Monday, July 10, 2017

A Dragonologist's Journal


Dragonologist: June 14, 2014 (First publication of this dragonologist's search for a live dragon and the revealing of the red dragon, Keensight.)


I did not see a dragon at all today even though I am in an area where there was a reported sighting.  I did find some burn marks that might indicate this is a hunting area of a dragon with a breath of flame. However, I am unable to verify at this time.  This area is rife with mosquitoes and other irritating pests.  While this would not deter a dragon, I am finding myself quite uncomfortable and smelling of a great deal of bug spray.  Fortunately I thought to pack my mosquito net and will be able to sleep without such irritations.

Dragonologist:  June 16, 2014

I have entered more dangerous terrain. There is more evidence of flaming here even among the rocks. I think I am getting close and will proceed with caution.  A soot test revealed that some of the marks were as recent as within the month.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

The Trap!



Travis Hite - Reader's Challenge

Items:
The greatest alchemist in all the lands
A room that does not exist
A game of chess
A poisoned tea set



Oberan moved through his lab as if there were a clear path. To any other guest, the room looked almost impassible. There were tables with burners, beakers, tubing and other necessary items for alchemy. The far wall held the components he needed. He had done so much work for others until a month ago. The young mage eyed the wall of components then referenced his list. A month ago, Oberan had found reference to the possibility of opening a portal to a room no other could enter. He wanted to access this room for his research documents, unique potions and dangerous elements. It would add to his already overfilled labatory and let him protect his most valuable finds and property. Despite a mage by birth, alchemy was his great love.

He had been making extracts all week. You could not make extracts too far in advance as their properties faded over time. Some lasted only a week or two. The last extract he needed to make was from cat eyes. Oberan scoured the shelves. He had harvested all the parts of a cat about two month's ago. The problem was there were a number of elements starting with C was rather extensive. Finally, he found the jar with the two cat's eyes. He moved back to his current work station, side stepping boxes and tables as he went.

He placed the eyes into the boiling liquid. He had a been warned that there was a trap to the room. He had also found notes of the need for a gift. The young man had purchased an intricate tea set lined with gold for its purpose. He was so close to finishing. The elements were now all purchased. Some had been hard to find and a good half of his store of silver and gold coins had been given to the cause.

Once the liquid had boiled for some time, the remaining contents had condensed down. He carefully decanted the liquid to separate it from the now shriveled eyeballs. The mage placed the vial of hot liquid next to a row of other such vials and beakers.

He set the cauldron on the larger burner he had created after the concept of the updraft stoves. He fed the small opening with shortened branches that he had started calling pegs. He was ready. Everything was ready.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

Work, Relax - A Needed Concept in an Author

It is amazing to watch others write.  Some write for the money, some for non-fiction as it is a constant source of income and I might do some of this if I ever cannot teach.  Some write for fame - but don't want the work it takes to achieve fame.  And some, write like I do, because the story bubbles behind the self conscious, teasing and creating anxiety until you write it down.  My brain sees things and goes - that would make a good story, hears things and goes - that will make a good story, feel things and goes... well you get the idea.

I cannot refrain from writing. If I am not writing, I am role playing which is just another kind of writing, but you don't know where the end will be.   I am also a pantzer - this means I don't outline. I am all about characters and well, they tell the story.

However, I do have a mentor that I strive to model my routines after - Ray Bradbury.  This amazing author wrote 1000 words no matter what and many of them never reached but a few in the public eye. Regardless, he wrote.  For those of you that like writing novels, that is a new rough draft every 120 days.  As an independent writer, the long tail effect begins to ebb after about 180 days.  So if you want to stay viable, you have to write daily and read daily.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Livewrite: Ferryman of the Damned

Anonymous submission
slavetrader
place where I was born
addiction
Mud puddles

The sound of pelting rain, it never failed to fall when it was most unwelcome. Curt tugged up his collar of his jacket in a gruff manner. Giving a heavy sigh, he ran through the streets of the coastal city of Davenport. The streets barren of anyone living that didn’t have to be out in the pouring rain, soon he would be out of this mess and back to his ship. The new goods had come so quickly from the seller, his crew had hardly set foot onto land before they were wanting to shove off again.

 His thoughts yanked back as he misstepped and sank ankle deep in mud. Falling forward, his right arm came into contact with another puddle as the mud oozed through his fingers. With a growl, Curt wrenched free his arm and foot. The rain making it no easy task and further soaking his clothing.

 “Great, juuuust great.” muttering as he shook off the muck. The squishing of his boot sounded just above the din of the rain falling. Home after warm home and inn he passed, tempting him with a place to hole up until this mess of wind and rain was over. But, duty called and he wasn’t getting paid to sit comfortably on his ass in a warm hut. After rounding yet another switchback in the streets, the port was in view, his ship, Mari Toth, bobbed in the waves.

Image result for public domain sargo sailing ship

A smirk crossed his face once he got closer to the warf inns and saloons. The sound of revelry whispered like a siren’s call. He could imagine his men trading slips and tokens for drinks and the touch of soft pleasures, oh how he desired that. A gust of wind whipped surf into his face as he looked up. One of the crew was looking over a soaked manifest near the ship. His expression sour, Curt knew instantly that this was not a job he wanted to be taking.  His crew were standing around with large eyes and the ship was strangely quiet enough to hear the small harbor ripples hit the side of the massive ship.