower also so stood in.  Jardora went over to the lava pool to examine  it while Alain stroked his bread thoughtfully.

                “Hmmm I could levitate us all up to the balcony, but I don’t know what  my magic would wake up.”

                “Isn’t it a bit late for that Alain? I mean you used the big magic to get us in here.” Alistair asked, looking a bit puzzled.

                “The creatures in this place might be  taught or magiked to ignore the magic needed to open the door. It would be pretty bad if the master of this place got attacked by his minions every time he came home. “

                “I could climb up using climbing ropes.  Should be easy enough.” Mave suggested.

                No. We have no idea what’s up there or the protective spells are at work.” Alain shook his head.

“Alain lad, me thinks we should be more worried about the critters down ‘ere!” Jardora  barked, stepping back from the lava pool  readjusting her grip on her battle axe as a fiery hand emerged  from the pool followed by others.  All kind of elemental seemed to live in the pool,  from humanoid looking creatures made of fire to lizard like creatures that skin looked like  rapidly cooling lava. And no matter what kind of creature it was, each had a flaming weapon.

                “I guess we don’t have to worry about magic waking anything up.”  Alistair said,   rolling the wrist that held his rapier, getting ready.

                “I ‘ope not.”  Jardora  said, then began chanting in Therymun. The incantation was a short one and when she was done a fiery  rune glowed over herself and the rest of the group.

                “Ah, fire protection from the God of the Forge.”  Alistair grinned, and then began readying his own voice for a battle song.

The great fire beasts roared and charged the group. Jardora returned with a growl of her own and stepping forward she swung her great axe into the elbow of one of the fire lizard, lopping his left arm off from the elbow down. Hot magma blood spewed from the open wound.  Jardora rolled forward avoiding the hot blood, and as she came out of her roll she swung her axe into the beast’s calf.  Before the beast could react Jardora let out a deep bellow and brought her axe through the beast’s thigh.  The lizard roared in pain, its red plume that decorated its head waving in the air like some sort of flag, as it fell to the ground, writhing in agony. After a moment the beast’s body seeped into the ground. Jardora blinked then shrugged finding a new opponent.

                How much time passed Jardora was not sure, and she certainly had no idea how many of the fiery beasties she had killed, only that it felt like every part of her was singed.  After beheading a creature that looked like someone set a troll on fire, Jardora took a quick study of her companions.  Alistair was still singing a battle hymn at the top of his lung, although he was a little bit hoarse.  The paladin could not help but notice the bard’s clothes were covered in soot and burnt in places, and knowing him he’d probably mourn the damn things. Mave was doing alright, although she was out of arrows she could imbue the icy touch of winter to, so was doing well with her thing swords, although Jardora decided she really need to talk the half-elf into getting a good axe when this was all over.  Alain was doing alright as well. Jardora was glad he finally took her advice and took up another weapon other than just his staff. He was making short work of the lava creatures, although he did look tired. In fact all the group looked tired, and if the felt and heavy limb and worn out as Jardora they were definitely getting close to being on their last legs.  Jardora was about to charge back into the fray when she stopped and took a closer look at Alistair’s opponent. It was a lizard man creature with a bright red crest on it head, a scar on its left arm,  on it elbow,  as well one on its leg, starting at its calf and ending at its thigh.  Watching the lava pool Jardora saw a human made of fire emerge from the blistering depths that looked very familiar.

“Oh Bloody... Alain! These buggers ain’t dyin’! They’re coming back in the lava!”

Alain swore loudly and began weaving around the monsters.

                “Jardora, I need you to watch my back while I do this.” The wizard shouted reaching the pool.

“On it laddie buck!”  Jardora said slamming into the fire man that tried to attack Alain in the back.  Alain began chanting and making motions with his hands, and as he progressed with the spell,  the other fire creatures seemed to focus their attention on the spell caster, so much that Alistair and Mave along with Jardora had their hands full dealing with them all.

                “Whatever you are doing Alain, hurry it up!” Alistair shouted, barely avoiding having his head taken off by a flaming axe.  

Without a word Alain’s voice raised to a shout and pushed his upraise hand down towards to the pool.  For a moment nothing happened then a great sheet formed over the lava, cooling it instantly and the lava beasts and men birthed from the pool   began to cool and freeze in their place.

                “Good job Alain. That should keep them out of our way.” Mave said inspecting her former attacker, a horned fire man

“True, but I’m not for sure how long.  We have to move fast.” Alain panted, mopping sweat from his brow and then began casting another spell.

Jardora yipped as she felt herself being lifted into the air and she and the others rose to the open balcony in the tower. The dwarf felt much better when the group touched the solid floor before a great dragon statue.  Alistair grinned and began walking towards the statue and then paused.

“I guess you guys need a moment to rest huh?” The bard turned towards his weary companions. Alain nodded before taking a great swig from his water pouch.

Alistair sighed and then sat down and began to play his small silver flute. He played a relaxing melody that helped Jardora feel refreshed. She hated to admit it but the bard did have his uses.  While Alain mediated to help clear his mind for any further magic casting Jardora studied the room. The first thing that got her attention was the statue that stood in the center of the room. It was nasty looking thing, with teeth bared and menacing stance about it. It definitely did not look like it wished to impart wisdom on anybody, like some dragons were fond of doing, more like it was interested in roasting people and imparting a nice sauce on them. It wasn’t the size an adult dragon, and the way it stood it and move it looked like the sculptor had a human and dragon hybrid in mind.  In it right clawed hand was a large red gem, the source and reason for this bloody quest. With the details of the dragon absorbed Jardora looked around the room, it was plain enough, without too much decoration, but well made, made with the same dark stone of the rest of the tower. The floor was a different matter all together. Instead of tiles, it looked like it had been paved with full skeletons. Some looked human, others smaller, some larger, and then there was some truly strange ones, with horns and tail and spine and spiked sprouting from spines and arms, even shoulders.  Looking at them made Jardora, what kind of person would do that? A necromancer? It this place was made by dwarfs she doubted they did this floor willingly, unless it was one of the few dwarf necromancers that smudged the Dwarfen race long history.

“Alright how shall we do this?” Alain said rising to his feet in a smooth motion.

“I figured I could climb up the back of the statue and pry the gem out of its hand.” Mave said, readying a small thin blade.

“Sounds like a plan... but be careful. We have no idea what surprised this place has for us.” Alain said, eyeing the statue with dislike.

“Will do. Should be a walk in the park. “Mave said walking over the statue. With ease she scaled up the stone dragon’s back and after several minute of   careful manipulation with her blade she was able to free the gem from its holding. Leaping off the head the ranger leading graceful and handing the gem to Alain.

“Anybody else think that was a bit too easy?” Alistair asked as his brother put the gem into his pouch.  

As if it heard the bard there was a great groaning sound from the statue, and it great jewel eyes began to glow.

“Yew jist ‘ad to say somethin’ didn’t ya?”  Jardora growled,   getting her axe ready.

The dragon statue roared and shook to life and great plumes of steam released from its nose and mouth as its cold glowing eyes regarded the adventurers. With a ground shaking the roar it raised a talon and the skeletons in the floor began to raise, weapons forming in their hands. Jardora chanted loud and clear hitting the skeleton with a shot of holy power. The skeletons shrugged of the holy power like it was a light breeze. When her magic hit them Jardora got a sense of the magic animating the skeletons. It was not necromancer, it was an older magic... not necessarily dark more like something twisted, like something that was not meant to be a weapon turned into one, like when bard songs are made to control people rather then enhance them. 

Even without Jardora’s paladin magic to subdue the skeletons the group was able to deal with them with ease.  As they were getting to the last few skeletons the  dragon released a great plume of steam and roared again, the fallen skeletons  raising once more, broken  part mending,  even the part  turned to dust  going back to it place a solid form.

“I am starting to see a theme with this place.” Alistair stated through gritted teeth.

“Well I don’t plan on letting these things wear me out.” Mave growled and flipped over a group of skeletons and began weaving and leaping her way to the dragon statue.  Once again the half-elf began climbing the back of the stone beast, much to its anger. The process reminded Jardora of a hobby of a crazy human she once met. Bull riding he called, riding an enraged bull hanging for dear life.  Being so damn tall must make some humans insane.  With luck Mave was   able to straddle the base of the dragon’s skull and then with great force plunged her twin swords into the dragon’s eyes.  More steam erupted from the beast’s nose and mouth as it roared in pain and began to shake violently. Mave was just barely able to jump clear as the thing fell onto it back with the last of its death throes. As their puppeteer died the skeletons went back to the places in the floor, groaning and chattering away.      

“Well that is that...” Jardora grinned, looking Mave, “Good job, ya bouncy thing.”

“Well thank you.” The ranger grinned and bowed.

Alistair was frowning, his brow furrowed, “Hey Alain, what did you fellow student call this gem?”

“Viscus co Draclok, why?”

“Well did you know that is gnomish for Heart of Dragon?”

Alain blinked, and then looked at the fallen stone dragon’s chest.

“Jardora would you do the honours?”

“Gladly.”  Jardora said, hefting her axe, as she strode over to the dragon like thing.  Raising her axe over her   head she brought it down hard onto the thing’s chest.  The was the crunch of stone and  screech of metal, and after a few more careful  chops Jardora was   able to brush back the broken stone that coating the metal and then was able to peel back the metal. Inside the dragon’s chest were gears and cogs, and most importantly a very large ruby, deepest red and it almost appeared to be beating.

“Well I’ll be damned...How did you know that Alistair?” Mave said, staring at the gem.

“My first clue was the steam coming from its nose and mouth. When I was studying gnome culture I learned during the Cognus Empire they were big into powering machines with steam.”  Alistair explained, shrugging a bit.

“Bloody ‘ell, I guess yew’re not as much a spoony bastard as I thought.” Jardora sighed shaking her head as she removed the ruby.

“I try... what does spoony even mean?”

~the end~

Hope you all enjoyed that. I plan to have another update soon but it will be a ramble post, since I have not done one of those in ages, but it'll be character writing process so it has something to do with story writing process. :D See you next Moon Rise.

Let it all out.

Let it all out.


                Rose sat hugging her knees in her favourite spot on her Aunt and Uncle’s farm, under a massive old oak tree on a hill,  her adolescent body shook with the sobs Rose fought hard to finally suppress.

                “Rosalind?” the soft caring voice of her Aunt reached her long before she saw the middle aged woman come to  the end of the path.  There were only three situations when people used Rose’s full given name, when they were mad at her, when they were being formal and when they were concerned.  Rose was starting to get so sick of the last two she was tempted to act up just to get yelled at.

                When she reached the top of the hill Aunt Megan looked at Rose for several long minutes before saying anything. Rose wondered what Aunt Meg thought when she looked at her ‘inheritance.’ Was it the fact she had so much of her human father in her? Or the fact she seemed to only received bits from her ‘shameful’ grandfather from the Elven side of the family. Even her high cheekbones, so sharp on her High Elf mother, were soften by her father’s human blood.

                “Why did he have to die, Aunt Meg? It’s not fair! He had so many doctors trying the help him!” The question and frustration bubbled out, as if the silence invited it. Rose had to fight back a fresh surge of tears as the words raced from her mouth.

“Oh darling, the doctors did everything they could. Even with magic cancer is a hard beast to beat.” The graceful woman  said, sitting down with ease that seemed to smirk at her age, beside her half elf niece.

“But he was only fifty!  He was too young to die!” Rose raged, although part of her wondered if her feelings were based on the fact that at fifty she’d look like she was in her mid twenties.

“I know darling.” Aunt Meg sighed softly, “But we don’t decide when Lord Mortis send his hounds for us.”

Rose sighed, deciding right there and then  human deities were an extremely violent bunch.

“I just wish he was still here. Its feels like I have nothing left, nothing connected to me. “Rose hugged her knees tighter.

“Oh Rosie, you have me and your Uncle, and your  cousin Michael will be over to visit from the town often, so don’t you worry, we won’t let you fly away on us.” Meg smirked and ruffled Rose’s red hair.

“Come on lets go have some Supper.  A good hearty Supper will put us both back into straights.”

        Supper was definitely a hearty fare; meatloaf with mushroom gravy, mashed potatoes, and buttered green beans, everything homemade.  Supper conversation was mostly about Summer plans, nothing fancy since Summer was a busy time for the farm, but it mid way through was when Uncle Andrew had his grand idea.

   “Rose, I just thought of something. Why don’t you write your mother?”  The question came off casual, as Uncle Andrew wiped gravy out of his bushy moustache.

                Rose blinked her savoury and delicious of gravy laden mashed potatoes became as easy to swallow as broken glass and hot gravel.

“I know it has been awhile, but maybe she would be willing to start up a pen pal type thing with you, or maybe even have you visit once and awhile” Uncle Andrew continued, oblivious to Rose’s blank expression and her sudden trouble swallowing.

Rose took a sip of water, trying to get her food to go down her throat, and maybe to try to force the words back down.

 “Yeah, dad’s lawyer wrote her already.” The words came out in forced calmness.

“Oh? Have you heard back from her yet?” Aunt Meg asked, not noticing Michael’s attempts to draw her attention.

The lie was half formed in Rose’s head when the truth spilt from her mouth like an angry flood.

“Yeah, she said that she had no wish to be in contact with me and that I was to leave her alone.” Those weren’t the exact words her mother had used. The words and their elegant script was burned into Rose’s mind and festered there like an infected wound.  Fear that the words would burn her tongue if she spoke them kept them locked in her mind.

“Please excuse me.” Rose said eyes down as she stood so she wouldn’t have to look at her Aunt and Uncle’s pitying looks. She practically ran outside to escape them.

       It wasn’t long after when Michael found Rose sitting against the barn wall, face upturned to the breeze. She didn’t cry, she didn’t want to waste tears on her mother.

“Sorry about that. Mom and Dad didn’t mean to pester..” Michael said, sitting down with a thump beside his cousin.

“I know, nobody expects to hear that.”

Michael shrugged, playing with a piece of long grass, “I think you’re better off here anyway.  There are lots of animals, fresh air, and a healer in the nearby to help you with your white magic.  Could you imagine you a manor, being proper and all that?”

Rose had to giggle at the thought, “Yeah, I would have been swinging from the rafters from boredom in a month.”

Michael nodded and sighed, “And don’t take this as an offensive, but I knew your mother was a selfish bitch when I met her when I was five.”

Rose nodded and smiled a little she still remembered meeting her favourite cousin that day, when they were still physically and emotionally the same age of five, he was surprised she wanted to go hunt frogs with him, even though it would ruin her dress. Mother was livid when they came home, covered in mud.  She spent the rest of the evening sullen, nursing the bottle of Elven wine she brought with her.

“I know I am going to be happier here. Dad knew it to. The only reason dad’s lawyer contacted Mother was because he was bounded to by law.  It’s just...”  Rose’s vision blurred with tears.  “She called me a mongrel!”  The tears that were held back for so long, even before her father’s funeral, came down like hot rain.

“Oh Rosie...”  Michael wrapped an arm around his sobbing cousin as her thin frame shook with her grief.


Sorry about no updates, my muse has been on a sabbatical for ages now. So I'm posting an old thing I wrote for a writing course. Enjoy!



            Diana sighed cleaning a mug, lost in her own thoughts. At first glance, Diana looked like your regular pretty bartender/waitress. Long black hair pulled out of her face in a simple but messy bun. From the toes to waist it was black dock martins, faded and ripped jeans and a worn dark blue apron tied around her waist. A light blue t-shirt finished off the petite brunette’s casual look. It was when one looked behind Diana that they saw that made her more than just the average bartender. Large black angel wings sprouted from her shoulders, curving elegantly above her head and tips all the way down at her ankles. But despite of her mammoth feathery appendages Diana did not even get a second look from the patrons of the Ink Pot Pub and bar.  That was probably because half the patrons were as odd looking as Diana and the other half looked even odder. The Ink Pot was a place where muses went to hang out. Muses are sprites of inspiration, they would lend their vast imaginations to those who needed them, usually attaching themselves to one person, but occasionally hopping to others.
In those moments when a person reaches a mental road block in the middle of a piece of work, and can’t get started, it usually meant their muse has stepped out for a refresher. Their other muses would be there though, so they wouldn’t be totally without inspiration. There are muses for every style, mood and genre of writing. As well as muses for art, science, or anything else that needs deep thinking, including homework. The Ink Pot was a writing muse bar and pub/resturant.
          Diana sighed, remembering when she was nothing more than patron at the Ink Pot. Diana did not become a bartender for finical reasons, since muses do not use or need money. No Diana became a bartender in her spare time because she had too much spare time. For whatever reason, the writer she had attached herself to seemed not need Diana as much as she used to. And,  after awhile, getting yourself absolutely pie in the sky rambling drunk got boring, especially when the hangovers made you feel like yesterdays road kill. So, out of boredom, Diana did what every other left-on-the-shelf muse did, became a bartender. Well, not all shelfed muses became bartenders, but about ninety percent of them did.
Diana sighed, filling a regular's glass.
“You know Monty,” Diana began, “ I miss the teenage years. She needed me all the time back when she was a teenager. Angst ridden poetry, angst filled short stories, long drawn out crying sessions running over with angst in full stories. The works! It was like working for a soap opera writer. Not any more though. Bah! I get called in for maybe a paragraph or two in a 20 pager!” Diana finished, nearly slamming the drink in front of Monty.
Monty sighed and took a long pull from his frosty beer. Monty was one of the odder-looking muses. He was a muddy brown gecko with a dark frill from his head to his tail, and duck feet, supposedly from his mother’s side. Before he began, Monty nodded in sympathy.
“I don’t envy you angst muses. I mean you all have to deal with the same crap. First you are needed for a while. All day and night they’re asking for ya. You can barely slip out for a cup of coffee. But unless you are tied to a fan fiction freak, you are dropped the minute the writer turns seventeen! Mind you we silly muses don’t have it much better. I mean, most of us don’t get called out unless the writer is bored, stoned, or a sugar high.” Monty spoke in a New Yorker accent, heavily punctuated by coughing fits brought on by his excessive smoking. If the poor lizard had to swallow his lungs back in once, he probably had to a hundred times. Monty couldn’t quit smoking if he wanted to. For whatever reason his image was a smoking tie wearing half gecko half duck critter.

        As Diana was pouring a glass of red wine for Desdemona, another angst muse dressed in Renaissance clothing, the bar went quiet. Looking up Diana saw her. Now normally, muses didn’t create rivalries, even those with the same writer. But this wasn’t and a normal case, at least not for Diana. Jessie, the name of Diana’s hated foe, started coming around to Diana’s writer around the same time Diana did. They got along all right. Jessie, a fantasy muse, let Diana come in and make some angst-ridden scenes once in awhile. But that changed quickly. Jessie never got pushed away from the writer. In fact the writer started to depend on Jessie more and more. Diana was sure that Jessie had gone behind her back and convinced the writer that she didn’t need Diana anymore. It probably wouldn’t so horrible to be replaced by a fantasy muse if she didn’t look so damned plain. No wings, no horns, nothing! Jessie did not even wear weird clothing like Desdemona and some other muses. Not even her hair, a plain old boring reddish brown, was odd. It drove Diana crazy to know she replaced by a muse who did not even look the part. By the Great Muses Jessie looked more like a writer then a muse!
“ And what are you doing here?” Diana asked icily, giving Jessie the coldest stare she could muster. Jessie just smiled sweetly.
“ How I’m just dropping in for a few drinks and some chicken wings. This place has the best chicken wings!” Jessie bounced over to a corner.
She should have been a bloody well card muse… Diana thought to herself. It was coming along to the Ink Pot’s peak hours, so Diana wasn’t able to keep an eye on Jessie. But she had a sneaking suspicion she should.
After a few hours Diana noticed Jessie had barely moved from her spot.
Not even to get up to use the bathroom. She was about to check her out when the waitress serving Jessie called out, “ Jessie is writing this all down!”

“And that is all I got before they booted my butt out of the place.” Jessie said, leaning against the ‘denim blue’ wall of the bedroom.
“ I mean Christ. It is not like there some rule that states Writers may not know where we go when we are not with them!” The muse sighed shaking her head.
From her desk the writer nodded, his messy brown curls bobbing as she busily wrote.

Tags: ,

Just a short one today.
    The young woman looked down at the dark steaming rejuvenating brew, inhaling it rich earthly smells.  Like a man dying of thirst, she eagerly brought it to her lips and took a long sip of the bitter stuff,  her sense feeling sharper as the hot liquid streamed down her throat.

     " I have no idea how you can drink coffee without cream or sugar, Jess." The woman's , Jess, lithe companion remarked, taking a sip from her own coffee.

"Bah! You just don't have an appreciation  for the proper flavour of coffee. The stuff you drink has so much carmel, whipped cream and over crap you can't even taste the coffee. Its a wonder you aren't three hundred pound with severe diabetes."  Jess stated simply, before taking another sip.

" The joys of an Elven immune system!"

This has been a bit that has been going through me brain since University. What I like about this one is it uses one of my favourite literary devices. Not sure of its name but it disguises the amazing with the mundane.

Well until next moon rise folks.

Yes yes I know. Those of you who did read this are probably annoyed and/or ticked at me. But this what you get when you don't give me comments! I get discouraged and move on to other things. But I am going to try again to use this a writing practice thing.  Just for the love of pete people comment! Keep me motivated. Yell at me if I am late!  Any way. Here is a piece that his been spinning around me brain for a bit. Its kinda cruddy but I could not get it out of my head until I wrote it down.

The Characters in my head.

           I wake up just as a vampire goes to bed. We both mutter sleepy greetings and go on with our lives. I start my day, and she ends her night.


                I drink my morning coffee with a wizard, while he drinks his tea. We talk about Astrology and the magical properties of many different things.  A lot of what he says goes right over my head.  It seems magic and science has a lot in common. Mostly that neither magic nor science should be discussed until the second, third or fourth cup of coffee.


                Through out the day I talk to many of the different characters from in my head. An alien tells me my chores would go more quickly if I had more arms. I decline the invitation to add more.  A gnome suggests that he knows ways to make my computer faster, I tell him thanks for the offer, but I am using it at the moment, and I distract him with a fire work.  A bard tells me the state of today’s music is horrendous, but he admits he finds a guilty pleasure in Lady Ga Ga. And a dwarf scolds me for not having one or ten beers with dinner.


                As my day winds down I walk my dogs with a ranger. She comments on all the trees and flowers, and how there seems to be less of them in my world compared to hers. I listen half heartedly; while I watch a dragon and his rider fly over head. His rider whoops with joy, which the dragon occupancies with a roar only I can hear. Both are celebrating the absolute freedom that flying gives them.


                As I get ready for bed, the vampire is getting ready for her night. She tells of her plans for the evening, most of which make go pale and cringe. I suggest that she keeps the mayhem to a minimal, she makes no promises.


                I snuggle into my bed with a smile though. Many people think the life of a writer is a lonely one. That it is not, for I find it full of interesting characters.

Late again.. I know.. bad werewolf.
Here we go..

Late night Lullaby.

 Isabella de Belier, Baroness of Frontiѐre  slowly opened her eyes, woken up from a sound sleep. She blinked her eyes, coming to full wakefulness, wondering what woke her.    A soft whimper pierced the darkness and the Baroness’ musings. A small smile fell on her lips and she eased herself from the bed, careful not to wake her husband, William.

                Carefully, Isabella made her way to the bassinet that sat at the end of her bed.  Most Noble ladies  practically threw their children at nurse maids and threw them both into a nursery and locked the door behind them as soon as the babe draws its first breath.  The practise left a bad taste in Isabella’s mouth and she refused to take part in it herself. If anybody gave her grief about it, she blamed the fact she lost her own mother at a young age.  The Lady of the Lake could not stop Morr taking whom he pleased, even a healthy young woman like Isabella could be taken at a moments notice and she refused to let him have her and leave her children with only a memory or two of her.  

                Isabella looked into the bassinet and smiled at her newborn daughter. Catherine, named  after Isabella’s own mother, whimpered and stuck out her bottom lip in an enormous pout.

“Oh now then what is the matter my little one?”  Isabella cooed softly, gently scooping up the babe.  Catherine snuggled into the soft material that made her mother nightgown that covered her chest, but refused the finger as a test to see if she needed to feed.

“Just a bad dream then? “ Isabella whispered,  sitting down in the rocking chair near the fire place of the room.  She began to hum a soft lullaby, one her mother used to sing to her when she heard the door to her rooms open. Looking up, Isabella smiled as her twin faces of her sons, Gaston and Marcus peak in.

“A bit late to be wandering my lads.” Isabella whispered, still smiling. The boys were expert at sneaking out of the nursery, and were very good at avoiding nannies and night guards.

“ We had nightmares.” Gaston said, as a way of explaining, coming into the room, dark blue eyes wide..

“We aren’t scared or nothing.. just can’t sleep.” Marcus added, following his brother, black hair wild and bed tussled.

Isabella chuckled softly, “ Ah, must be something in the air. I think Catty had a nightmare to. And I think her dream scared her.” Isabella said, using the twins name for Catherine.

“Don’t worry Catty, we won’t let nothing hurt you.” Marcus said, coming over to Isabella’s right side.

“Yeah, we’ll protect you from trolls and dragons.. even Margaret!” Gaston added, coming to Isabella’s left. Isabella had to try hard not to laugh at her sons’ fear at the head nanny.

“I think right now what she needs is a lullaby.” Isabella whispered, , smoothing  Macrus’ and then Gaston’s hair.

“Oh Mama, sing Que  Sera, please mama.” The twins pleaded together.

Isabella smiled, “ As you wish.” A began to sing. It was a sweet song, neither too fast or slow, about how a young Lady, hoping for glory and romantic love, was given advice by both her mother and lover that they should let fate play out as it will, and eventually  the young Lady, now ‘grown with children of her own’ gives the same advice to her children.

                When Isabella finished she marvelled at her children. Catherine had fallen straight to  sleep, tiny hand clutching her blanket.  Gaston had fallen asleep, head rest on his cross arms on the arm of the rocking chair. Marcus had put up more resistance,  always wanting to here more of the song, had his chin rest on the arm of the chair, clutching it tight.

“Now I just have to figure out how to get you back into you crib without waking your brothers.” Isabella commented to the sleeping babe, her voice a soft whisper.

The sound of feet on the floor caused Isabella to look towards the bed, to see William waking towards her.

“I’m sorry love, I was hoping not to wake you.”

“Not a problem my dear.” William smiled, leaning down and kissing Isabella’s forehead.

“There are worst way to wake up.” William chuckled scooping up  Gaston then moving over to pick up Marcus, “ Beside, it looks as if you were in need of my help. I’ll be back in a moment.” William smiled again and carried his twin sons out of the room with ease.

Isabella placed Catherine in her bassinet and watched in her wonder. She was such a small little child, almost delicate. She inherited that from Catherine, who even after having three children, still looked fragile. It was too to figure out who the babe would take after in colouring. Being only a few days old, her hair was still that dark wiry birthing hair, and her eyes were the birth pale.  Isabella  hoped Catherine had William’s hair, a soft sandy brown, instead of her own ebony locks, more trouble then the worth.

“How is she?” William asked, wrapping his strong arms around his wife’s waist.

“She had a bad dream, but seems to be fine now.”

“Poor little dear.” William stroked his daughter’s cheek with a gently finger,” Don’t worry my little princess, Papa will protect you.”

Isabella chuckled softly, “ Somebody has Papa wrapped around her little finger.”

Since Catherine’s birth, William had been enchanted by the little girl, his face breaking into a smile. Isabella knew in the future she’d had to watch him carefully, or he’d spoil Catherine rotten.

“I assure you my dear, I won’t be the last. I’m sure her uncles will be smitten when they see her. Which reminds me, we should get back to bed. We have much to do get ready for her christening.”

“True true. Only bad side of having children, all the fuss afterwards. “ Isabella sighed as she and her husband headed back to bed.

“Honestly, I am starting to wonder if we the Nobility are expected to throw a party every time we pass wind.”

William gave a deep chuckle, “ I hope not.  I know some men who would never stop having a party.”

Laughing the couple went back to bed, resting for another busy day.

Alright, some explaining. This a story concerning my general for my Warhammer army, which is Bretonnia, a nation based off of King Arthur myths.  The nathion's patron Goddess is the Lady of The Lake, and Morr is the God of death.

Now then, why did I do this story? One, I have a bizzare fasination with what heroes are doing when they aren't being heroic. I like the whole family time stuff.  The other reason.. I wanted a reason to have someone sing my favourite lullaby as a child, Que Sera. I couldn't figure out how to translate it for Bretonnians, but I still wanted to put it in there. Bit of tribute to my mom.

Any roadf, see ya next moon rise.

- Warhammer, Bretonnians, Morr, the Lady of the Lake belongs to Games Workshop.. NO SUE!

Sorry guys, nothing today. I've got the blah big time.. maybe tomorrow.