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Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in dragonblade's LiveJournal:

Friday, February 23rd, 2007
11:43 am
[ebonwind]
Is anyone still here?
Anyone still reading? Writing? Looking at this livejournal? Well... in case you are, there is the lastest updated version of Feathers Falling Fast. Granted, it's only the first chapter, but hey, I think it's come a long way from my sort of vague idea to a much more concrete world. Feel free to take a lookCollapse )

All feedback is welcome. After all, while I have had this idea for a long time, I am just now putting it into a more concrete form. I plan on getting into the head of various other characters, so any comments would be welcome.

Current Mood: creative
Tuesday, March 19th, 2002
4:09 pm
[ebonwind]
Feathers Falling Fast
She fell, falling faster each second but not fast enough. She could see the ground, miles off, slowly rising in anticipation of her landing, but still that was not fast enough. The length allowed her to remember, to think back...

...

She had been raise by Them. They were the warders of the land. They watched over everything, protecting it. Or so They claimed. For years she had believed Them and Their lies, clinging to Their every words. And then she found out the truth.

It had been a slow processes, learning the truth. She had been with Them for so long that she doubted it herself, but she couldn't ignore it. She had found scars on her back, right by her shoulder blades. What are these? she wondered. She had researched it and found what they were...

She always had a affinity to the air. She could call up a pleasant breeze, or float to the ground instead of fall. She could ask the weather to be nice if she was going out that day, or call up a storm if the land was parched. For years They told her it was just her mind, that she couldn't do that, that no one could do that. But They were wrong.

She had found books in Their secret library. Books on magick and other wondrous things. She read of dragons and unicorns, dryads and faeries, sylphs and undines, gnomes and dwarves, elvenkind and a million other species she had never seen, much less heard of. Then she found the lists.

They were killing all of the creatures! Centaurs were slaughtered, elves now in hiding, faeries caught and locked away in bottles, even the dragons were slain. Each list had the name of the creature and when it was killed or imprisoned. She read down, then she saw her name. She was once a creature too...

It all made since to her, her magick abilities, how They watched her, discouraged her, but one thing was still missing... why did she have scars? She checked the top of the list, where it mentioned what type of creature the ones listed were. Then it made since, it all fell into place. She couldn't stay with Them any longer, she had to leave, now...

So she had climbed the nearby mountain, sneaking away during the day, taking food with her. She climbed higher and higher, until she could see Them following her. She was too precious for Them to lose, but she was already lost to Them. Finally, she facing west, she had thrown herself from the mountain. She couldn't live without her wings...

...

But her fall then slowed, her plan was failing. She wasn't going to fall to her death. She looked to see why, and realized that she had changed. In her act to give up her life rather than live without wings, she had made a glorious transformation. No longer was she a wingless angel, but now she was a winged one. Her feathers were of sunlight, as were her eyes and hair. She glowed with all the power They had tried to take away.

But it was not only her that had changed, for now she could see all the sylphs, spirits, and sprites that she had been blind to before. She was surrounded with magick, as They were, but They choose to be blind, and had lost the ability to see the truth. They could never conquer magick, for it was everywhere and in everything...

Current Mood: contemplative
Sunday, February 17th, 2002
10:34 pm
[katherini]
Clay - Part 1
The floor was a reddish clay on which she knelt. Her knees carried the tinge that comes with the profession, but it was her hands that one noticed first. Callused and dry from the work, yet they were gentle, and always in motion. They ran across the surface of a baby dragon wing. She pressed the wing again, found it too dry, dipped the fingers of her right hand in a small pot of water beside her right knee. She returned her hand to the wing, which lifted of its own accord and shaped itself against the palm of her hand. She opened her hand wide. The wing stretched like flexible elastic to fill the expanse. It tightened, appearing thin and delicate, but she knew dragon wings to be resilient. She folded the wing across the dragons tiny chest already encrusted with thin diamond plates armor of the most enduring type. She lifted her other hand and the second wing flew to it like a moth toward the light. It stretched tight as the first under her open palm, and this new appendage she wrapped overtop the chest and folded wing. She tucked the head under a wing, and bent the knees, pushing the legs into the abdomen to assume the fetal position.
* * * * * * * *
Were just above it now, said Djanka, tilting her scaly snout to look at her rider with one eye. Her voice was deep enough to be heard over the drumbeat of her wings. Ensli, do you see the red mountains?
He did. Their timeless faces sculpted the horizon of the morning sky. Each contained the red tinge, the life-force of the Ardinthaima Mountains. The Ardinthaima Mountains! During childhood, the name was a sacred whisper in the inaccessible reaches of the adult world. What he had known for sure, because all children knew as much, was that the clay from the mountain range created life when handled by the right people. Anything he believed past that was usually speculation.
Saturday, February 9th, 2002
8:44 pm
[ebonwind]
Identity Crisis: Of Ice Elves and Humans...
A cool breeze touched her face blowing strands of silver hair into her eyes. The ground was covered with lush viridian moss with blue star-shaped flowers poking up here and there. She looked around, absorbing her surroundings. She was in a glade, a forest glad, with massive trees surrounding her. A small pool silently sat in a corner of the glade, half in shadow and half in light. It was so peaceful. Not a sound could be heard. That's when it dawned on her that this was wrong. Very wrong.

"Where am I?" Arly asked herself. Then she pinched herself to make sure she was awake.

She shivered, and looked to see what she was wearing. She was in a towel. Nothing more.

"What?" Arly exclaimed in shock.

Arly walked over to the pool and looked at her reflection.

"This is me? But I changed... how... what..." then her memories came flooding back.

Arly had been taking a pleasant shower, daydreaming about what it would be like to be an Ice Elf. Ice Elves were human-like creatures with sky blue skin, silver hair and eyes, and pointed ears. They could also do magic. And Arly, who once was human, now was an Ice Elf in truth. Her reflection showed a blue-skinned, silver haired elf.

"But how?" she wondered aloud, "I was just daydreaming, it wasn't real..." and yet it was. She was now an Ice Elf, in an unknown land, wearing a towel. Great.

"Well, I might as well test out my powers. If I am an Ice Elf, I should be able to get some clothes!" with those words and a hastily formed spell, Arly found her powers were true too.

Now, instead of a towel, she was dresses in a long white sleeveless gown with silver trim and tough white leather traveling boots. As an afterthought, she added long white gloves and and full white cloak, to hide herself, in case Ice Elves weren't common or where hunted. You never knew what the laws would be like in a strange land...

Just when Arly had settled the cloak in place over her shoulders, a voice spoke to her. Unfortunately in a language she didn't know. She turned around to face the person speaking. He was some sort of mercenary or maybe a prince, she decided from his stance and tone of voice. He was used to having his way.

"I don't understand you!" Arly exclaimed, forcing him to stop and realize that she didn't know what he was saying.

He shook his head, and looked at her intensely with his black eyes. *Great, she speaks a different language. How am I supposed to ask her anything now!* he angrily thought to himself. Arly overheard his thoughts and could understand his words. Thoughts were spoken in the universal language that all people could understand and Arly's new powers included mental telepathy. She mind-spoke back,

*Hello? Can you hear me? I can hear you.*

The man's head snapped up and he stared at her. *Who are you!* he thought.

*I'm called Arly, and you?* she politely responded.

*I'm Danthu. Did you do magic?* he demanded.

*Um, well, yes. Could you hear that? I'm sorry, I'm kind of new here.* Arly was shocked that he had somehow tracked her by her hasty spells.

*Yes. It is obvious you aren't trained. That is not good... How did you get here?* Danthu again demanded.

*I don't know. One minute I was in my house, the next I was here. I wasn't expecting to come here!* Arly exasperatedly stated.

*Really? You just appeared..." a strange look came over Danthu's face. *Do you know where you are?*

*No.*

*Well, this is my forest, I am a King, and I will show you the way out if you will come back to my castle.* he said a little too sweetly

*What do you mean?* Arly said, feigning naivety.

*I called you here from a distant world to be my wife.* he boasted. *I am very powerful and only a female that can match my power will marry me. That female is you!* he said as if this would win over her heart.

*Like Hell I will! I don't even know you!* Arly angrily flew back into his mind.

He looked shocked, like many people didn't go against what he said. Then again, since he was a king and had a lot of power, he probably didn't have to deal with many people going against what he said.

*You really want to marry me?* Arly seethingly asked, *Then you have to FIND me first!* and with those words she teleported away, this time making sure she wove the spell back on itself she he couldn't sense it.

He stared in blank shock, then teleported back to castle to make plans. He smiled. He was right to bring her. All the other's had agreed to his words, but they had been unable to cope with their new lifestyle. They had been meek, afraid of his power. They were all dead. This one looked promising.

........

Arly fumed at his presumptuousness. How dare that "king" assume that she would marry him for his power!

"I don't know him, and I don't want to know him!" she muttered under her breath weaving through the streets of a city.

Her spell had taken her to the capital, like she had wanted it to, for the best way not to be found was to be in a populous place. In fact, it looked like there were other Ice Elves here too. That would be good. Of course, he would probably search for a human... Arly giggled at the thought of King Danthu looking in vain for a human for the rest of his life.

Arly wandered around, always making sure she looked like she knew where she was going, for if she didn't, everyone would know she was new and would take advantage of her. To her surprise, she understood the dialect the the Ice Elves were speaking. Wishing to make friends, Arly went over to talk with them. Danthu would never find her now...

**********************************************************************************************

This is actually chapter one, but I rarely get beyond the first chapter when I am writing. Usually my short stories are just first chapters which I haven't taken the time to write the rest.

The names are pronounced as they are spelled.

Hope you enjoy ^_~

Current Mood: giddy
Monday, February 4th, 2002
11:03 pm
[ebonwind]
My muse doth speak...
This is my first community I joined! Yeah! My muse really doth speak and so, on with the story.

The Sorcerer that was Allergic to Magic

Marlion was allergic to magic, or so his mother claimed. When he was young he sneezed a lot and his mother took the opportunity to blame someone nearby of sorcery. His sneezing got worse when he got older and so did his mother's claims against everyone in a ten mile radius of his sneeze. By the time he was sixteen nobody wanted to be around him, and he didn't want to be around them for his mother would just condemn them as a witch. He was very lonely, with no one to talk to and was sick of his mother accusing all of his would-be friends just because of his sneezing. He started to spend more time in the woods than in the village, for at least the trees couldn't be condemned.

It was the perfect fall day. The sun was streaming down through the leaves and the sky was a perfect shade of turquoise. The breeze was light, yet refreshing and rustled the leaves along with his dark brown hair. Since it was just turning fall, the sun was still warm and the breeze was lighter than the wintry breezes that were yet to come. The leaves too were no longer there royal summer green. They now bedecked the trees in riots of reds, oranges, and golds. Marlion thought that it was a beautiful day... and then he sneezed.

As he continued to walk through the trees he caught a glimpse of his village Ringarn, all decked out, like the trees, in the festive colors of the autumn fair. The bright colors of the tents complimented the colors of the leaves. Standing in neat rows the tents beckoned onlookers with sparkles and flashes of color. Marlion sneezed again, this time twice in a row. He sadly looked at the tents knowing that he could never go there, for the villagers would hate him if his mother shut down the fair for using magic. Filled with anger and regret, Marlion turned around, intending to walk away, but instead almost ran into a girl about his age. He sneezed again.

"Hello," the girl said, regarding him with golden eyes, "My name's Illiana, what's yours?"

Marlion stared at the girl in shock. She hadn't run away when he had sneezed! She wasn't afraid of him. Now it was his turn to regard her. As he did, he realized that they were complete opposites, she was fair where he was dark. Her golden hair and eyes matched his dark brown hair and eyes; only their skin was the same pale shade. Getting over his initial shock he responded,

"Hi, I'm Marlion." she smiled at his shock.

"Are you really allergic to magic?" she asked.

He stared at her in shock again, then composed himself and replied, "I don't know," then he added, "Are you?"

Illiana laughed and responded,"Yes! I'm a quarter Gold Dragon. And you're magical too." she looked at his shocked expression and added, "Are you always sneezing like that?"

Marlion sneezed again and replied, "Why yes, yes, I am."

"I thought so," she smiled to herself, "I think that you are allergic to yourself."

"I'm allergic to MYSELF?" Marlion cried in utter shock, and then thinking about it he added, "I think you are right... I'm always sneezing... it does make sense... but is there a cure?" this last thought was more of a plea.

Illiana frowned slightly, "Let me think, I don't know a lot about magic, just a few simple spells and such... but I think there is an herb that can help you. Do you know what Sorceror's Bane looks like?"

"Sorcerer's Bane? I've never heard of it, much less seen it." Marlion replied.

"You would be surprised with what you know," she retorted, "Sorcerer's Bane is also known as Clingvine. It's not Purple Clingvine, the most common form; but Red Clingvine, the type that grows in forests. I'll show you a place where it grows."

Marlion wasn't given a chance to respond, for Illiana had started off into the heart of the woods. Marlion had no choice but to follow. After a five-minute walk (made longer by several large sneezes) they found themselves in the shrubbier part of the forest and then they stopped. Growing on the trees were many vines with bright red, four petaled flowers. Illiana walked over and picked a leaf before turning back to Marlion.

"This is a Clingvine," she calmly explained, "They were almost destroyed by the Society of Magi, for the flowers are deadly poison to all workers of magic. But the leaves, the leaves have the curious property of stopping all allergies. If you eat a leaf you won't sneeze for three hours, but then it will wear off."

Marlion looked in surprise at the simple ivy-lie leaf and then took the one in Illiana's hand. With one last gaze at Illiana, he placed the leaf in his mouth and began to chew. It wasn't that unpleasant. He swallowed the leaf. As soon as he was done, Illiana started to levitate.

"What are you doing?" he said in shock as she wafted higher.

"I'm making sure the leaf helps," she came back to the ground, "Feel like sneezing?"

"Um, well, now that you mention it, no. I don't feel like sneezing at all. Amazing!" Marlion smiled and picked several more leaves to put in his pockets. "I will be able to go to the fair now!" he happily cried.

Illiana smiled shyly at him and said, "I would like to go with you, if you will let me. After all, you should learn magic if you have the talent, and definitely have talent! I could introduce you to my parents, they could teach you... along with me..."

"I think I would like that." Marlion replied, and arm in arm they set off to the autumn fair. Marlion was finally free.

***********************************

Pronunciation Guide

Marlion - Mar-lee-on - stress on the -lee-

Ringarn - Ring-garn - stress on the -garn

Illiana -Ill-e-on-a - stress on the -on-

The rest should be self explanatory.

Current Mood: peaceful
Wednesday, January 16th, 2002
4:43 pm
Creative Project in Humanities last year
"Ah, yes," said a moustached man in a dark suit. "Perfect balance and symetry. Harmonious, like Wagner. Yes, it screams of Wagner!" Before him stood an intricately decorated stone monument with six turrets and three balconies. "After wlking around the perimeter I noted that each of the six sides is substantially different, and yet the whole structure conveys a sense of unity. Very good, yes, very good. Mr. Thurmond, you have a veritable talent. But tell me - how long did this project take you?"

Alex Thurmond stood by his work and stroked one of the turrets affentionately with his index finger. "I played with the idea of it, sir, for about two years. The actual construction took me three months. The hardest part, of course, was carving the statuettes in full relief because they are each only a quarter of an inch high. If you put a magnifying glass up to the statue of Madonna, you will see the creases in her dress. All great art is made of small details."

"Astounding detail! Yes, magnificent," agreed the man, leaning down as his face neared the Madonna. He straightened up again and turned to the architect. "Oh, may the photographer enter now?"

"Of course." The photographer shot an overhead picture and photos from all six sides. The man in the suit gestured for him to stay.

"Dave, be a good fellow and take a shot from this angle. That way the back of the statuettes are showing. You need to give the computer as much information as possible. Good, good, that'll do." After the photographer left the gallery room, the critic turned back to Alex Thurmond. "This is on display for a month, I believe, and then I presume it goes to the Disintegrator?"

The architect's first reaction was a slight flinch, then he forced an uneasy smile and a nervous giggle. "Oh, well, I'm a slightly nostalgic fellow. I am an artist, after all. I'll probably keep it on display in my house for a few weeks and them I'll bring it to the Disintegrator to recycle all it molecules. After all, if I didn't recycle the stone, then where would I get new stone to carve?"

The critic eyed him with raised eyebrows. "In your house, eh? Well, to each his own," he said, carefully feigning nonchalance. "But off to the Disintegrator after a few weeks. A delayed, but inevitable fate. Recycle. Yes, recycle and conserve. There is only so much room for new things in this world."
* * * * * * *
"'To each his own,' he said, 'To each his own!' It makes me sick!" Alex pronounced angrily. "He didn't make that building with his own hands. He didn't feel it slowly grow and form into reality. What would he care about it? The idea of that building has been inside me for so long. Now that it's been realized I can't just throw it away!"

"Alex, have you ever Disintegrated any of your art?" Janet asked.

"Well, some of it. Yeah, every once in a while. My art is a part of who I am. Disintegration - well, it's like I have no self-respect!"

"But you're not throwing it away. It was photographed. It will be saved forever."

"Janet, somehow having a computer compile those photos into a 3-D rendering of my art just isn't the same. You can't feel or smell it. Your shadow will never fall across it just so. I know , those are just details, but-"

"Great art is composed of details. You told me already. Alex, I am an artist, too. I love to sculpt ice, and each sculpture is a part of me. Just because the sun melts my work doesn't mean I am losing my self. My sense of self is too strong to be shaken by a silly little thing like that. Alex, you wnat to find your self so badly that you cling to your art as if therein lies all the answers. Your art is beautiful - it's amazing, but it's not you. Once you learn to let go, rip away the excess, then maybe you can find your self. Your self will come while you are not looking for him."
* * * * * * *
Alex carried the stone monument into his house and scanned his living room for a place to set down the sculpture. Older pieces of art covered every surface of the room and much of the floor and so he set it on the kitchen table. "Maybe I should Disintergrate one of these pieces to make room for the new one. No, I could never do that. Somehow I will find room for them all."

He rifled through his new mail and jerked when he saw the mailer's address. He quickly opened the envelope and read the letter anxiously. Grimly, he refolded the letter, put it back in the envelope and let it fall gently on the table. He then grasped a sculpture with both his hands and launched it across the room with an enraged yell.
* * * * * * *
"They said that although I am highly qualified for the job, they have chosen an Italian woman to construct the new building. Ever since I was little I knew that I wanted to construct real buildings, not just the eight-inch high stone models I've been making my entire life. I guess I'll never get the chance because a new building is constructed only once every thousand years.

"It wasn't always like this, you know. Buildings were destroyed by fire, tornados, and earthquakes, not to mention the ever-so-slow erosion of great stone temples caused by exposure to the elements. The world gave an anguished cry when someone dared say that the pyramids in Egypt would one day crumble into sand. Thousands of years later, posterity must still enjoy the Egyptian pyramids - it's part of our heritage!

"So, we learned to neutralize earthquakes and tornados. We coated our buildings to prevent fires and damage from sun and rain. All the great architectural wonders were preserved. Every beautiful structure built since then was preserved. The result, of course, is that today every building is a work of art.

"The problem we've finally come up against is that there is no more room for anything new because we cling too tightly to our past. Our culture is becoming stale because no one appreciates new art. Naturally, our art is preserved just like we preserve everything, but in the much smaller living space inside the memory of a computer. We are foced to shrink our art to small proportions, them we Disintegrate it because there is not enough room for it."

Janet had listened patiently until then, and when she saw that Alex had finished she said, "If we don't preserve those buildings, won't we lost part of our heritage and identity?"

"People are constantly evolving," Alex replied. "Artwork from thousands of years ago has a beautiful intrigue, but it doesn't express the essence of present day society."

"You're saying that getting rid of previous artwork is not denying one's self, but rather accepting the constant evolution of the self. Is that it?" Alex remained silent. "Then why aren't you contented with Disintergration?"

"This work is choking me! I am limited in the size of my work, and in how long I get to keep it. My creativity is wilting because I can't exercise it to its greatest potential, and I am withering with it. How can you, as an artist, stand for such a thing?"

Janet looked at him with a worried expression, and her voice took on a pleading quality. "I never said I liked how our work is shoved in a back closet. I could never say that, but there comes a point where you have to just let it go. No, the world is not perfect - not by a long shot - but the world is real, and in the end that's all that counts. There are people that fight for principles and there are those that fight for survival. My art never gets any recognition but I don't worry about that. I just go on surviving. You can't blame me for that."

"I'm not like you are, Janet," Alex said. "I can't just keep on surviving. It's going to kill me sooner or later."

"It doesn't have to. You're just confused, that's all. This isn't the way to solve your problems. Come with me. Be like me, I'm doing fine. You're saying all this because you are in conflict with yourself. You need to find your self."

"You're right, Janet," Alex said softly. "I need to find myself."
* * * * * * *
"I came as soon as I heard," said Janet, breathlessly. "Where is he. Someone said-"

"The Disintegrator, Janet," confirmed the manager of the museum with a nod. "Down that hall, first door to the left." He walked her into the room.

"I thought that Disintegrators were made small, to prevent this sort of thing from happening."

"They are, dear, but not the ones in museums. Those are bigger because the artists need to Disintegrate their artwork, which tends to be a large size. Large enough for him to do the job."

Janet gasped when she saw the headless body sprawled out on the floor. Presumably, he had opened the Disintegrator and Disintegrated his head. Then, she noticed a small flashlight that must have fallen out of his hands. "What could this mean?" she thought. "It meant something. He is the master of details."

"I can't seem to figure out the flashlight," said the manager. "It appears he was searching for something right before he died."

"Yes," Janet breathed softly. "He was searching for his self."
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