Author's Corner

[Tormsskull]

Hey everyone,

I've noticed that as far as writing goes we don't have a huge number of posters interested in reading/critiquing short stories or chapters of novels and such. There are other sites more suited to creative writing, but I feel like GITP has a good amount of creative authors.

As such, I'm suggesting this thread for any story that you want to receive feedback on. Post your story in this thread, and I'll read it (and hopefully others) and give you a review/critique ASAP.

A few things to keep in mind:
1.) Please Webformat your piece. This is simply adding a space in-between paragraphs. It makes your piece much easier to read, which will encourage others to critique it.

2.) Please indicate if you want a full review or a brief review. A full review would be pointing out spelling errors, grammar errors, general advice on wording/sentence structure & comments/suggestions. A brief review would be just comments/suggestions. I won't guarantee that I'll find every error, but I'm usually pretty good at finding them. If you ask for a full review you should have already looked it over at least once yourself, and be aware that it may take a bit longer.

3.) Don't be afraid to share your writing! I really enjoy reading, it is one of my favorite past times, so please give me something to read.

Ok, I hope to receive some works from you all.

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Eh, alright, why not...

Heres a story I wrote recently for a character in a game I'm entering. Brief or Full, either are fine by me. Went through it a bit recently, but sure I missed some stuff.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Misfortune of Bandytwine Damps
A flash of lightening lit the expanse of murky dark water, illuminating a tiny creature floundering about with growing weakness. The rain came down with such ferocity that it was difficult to discern where the waters ended and the pounding droplets began. It made little difference to the figure who knew he would drown opening his mouth into either, only the air clear beneath his expansive nostrils allowing him to gain breath.

Normally there would be many trees within which he could take refuge, but all the bottomreachers were covered over by the arcing waves of the flooded marsh. These waves had swamped the craft upon which his grandfather and he had been sailing. The rushing waters had quickly separated them.

Of floaters there was no sign, unless the occasional deeper shadow against the horizon was indication. The rainfall had continued for days it seemed, with the dusk of the great clouds darkening to an almost impenetrable gloom that even he could not see far through. He rolled onto his back to rest, but was only able to remain that way for several moments, his hands held to shield him from the choking downpour in vain. As he began to turn back around to paddle he felt something scratch his scalp painfully. Turning around, he saw a dark shape before him and scrambled for it in desperation. Beneath his hands was the rough feel of reeds, sticks and other buoyant bracken. His arms felt like they were weighted down with the world as he slowly, with agonizing exertion, pulled himself up. There he lay panting for several beautiful moments as he was able to rest. Then, as best he could, he attempted to burrow down into the debris to shield him from the water.

He was awakened by a sudden jolt and felt that his haven had come to a stop. The clouds had let up slightly, the rising sun causing many to glow with colors while the opposite horizon remained in stark dark contrast. Illuminated before him was his haven, far larger than he thought, though still only maybe forty feet across. Its motion had stopped as it had bumped up against the edge of an island. It was a real island, one of the few he had ever seen, composed of earth and actual stone. The small beach here was of sharp pebbles surrounded by cliffs that seemed immense to his height of hardly more than a foot. Though he was grateful to his bobbing brick and brack, he held no loyalty to it and jumped for land, his thick, bare feet being uncomfortably pricked by the rocks. Following the beach showed that it was larger than he thought, continuing into a canyon that fit narrowly between the two faces of stone. The canyon was concealed by fog and as he entered he saw that many odd formations of curving deposits spotted the valley, filled with steaming waters tinted with a living crust of floating green and yellow. He at first enjoyed the warmth, but the fumes made his throat burn and his eyes water. While seeking the other end he came across a sloping path that rose up through a crack in the cliff walls. As he climbed it rapidly grew cooler and wild rhododendron began to grow in the sparse pockets of captured soil up the wall's side. Moss began to grow and by the time he had come to the top he was in a lush forest. The path continued, ferns outlining the twisty course.

Within a short time he found himself standing before a mud and dabble hut with a roof thatched with reeds. A brick chimney protruded from the roof in the back with a faint trail of foggy mist rising from it. Surrounding it was many strange trees thick with moss and mistletoe, few which he could recognize or that he had seen in the rest of the forest. A small garden stretched out to one side, though the trees grew even amongst the currently flooded soil. Though he could not smell the smoke, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since the storm began. He pressed an ear against the cottage's door but could hear only a faint bubbling sound. He tentivaly knocked, the thin door shaking with his minuscule force. There was no answer so he simply lifted the latch and stepped within.

It was oddly large inside, seeming somewhat bigger than it appeared without, and if the outside seemed damp, he felt he was almost swimming again in the strangely-scented humidity within. Shelf after shelf of jars and pots lined the walls, beneath which were lidded wooden barrels with damp green moss growing upon them. A wooden table stood to one side of the room which appeared to be quite rotten in places, sprouting large toadstools. A wide fireplace sat within the opposite side of the room with a great black kettle bubbling above the dying embers.

His stomach twisted with hunger so with a leap he chinned himself onto one of the barrels and pried at the lid of its neighbor. He finally succeeded with a great heave and glanced down to see what was inside. He froze in horror as a huge eye gazed up at him, filling the barrel's rim. He gave a great cry and dropped the lid back down as it blinked in confusion. He immediately leaped to the mossy floor, falling to his knees as his legs shook crazily. He then gasped and fell backwards as a hermit crab climbed out of a clay pot on the overhead shelf and scuttled down the wall directly in front of him to squeeze within a mouse hole.

Breathing wildly, he stood and ran back for the door when a giant raven with eight legs lowered itself on a silken string from the ceiling and grabbed at him with its talons. He screamed hysterically and backed away towards the cauldron. A deafening hiss sounded behind him and a tentacle shot out of the boiling liquid to wrap around his throat. He gurgled in pain and horror as he was slowly pulled towards the scalding pot. The raven lowered to the floor and its form shifted and sloughed as it grew into an enormous woman, to the gnome's mind. Her face was exceedingly fair and ageless. Her hair was a dark grey however, and dropped completely down to her feet. It draped before her, she sporting no other coverings. She lifted a hand with long nails and the tentacle lessened its grip to let him squirm out. The woman knelt down beside him and her lips parted to show blackened, broken teeth as she grinned.

"Hello little one." she crooned and before he could move she had snatched him up by his hair. Though he struggled mightily she held on easily and lifted him up into a large jar filled with an amber liquid. She dropped him in and before he could move a lid had closed over him. He held his breath as he frantically pounded on the thick glass but as he felt he was going to blacken out he was forced to breathe in. He choked as the liquid filled his lungs but oddly enough he did not feel as if he was drowning. Within several minutes he was freely inhaling the liquid without difficulty.

Fear soon gave way to anger, and from anger to boredom. He felt neither the need to eat nor that of drink. When he did not sleep, floating curled up in the strangely sustaining medium, he tried to watch the goings on without. He could only see vaguely through the liquid, barely capable of making out many strange things, both those fascinating and terrifying. Then one day as he slept he felt strong fingers wrap about him and lift him dripping from the jar. He hyperventilated for some time as he tried to accustom himself to breathing air again as the strange being set him down on the floor.

"I think I may have found use for you little one. There are a number of things I require but I cannot leave during the coming phase of the moon. Now that I have you, you will gather them." she announced. The little figure puffed out his chest and folded his arms stubbornly. Her smug grin went immediately to that of vicious ferocity. She grasped him so hard the air was forced from his lungs and she ran swiftly out of the house and through the forest. She skidded to a halt a hair's breadth from the edge of the cliff.

"You will obey me or I will dash your puny puss sack against the stones!" she screeched.

The figure would have squealed in terror, but he had not the breath. She shook him and he nodded vigorously and took a deep breath as her grip loosened.

"Now don't get any funny idea about escape. You cannot escape me!"

With that she whistled piercingly, and from below the island he had ridden upon began to lift. A frightening creature leaned partially up the cliff. It was alike to a crab, but one of such size it could lift a quarter the way up the cliffs. Its shell was meters thick with mud, to which the bracken had been collected and meticulously entrenched. The woman whistled again and a strange bubbling language came form her throat. The crab's antennae wriggled and fell into the marsh, sending a massive plume of water shooting into the air.

"He can smell a mouse through a league of water." the woman said with much satisfaction and dropped the figure onto a clump of moss. "Now, what are you called?"

"Bandytwine..." the gnome child squeaked and then began to bawl.

-=-=-=-=-

For the next fifty years he remained a prisoner to this creature, a hag beyond the powers of any he had heard in tale or story. Though he was often used only to gather within the island, he was often gone for weeks upon the waters, riding atop the shell of the enormous crab, searching for rare flora and fauna to be used in her craft. Despite her cruelty, the hag was was never overly abusive, and seemed almost eager at times for one to speak with. Though his hate for her never lessened, a grudging respect and eventually admiration began to develop towards her. She was wise in ways he had never dreamed, and he learned much just by watching. When he angered her however, when he could not hold back his rebellion, she would set him in the garden and turn him into a tree, rooted to the ground, or perhaps into a patch of glowing toadstools sticking forth from her mulch pile. He might stay there a month, by the end of which he acted properly chastised. What she did not realize however was the strange bond he had begun to have with the plants of the island. As much as he hated the hag he loved her trees, the moss, the fragile mushrooms. The hag, she but grew them up and then reaped what they produced. He treated them as friends, having no others about. They seemed to sense this and he would find they parted for him as he walked, or reached down their branches so that he would not have to shimmy up their treacherously slick trunks. The island had had enough of the hag, and had acquired an ally capable of movement and action.

A plan had slowly come to his mind as he learned more and more of the hag's craft, and he soon set it into motion. He acquired materials in addition to that requested by the hag and hid them in a deep crevice of a tree until he had all that he would need. That night he steeped several roots he was to bring her in a special concoction of his own, brewed off the island. As was usual the hag lifted him into his jar, which had somehow grown to fit his now much larger frame. She then began to brew. He waited with a grin as she dropped the roots in and... *BOOM*.

He felt himself flying and the jar, along with much of the rest of the shelve's paraphernalia, were hurled across the room. The glass shattered and he landed in a sodden heap upon the floor. The witch lie dazed nearby, the roof and wall gaping with a great hole as the remains of the hearth lie crumbled in the backyard. The hag then screamed as the clouds gave way, the new moon failing to shine down, though Bandytwine could see its shadowy form high above. She continued to scream as her form began to melt and congeal, forming a mound of purple, jellyish fungi that quivered in agony. Bandytwine keened in his victory and ran out of the cottage for the forest. He reached into the tree and pulled forth a tiny pot of, to him, odorless liquid. He knew however that the crab would not find it so, containing concentrated pheromones collected from the waters during its latest mating journey. From a nearby pond he then called forth a fish and dunked it several times in the pot. Thoroughly soaking it, he let it fall over the side of the cliff. The crab below immediately shifted and began to turn to chase the bate. To cover his own scent Bandytwine then upended the remainder upon himself and hurried for the beach. As the crab disappeared into the distance Bandytwine dived into the waves and set out in the opposite direction. His legs and arms converted into fins and he streamed away, concealed within the shadow of the hidden moon...

[Tormsskull]

Thanks for posting!

Ok, Full Review it is:
-=-=-=-=-=-

The Misfortune of Bandytwine Damps
A flash of lightening lit the expanse of murky dark water, illuminating a tiny creature floundering about with growing weakness. The rain came down with such ferocity that it was difficult to discern where the waters ended and the pounding droplets began. It made little difference to the figure who knew he would drown opening his mouth into either, only the air clear beneath his expansive nostrils allowing him to gain breath.

Normally there would be many trees within which he could take refuge, but all the bottomreachers were covered over by the arcing waves of the flooded marsh. These waves had swamped the craft upon which his grandfather and he had been sailing. The rushing waters had quickly separated them.

Of floaters there was no sign, unless the occasional deeper shadow against the horizon was indication. The rainfall had continued for days it seemed, with the dusk of the great clouds darkening to an almost impenetrable gloom that even he could not see far through. He rolled onto his back to rest, but was only able to remain that way for several moments, his hands held to shield him from the choking downpour in vain. As he began to turn back around to paddle he felt something scratch his scalp painfully. Turning around, he saw a dark shape before him and scrambled for it in desperation. Beneath his hands was the rough feel of reeds, sticks and other buoyant bracken. His arms felt like they were weighted down with the world as he slowly, with agonizing exertion, pulled himself up. There he lay panting for several beautiful moments as he was able to rest. Then, as best he could, he attempted to burrow down into the debris to shield him from the water.

He was awakened by a sudden jolt and felt that his haven had come to a stop. The clouds had let up slightly, the rising sun causing many to glow with colors while the opposite horizon remained in stark dark contrast. Illuminated before him was his haven, far larger than he thought, though still only maybe forty feet across. Its motion had stopped as it had bumped up against the edge of an island. It was a real island, one of the few he had ever seen, composed of earth and actual stone. The small beach here was of sharp pebbles surrounded by cliffs that seemed immense to his height of hardly more than a foot. Though he was grateful to his bobbing brick and brack, he held no loyalty to it and jumped for land, his thick, bare feet being uncomfortably pricked by the rocks. Following the beach showed that it was larger than he thought, continuing into a canyon that fit narrowly between the two faces of stone. The canyon was concealed by fog and as he entered he saw that many odd formations of curving deposits spotted the valley, filled with steaming waters tinted with a living crust of floating green and yellow. He at first enjoyed the warmth, but the fumes made his throat burn and his eyes water. While seeking the other end he came across a sloping path that rose up through a crack in the cliff walls. As he climbed it rapidly grew cooler and wild rhododendron began to grow in the sparse pockets of captured soil up the wall's side. Moss began to grow and by the time he had come to the top he was in a lush forest. The path continued, ferns outlining the twisty course.

Within a short time he found himself standing before a mud and dabble hut with a roof thatched with reeds. A brick chimney protruded from the roof in the back with a faint trail of foggy mist rising from it. Surrounding it was many strange trees thick with moss and mistletoe, few which he could recognize or that he had seen in the rest of the forest. A small garden stretched out to one side, though the trees grew even amongst the currently flooded soil. Though he could not smell the smoke his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since the storm began. He pressed an ear against the cottages door but could hear only a faint bubbling sound. He tentivaly knocked, the thin door shaking with his minuscule force. There was no answer so he simply lifted the latch and stepped within.

It was oddly large inside, seeming somewhat bigger than it appeared without, and if the outside seemed damp, he felt he was almost swimming again in the strangely-scented humidity within. Shelf after shelf of jars and pots lined the walls, beneath which were lidded wooden barrels with damp green moss growing upon them. A wooden table stood to one side of the room which appeared to be quite rotten in places, sprouting large toadstools. A wide fireplace sat within the opposite side of the room with a great black kettle bubbling above the dying embers.

His stomach twisted with hunger so with a leap he chinned himself onto one of the barrels and pried at the lid of its neighbor. He finally succeeded with a great heave and glanced down to see what was inside. He froze in horror as a huge eye gazed up at him, filling the barrel's rim. He gave a great cry and dropped the lid back down as it blinked in confusion. He immediately leaped to the mossy floor, falling to his knees as his legs shook crazily. He then gasped and fell backwards as a hermit crab climbed out of a clay pot on the overhead shelf and scuttled down the wall directly in front of him to squeeze within a mouse hole.

Breathing wildly, he stood and ran back for the door when a giant raven with eight legs lowered itself on a silken string from the ceiling and grabbed at him with its talons. He screamed hysterically and backed away towards the cauldron. A deafening hiss sounded behind him and a tentacle shot out of the boiling liquid to wrap around his throat. He gurgled in pain and horror as he was slowly pulled towards the scalding pot. The raven lowered to the floor and its form shifted and sloughed as it grew into an enormous woman, to the gnome's mind. Her face was exceedingly fair and ageless. Her hair was a dark grey however, and dropped completely down to her feet and dropped before her, sporting no other coverings. She lifted a hand with long nails and the tentacle lessened its grip to let him squirm out. The woman knelt down beside him and her lips parted to show blackened, broken teeth as she grinned.

"Hello little one." she crooned and before he could moved she had snapped him up by his hair. Though he struggled mightily she held on easily and lifted him up into a large jar filled with an amber liquid. She dropped him in and before he could move a lid had closed over him. He held his breath as he frantically pounded on the thick glass but as he felt he was going to blacken out he was forced to breathe in. He choked as the liquid filled his lungs but oddly enough he did not feel as if he was drowning. Within several minutes he was freely inhaling the liquid without difficulty.

Fear soon gave way to anger, and from anger to boredom. He felt neither the need to eat nor that of drink. When he did not sleep, floating curled up in the strangely sustaining medium, he tried to watch the goings on without. He could only see vaguely through the liquid, barely capable of making out many strange things, both those fascinating and terrifying. Then one day as he slept he felt strong fingers wrap about him and lift him dripping from the jar. He hyperventilated for some time as he tried to accustom himself to breathing air again as the strange being set him down on the floor.

"I think I may have found use for you little one. There are a number of things I require but I cannot leave during the coming phase of the moon. Now that I have you, you will gather them." she announced. The little figure puffed out his chest and folded his arms stubbornly. Her smug grin went immediately to that of vicious ferocity. She grasped him so hard the air was forced from his lungs and she ran swiftly out of the house and through the forest. She skidded to a halt a hair's breadth from the edge of the cliff.

"You will obey me or I will dash your puny puss sack against the stones!" she screeched.

The figure would have squealed in terror, but he had not the breath. She shook him and he nodded vigorously and took a deep breath as her grip loosened.

"Now don't get any funny idea about escape. You cannot escape me!"

With that she whistled piercingly, and from below the island he had ridden upon began to lift. A frightening creature leaned partially up the cliff. It was alike to a crab, but one of such size it could lift a quarter the way up the cliffs. Its shell was meters thick with mud, to which the bracken had been collected and meticulously entrenched. The woman whistled again and a strange bubbling language came form her throat. The antennae on the crab wriggled and it fell back down into the water with a plume of water.

"He can smell a mouse through a league of water." the woman said with much satisfaction and dropped the figure onto a clump of moss. "Now, what are you called?"

"Bandytwine..." the gnome child squeaked and then began to bawl.

-=-=-=-=-

For the next fifty years he remained a prisoner to this creature, a hag beyond the powers of any he had heard in tale or story. Though he was often used only to gather within the island, he was often gone for weeks upon the waters, riding atop the shell of the enormous crab, searching for rare flora and fauna to be used in her craft. Despite her cruelty, the hag was was never overly abusive, and seemed almost eager at times for one to speak with. Though his hate for her never lessened, a grudging respect and eventually admiration began to develop towards her. She was wise in ways he had never dreamed, and he learned much just by watching. When he angered her however, when he could not hold back his rebellion, she would set him in the garden and turn him into a tree, rooted to the ground, or perhaps into a patch of glowing toadstools sticking forth from her mulch pile. He might stay there a month, by the end of which he acted properly chastised. What she did not realize however was the strange bond he had begun to have with the plants of the island. As much as he hated the hag he loved her trees, the moss, the fragile mushrooms. The hag, she but grew them up and then reaped what they produced. He treated them as friends, having no others about. They seemed to sense this and he would find they parted for him as he walked, or reached down their branches so that he would not have to shimmy up their treacherously slick trunks. The island had had enough of the hag, and had acquired an ally capable of movement and action.

A plan had slowly come to his mind as he learned more and more of the hag's craft, and he soon set it into motion. He acquired materials in addition to that requested by the hag and hid them in a deep crevice of a tree until he had all that he would need. That night he steeped several roots he was to bring her in a special concoction of his own, brewed off the island. As was usual the hag lifted him into his jar, which had somehow grown to fit his now much larger frame. She then began to brew. He waited with a grin as she dropped the roots in and... *BOOM*.

He felt himself flying and the jar, along with much of the rest of the shelve's paraphernalia, were hurled across the room. The glass shattered and he landed in a sodden heap upon the floor. The witch lie dazed nearby, the roof and wall gaping with a great hole as the remains of the hearth lie crumbled in the backyard. The hag then screamed as the clouds gave way, the new moon failing to shine down, though Bandytwine could see its shadowy form high above. She continued to scream as her form began to melt and congeal, forming a mound of purple, jellyish fungi that quivered in agony. Bandytwine keened in his victory and ran out of the cottage for the forest. He reached into the tree and pulled forth a tiny pot of, to him, odorless liquid. He knew however that the crab would not find it so, containing concentrated pheromones collected from the waters during its latest mating journey. From a nearby pond he then called forth a fish and dunked it several times in the pot. Thoroughly soaking it, he let it fall over the side of the cliff. The crab below immediately shifted and began to turn to chase the bate. To cover his own scent Bandytwine then upended the remainder upon himself and hurried for the beach. As the crab disappeared into the distance Bandytwine dived into the waves and set out in the opposite direction. His legs and arms converted into fins and he streamed away, concealed within the shadow of the hidden moon...


Spelling errors
Grammar errors
Power lines
Confusing


Ok, give me a bit of time and I'll post suggestions for fixing the Confusing sections. I want to play with a few word combinations and such.

Correction Suggestions:

It made little difference to the figure who knew he would drown opening his mouth into either, only the air clear beneath his expansive nostrils allowing him to gain breath

This sentence doesn't flow well to me. I'd suggest:

"It made little difference to the figure, knowing he would have drowned opening his mouth into either. The air clear beneath his expansive nostrils alone allowed him to breathe."

This change keeps you in past tense, eliminates the run-on sentence, and does away with the "gain breath" part which was irking me.

It was oddly large inside, seeming somewhat bigger than it appeared without, and if the outside seemed damp, he felt he was almost swimming again in the strangely-scented humidity within.

Again, doesn't flow well. Here's my suggestion:

"It was oddly large inside, seemingly bigger than it had appeared. Compared to the outside, which was damp, he felt he was almost swimming in the strangle-scented humidity within."

Her hair was a dark grey however, and dropped completely down to her feet and dropped before her, sporting no other coverings.

This sentence is very shoppy with too many repeated words. My suggestion:

"Her dark grey hair dropped to her feet, providing the only cover against her nakedness."

"Hello little one." she crooned and before he could moved she had snapped him up by his hair.

I don't have I've ever hear of someone snapping something up. I think maybe the word "snatched" would work better here.

The antennae on the crab wriggled and it fell back down into the water with a plume of water.

I'd go with:

"The crab's antennae wriggled and fell into the (sea, river, lake, pond??), sending a massive plume of water shooting into the air."

Anyhow, those are my suggestions. This was very enjoyable to read, thanks for sharing VT!

[Rabiesbunny]

Oh! Oh! Help me again, please, O wonderful one? :redface:

A Strange Start
Flamerule held it's sweltering grip over the generally arid land of Thay. An oppressive heat hung over the city of Tyrtauros, as it did every year, hearkening in the Reeking Heat -- Thay is not known for cleanliness in even it's larger cities. Refuse and offal smoldered in the heat of the season, the air becoming heavy, and unpleasant to breathe. For this reason, the Vhirkina family has retreated from the city, to a small house in the featureless wastes of the Tharch. The Reeking Heat, however, was not their only reason for retreating.

Within the walls of the adobe dwelling, a small woman sat, wiping sweat from the forehead of a small girl. The young mother's lips were drawn back in an expression of worry. The room lacked windows, and it was considerably cooler because of it. The child's skin was grayed, her breathing labored. Eyelids fluttered in a state of restless slumber as the woman rose to her slippered feet and hurried from the room.

"I just don't know what else we can do...", the woman said softly to a man crouched over a small table. Both were bald, though the man was considerably more pale than the woman he could call his wife, his head covered in intricate tattoos. The man raised his eyes from the table with a weary smile, motioning the dark skinned woman to sit. With a hesitant sigh she did as beckoned, hands raising to run across the smooth skin on her skull. "She's just not getting any better. Every night, her fever gets worse, and she eats less. I feel useless..."

"The required tithe at any of the temples was just too much for this time of year, dear. It's not our fault." The man broke a piece of bread in half. With a tentative smile, he offered the chunk to the woman. "All we can do is pray to the Gods she makes it." His wife wrinkled her nose and brushed away the proffered food, her hairless brows furrowed in anger.

"That doesn't -work-!", she spit out in rage. "Every night, I pray. Less and less, though, do I find myself praying for Talona to spare her from the illness." Licking her lips, the woman raised her hands to her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "...I find myself praying for Cyric to take her soul quickly to his realm, and get it over with."

The husband's lips drew back in a stern frown as he reached out, his fingertips touching her slender chin. "The day we give up is the day we kill her. Stop being so sentimental, we're doing everything we can." Though his touch was gentle, the voice he addressed his wife with was black with anger and disgust. "You can love her, and still accept the inevitable with grace."

Painted eyes fluttered shut as the woman heaved a sigh. "...inevitable."

__________________________________________________ ________


Umolka's slumber was fitful. As her parents slumbered, the fevered girl tossed and turned in her small, sweat-drenched cot. Dark shapes plagued the girl's fevered dreams; spined lizards thrashed at her as she ran in the distorted world, wings flapping, the beasts squealing and roaring. She would wail and cover her head as she ran. Occassionaly, she would stumble over some disgusting creature. Lumps of green and black flesh, acid and bile oozing from their mouths, would peer up at her and cackle. The moment she would take to right herself would be enough time for the beasts to descend on her, the events replaying again.

The girl felt herself being pulled from the dream world swiftly, her eyes shooting open. Though young yet, Umolka realized something was wrong. She had not woken up this easily since illness had beset her, and that fact disturbed the girl. Tugging wet hair from her face she sat up, stray drops of perspiration falling on the girl's bare thighs. Her vision was fuzzy and dark as she glanced across the room to her parents, sleeping quietly in their own thin bed. Cautiously she lowered her feet to the sandy floor and moved to stand.

As she stood, Umolka's knees buckled, her breath catching in her throat. With a helpless gasp she crumpled to the ground noiselessly. The child's perceptions jarred as she caught her breath, her muscles falling lax as she stood once more. This time, the naked girl managed to stay on her feet. It was at this time she realized she was able to see herself move. This didn't alarm the Thayan child, for she had dreamt far stranger things in the past moon. Slowly her body began to move, bare feet scraping against the sand as she made her way for the door.

A rush of warm night air woke Umolka's mother. She stirred lethargically at first, turning onto her side and opening her eyes. She found it strange that there was a breeze making it's way into the hut, but it was not until she noticed her daughter's empty bed that she thought anything of it. With a panicked whine she stumbled out of bed, shaking her husband's shoulders.

_____________________________________________

The four year old's greyed skin crawled under Selune's light, and the chill it's wind brought to her damp form. When first her feet began carrying her, it had been kind of new. But now that they carried her outside of her hut, it was becoming plain scary! Inwardly the child began to panic, her mind screaming against the force commanding her body, and it seemed to have an effect. The girl did come to a stop, though her relief did not last for long.

Her feet had brought her to a halt in the path of a snake.

The large brown serpent hissed, it's form coiling up and over it's own body innumerable times. Slowly it rose into the air and swayed toward the girl's position, crimson tongue tasting the desert air. To her parents, who rushed out of the hut at this moment, Umolka seemed serene, her face carrying a smile. The girl's mind, however, was paralyzed with fear. Beyond her own control, her body stepped forward, her right hand balling into a fist.
The snake's strike was clean and instant, and before her mother and father could react, the serpent had disappeared into the moonlit sands. Umolka felt the pain suddenly then, as the force left her thin form and allowed her to reenter. The child swooned and crumpled into the sands, unconscious.

_____________________________________________

"Momma, Poppa..."

The woman awoke with a start at the high-pitched voice addressing her. Dried tears made the effort of blinking difficult, but she did so within a matter of moments and reached out toward the girl. Here they had hauled her to die, both holding onto her small body in a tight hug, falling asleep to the sound of one another's sobbing, and their daughter's failing breath. She felt, under her palm, a cool face drawn up in a smile.

"Momma, I feel good now, can I have some bread?"
Vision clearing, she could see the child's brightly tanned face. She didn't seem to be sick, and certainly, she didn't seem to have a fever. Struck speechless, the mother grabbed Umolka in a fierce hug, beginning to sob. Her husband grumble and shook his head, confused as he came to. Tears clouded his eyes after the realization, his arms wrapping around the two females, holding them close.

Oblivious and unremembering of last night's ordeal, Umolka giggled between her parents. All that was wrong with her was now gone. All she had to show for it was a set of scars on her right wrist, they would later found out. Oddly enough, it seemed the snake had an extra tooth. Never, however, did the parents mention to one another that it appeared similar to the holy symbol of a goddess. A goddess they never wished to visit them again.







Becoming


The girl's toes curled as she stretched out leisurely. Lathander's rays were just cresting the rough rock and sand that layered the earth in this part of Tyrtauros, the summer's air quickly warming. A loud yawn escaped her mouth as she stood -- Umolka was no older than thirteen passings of Summertide, her tanned body unmarred by the tattoos and scars of her future, almost untouched even by her coming womanhood.

Dark hair shimmered around her form as she sat, after clothing her body in dark blue robes. She was alone in the adobe hut. Sometimes, during the scorching moons, her parents would allow her to come here. The city would always grow unbearable, and she would moan and complain until Mother gave in. More and more now, they sent her there without her prompting. Though she was lanky now, she was soon to be noticed by boys and men alike, and within the next few years, to be married. Probably to one of her father's business associates.

It was not as if she was denied other choices -- Thay was one of the few areas on Faerun where men and women were afforded equal opportunities. What you could accomplish in life depended on your heritage, not your sex. Had Umolka the drive, her parents could have sent her to an academy, where she could be further educated, and perhaps one day, start her own business.

But she lacked the need to advance herself in such ways. Merchant or wife of a merchant? It just didn't matter. The girl broke off a piece of bread, brushing it with a light layer of honey. She washed it down with warmed water from the indoor well, taking all the time in the world to finish her breakfast. She liked it out here because the air was silent. Between the towns and cities in these wastes, there was little do distract you.

On finishing her meager meal, the girl stood, bowing her thin form in a stretch. Fingers ran through her thick hair. Her mother had been on her for years to have it shaved bare. Being of Rashemi descent, Umolka had many an official ask for her citizenship pass. With such long hair, she was often mistaken for a slave. To combat this, she began to wear her hair up in an elaborate wrap, as she had seen foreign travelers do in this warmth. But when in private, the girl preferred to wear it down, no matter the temperature. Eventually, she would need to shave her head. But she was young yet.

Umolka peered out one of the small ventilation openings in the hut, tapping her fingers against the clay. It was hours from Highsun yet, her favorite time of the day. Drawing up the heavy blue hood, Umolka opened the door carefully. A light breeze rose to greet her as she stepped, barefoot, into the warming sand. It rustled her robes as she moved to close the door behind her, the warm wind pleasant as it stirred the area between her skin and her clothing. Eyes aimed at the clearing sky above her, she began to wander.
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ____

The time always passed quickly for Umolka in the wastes, but today was different. Each step began to feel like an eternity. She could almost hear each grain of sand as it dropped from her foot, and was displaced as she stepped down onto it. A comforting heaviness took residence in her temple, something vaguely familiar. It was around Highsun that she became exhausted, and called her body to a stop. Umolka laid herself out in a shallow pile of sand as she panted and heaved. Last she remembered, she was not so out of shape. She shouldn't be this tired. But she was. Head tilted to the sun, her eyes fluttered shut.

She had not shut her eyes but a moment -- at least, this was something she was sure of. What she came to realize would prove to be quite different. Here she was, walking. Where had her robes gone? Why was she wearing nothing? Umolka was gripped by dread fear. She was going to die of heat exhaustion at this rate! Frantically willing herself to turn back, toward the hut that she could no longer see, she realized something far more confusing. In the heat-warped air, she was not seeing through her own eyes. She was seeing herself walking from outside her own body. And she could do nothing to stop herself.

Dear gods, make it stop! Beshaba, please turn your eyes elsewhere...!

After an uncertain amount of time, she ceased her struggling against whatever force held her body in check. She could see now, if she concentrated, bloated black and green forms hobbling along in the distance, warped and twisted by the heat dancing off the ground. Something far larger was just beyond sight, a towering brown mass against the tan background of the desert. Alarms began to sound within Umolka's detached mind. This was something she shouldn't be near, something horrible. Desperately she began to strain at the invisible cord keeping her tethered to her burning body.

Her blistered feet carried her closer to the creature. She could see what frightened her so now, and it only caused her mind to rebel loudly. The massive spiked hide of the Wyvern rose and fell with each breath. It's maw was pulled back in a snarl, revealing it's sharp teeth. What was more unnerving was the state of decay this creature was in. Patches of it's frightening hide were loose and rotting, the smell of rancid flesh assailing the girl's nostrils, even as she could do nothing to move. Inwardly, she began to cry, as her form stepped closer and closer to the monster.

Please, stop, I don't want to die!

As she came to a stop, the Wyvern moved it's hulking form, wings spreading as it raised the tail. Viscous liquid pulsed from the tip of the stinger housed on the wicked appendage. The tail swayed a moment or two before curling around the beast, stinger raised only a foot, perhaps two, from the girl's face. Her right hand began to extend toward the venomous stinger, arm raising as she took a step forward.

Stop! No, what's going on? I don't want this, this is a dream, it's just a dream.

As if able to hear her pleas, the wyvern's head lowered on it's thick neck, a green fire lighting behind it's amber eyes. Umolka's ears did not understand what the creature said, in a series of snarls and draconic growls, but it reverberated deep within her fevered form.

~~Seal the pact, Blightling.~~

No, stop! She cried out inwardly as her body moved without her control, her right palm pressing down with earth-shattering pain on the barb. Her mind lurched in confusion as it was pulled back into her form, her left hand grasping desperately at her wrist. Black liquid began to pour from her upturned palm, where once blood would have. Eyes bulging, she stumbled backward into the sand and landed on her end as she watched the change overcoming her limb.

The bite scars she had since childhood were buried under the dark fluid, which began to encase her forearm as well, the flesh bubbling outward. Her nails took on the fluid, beginning to harden and extend to sharp points, her hand spasming as the skin burst under the desert sun. The fevered girl let out no more than a soft whimper as she collapsed into a heap in the sand, her nude form heaving with shallow breaths.
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ____


The sky was dark once she awoke. She could smell the sickly sweet smell of bile in the sand beside her, and turned her head with an anguished groan. To this side, she could see large imprints in the sand, suggesting of the wyvern's existence. An exhausted moan, and she pushed herself upward to her knees. She was back at the hut, not dead. A glance to her right hand, blackened and deformed, confirmed that it had not been a dream. Something unique had just happened.

But by the gods, she wished it hadn't.

[C.C.Benjamin]

Enjoy!



The Cairn

The forest rolls out before the wanderer. It is green, verdant despite the baking heat, and epic. There is a smattering of crisp blonde leaves among the lush canopy, belying the early start of autumn.

The uniform height of the trees creates a vast jade blanket under the yawning azure of the sky, interrupted only by a single, fierce white orb. The wanderer’s cape waves gently behind him, blown by the breeze that rustles his faded old tunic.

Despite the waning summer, the searing sun beats down oppressively on the wanderer, and so he pulls the front of his worn hood down a little lower to shade his face.

He stands on a dry and dusty beige outcrop of rock, almost atop a mountain, and surveys the vast expanse of the forest’s canopy beneath him. Each tree is gargantuan, two hundred feet tall, with a coarse trunk as thick as a house. He can see the first of them at the bottom of the steep slope ahead, treacherous with loose stones and cragged handholds.

The weather lines etched into the corners of his eyes deepen, embossed against the tanned skin of his face as he squints into the sunlight. He scans the pastel blue horizon, looking out for signs of danger in the labyrinthine span of the forest.

On his left hip, tied to his loose-slung belt, is a sword, on the hilt of which rests his hand. The exotic crimson of the sword’s scabbard has faded over the years to give it the look of a sand-washed dye across the fine pale weaving of the fabric. An ancient coat of arms might once have adorned the scratched band of silver around the top of the scabbard, but if so, has been eons lost. The silver pommel, to match the scabbard, was likely elegant and engraved when it was forged. It is now chipped, scuffed and dented. The guard of the weapon is likewise unassuming, and reflects the strong sunlight with a flash as the wanderer turns his profile slowly, taking in all there is to see.

After enough time has passed, the wanderer is satisfied.

He unceremoniously drops off the jutting rock, and begins to pick his way easily down the side of the mountain. The trail becomes steeper, angling downward and forcing the wanderer to go down leaning backwards, both legs forward with feet flat to the stone. This is not enough, and the wanderer skids down the slope in a hail of sharp stones and shingle. His cape flaps wildly behind him, his sword rattles as it bangs repeatedly against the ground and his small knapsack bounces heavily against his back.

Just as he is picking up excessive speed, the incline becomes smooth again, and the wanderer has no problem traversing the wide, flat rocks that litter the base of the mountain. He quickly finds the trail again and follows it down towards the forest.
Eventually the gritty, tan-colored stone of the mountain becomes the dark, littered floor of the forest, and the majestic trees close in around the path as the wanderer presses onwards.

The forest is welcoming and pleasant, and the wanderer strides with casual confidence through bright shafts of sunlight that stream through breaks in the leafy awning above, contrasting strongly with the shade. The leaf-litter floor is dappled with shining spots of visceral yellow and crunches lightly underfoot as the wanderer walks on. It does little to obscure his vision, as do the thin trees and skeletal bushes that mark the distance between each immense tree.

The shadows lengthen and the sky blushes crimson at the onset of evening as the wanderer travels.

He comes to a shallow, smooth-flowing stream running between two tree-covered rises, and kneels at one damp bank to refill his water skins. His cloak hangs down over his back and into the dirt as he leans forward and plunges the first skin into the cold water. It flows over his chapped fingers, quickly causing them to chill.

The wanderer jerks his head up suddenly, and looks about around the embankments from beneath his hood. The forest around seems to look down on him, but the only obvious sources of noise over the trickle of the quiet brook are birdcalls and the buzzing of insects.

The wanderer stares up into the ferns and thorn bushes at the top of the small hill across the stream. Without looking, he pushes the cork back into the top of the water skin, and slings it back over his shoulder as he straightens up. He takes a few paces back along the bank, then runs swiftly forward and leaps the shallow brook. He lands on the other side, feet sinking into the soft mud, and proceeds to push his way through the thick undergrowth towards the hill’s summit.

He reaches the top of the hill, strikingly wrought with shadows, and creeps forward through the vegetation. His eyes narrow as he peers through the dense leaves ahead, and spots a clearing atop the knoll.

The thick canopy from the colossal forest extends out over the clearing, circling it, so that a single, wide beam of strong sunlight spears through. It strikes the stone dais at the center of the cairn at an angle. The light filters down through the bushes and straight into the wanderers’ weatherworn face, forcing him to tighten his eyes.

Rising above him is a circle of imposing stones, each twice the wanderer’s height and half as wide, jutting awkwardly out like broken teeth from the overgrown floor of the clearing. Vines and moss cover each one almost completely, and the wanderer knows this archaic place of ritual is ancient. He moves forward, gently pushing aside the branches that bar his way, staring into the rich sunlight that bathes the broad stone dais in the center of the circle.

The wanderer halts abruptly, spying a small creature illuminated on the center stone. It is directly ahead; it faces away from him and perches on the edge in a crouch. The wanderer’s hand automatically drops to the hilt of his sword, gripping the rough handle tightly, but not drawing.

The creature’s hair sparkles, giving its silhouette an otherworldly glimmer. The wanderer can clearly see wild strands of dark hair creating a corona around its head and down along its back, which glitters like a halo in the oncoming sunlight. Yet, with the glaring sun in his eyes, the wanderer can tell no more about the thing.

Suspicious, the wanderer takes a step forward.

A twig snaps.

The white noise of birdcalls and insects stops abruptly and the creature whips its head around at the intrusion. The creature’s thick, raven hair flows like silk, and a pair of wide eyes glint from its black mask of shadows. The wanderer curses the sound and the shade across the creature’s face, and calls out.

“Hail…?”

The creature bolts. The wanderer catches a flash of milky skin as the creature nimbly flees the light, bounding across the dais and out of sight. The wanderer dashes forward, out of the bushes and up the mound, fully into the light. It warms him, and he shades his face with his free hand as he gazes down at the lichen-stained stones on the other side of the circle. There is something on the stone dais, but with the sunlight in his face, he cannot tell what.

With the glare in his eyes, the depth of the shadows is palpable. He can barely see the small form in the gloom next to a leaning, cracked hulk. It is watching him, half-hidden behind the great stone, curious. He sees the tiny flash of light reflected from its oval eyes. He moves to step forward again, and the small, elfin figure tenses.

“Please, don’t be afraid.” he calls out softly.

The creature does not reply.

He reaches out a hand, beckoning, and the creature scrabbles around the stone. The wanderer runs down after it. He grasps the stone as he throws himself around it, just in time to see the lithe figure disappear through a small bush at the base of another pillar on his right, twenty feet away. He gives chase around the circle of stones, around almost to the opposite side.

“Do not be afraid! I am lost, and I need help!”

The wanderer swings around a stone on the far side of the cairn, leaping another bush, and staggers to a halt at the base of the mound. From atop the dais, the small creature looks down at him. The sunlight catches its face from the side, revealing the petite features of a young woman. Her dainty mouth is drawn into an apprehensive line. Her deep green hair cascades down in a dark waterfall, and frames her face as she stares at the wanderer. Through her dark locks, poke a pair of tiny pointed ears.
He steps forward, raising one hand passively.

“Please,” he soothes, “I am looking for help. I mean you no harm.”

The beautiful young creature looks across at him fearfully; tension knots her willowy limbs as she pads lightly away from the wanderer, across the dais.

The wanderer cautiously walks up into the light, to the center stone, slowly and calmly. The woman inches back in her crouch, guiding herself with her hands. Her eyes remain locked on the darkness of his hood. Noticing this, the wanderer pushes it back so she can see the beard growth on his cheeks, and the dark hair knotted back from his forehead.

“Please…I need help. I can pay,” he murmurs, reaching the dais. The woman is small, but not disproportionate, and the wanderer assumes she is of a diminutive race. He can see her eyes clearly now, and they are large, dark and fearful. She tilts her head down slightly, giving them a luminous, alluring quality.

The warmth of the late evening sun bathes the wanderer, relaxing him. The woman skitters back, hopping down off the dais, until she is once again in shadow. She does not flee.

“Here…” the wanderer whispers. He reaches back, under his cloak, and then draws out a dazzling red gem, the size of a grape. Tiny facets cover the spherical ruby, and the wanderer holds it out towards the woman, willing her silently to take it.
She looks timidly at the ruby. The sunlight strikes it, and the light streams out through the facets, shining dark crimson as the wanderer turns the gem tantalizingly in his gloved fingers. She glances up at the wanderer with trepidation.

“It’s okay.” He says, unblinking, and takes another step forward.

She watches, unsure, and then in her crouched crawl comes forward, up and onto the center stone, with sensual ease and poise. The wanderer merely stands in the glorious sunlight, peaceful and warm, holding the ruby out over the dais. She tentatively reaches for the gem. Instinct seems to get the better of her, and she pulls back at the last minute, intently eyeing him.

“It is no trick, please, take it.”

She gracefully darts the last few feet across the center stone, and snatches the gem from his hand. She backs deftly off the dais with her prize, and the wanderer gives her an honest, close-lipped smile that creases the crows-feet at the corners of his eyes. She smiles nervously back, mouth pursed, her delicate cheeks dimpling.

He walks forward, around the center stone, and she quickly backs down the rough slope.

The wanderer just raises his hands passively and sits on the ancient altar. Some of it crumbles as his leg brushes it, and his scabbard scrapes loudly against the stone. He pays it no heed, keeping eye contact with the woman in the shadows. She covers the ruby in a tiny fist, holding it tightly, and watches him with less timidity than before.

The wanderer produces, from inside his cloak again, an exquisitely cut sapphire. The sunlight, coming from the side, hits the gem in a magnificent cobalt nova, sparkling ghostly blue reflections across the cairn.

She gasps and smiles broadly at him. After a moments hesitation she creeps forward. The wanderer smiles serenely back, and reclines on the wide stone altar on which he sits. He props himself up on one elbow, legs bent over the edge. The heat of the sun on his back is so soothing, and the splendor of this tiny, raven-haired woman is captivating. He simply watches her face as she approaches the new gem with fascination.

The sunlight catches her elegant angular cheekbones as she easily slides up beside him on the stone altar, knocking the object off. It lands in the grass at the altar’s base with a soft, moist thud.

He turns his head to face her.

The small, beautiful woman reaches out and places her milky-white hand around his fingers holding the gemstone, and softly takes it from his grasp. The wanderer leans back more. She is so close now, and she smells fresh, like summer. She flicks her head gaily to look into his eyes, only a foot or two away. He feels her eyes wash over him and his own grow heavy. Her smile is radiant, lips pressed together so they pout. The light makes her defined cheeks glow under her eyes, and the wanderer feels more at ease than he has in many long years of travel.

He sighs heavily.

Through sparkling motes of refracted sunlight that cloud his barely-open eyes, he sees her leaning over him. She is gorgeous, sensual and attentive. The last golden shaft of light gives her a glowing halo as she smiles down at him. She reaches up to delicately brush loose strands of hair back from his face.

Dreamily, he watches her tiny mouth.

Perfect.

The wanderer thinks he could lie here for millennia searching her countenance for the single imperfection that would mark her as a mortal and never find it.

He sighs again, through the haze of warmth and light, and spies a tiny spot on the side of her mouth, below her bottom lip. Her big dark eyes rove intensely across his face, looking at him in adoration, her hands caressing his face as he lies passively before her.

The wanderer stares at the dark spot. It is a vivacious red, like the ruby.

Just like the ruby.

He is so calm now that his limbs feel like they might weigh a ton, and his eyelids droop steadily. A blissful rest is coming, and the wanderer welcomes it gladly. He has walked so many miles and come so far a respite could only ease the rest of the journey.

The wanderer stares at the spot on her lip. It glistens.

The vision above him smiles still, the gentle, ceaseless caress soothing him as she beams her enchanting smile. Her full lips part and reveal a row of wicked, barbed teeth set within her razor smile.

The wanderer realizes the spot glistens because it is blood, and closes his eyes with a final, contented breath.

[Tormsskull]

Oh! Oh! Help me again, please, O wonderful one? :redface:


My pleasure. Here's the first one:



Oh! Oh! Help me again, please, O wonderful one? :redface:

A Strange Start
Flamerule held it's sweltering grip over the generally arid land of Thay. An oppressive heat hung over the city of Tyrtauros, as it did every year, hearkening in the Reeking Heat -- Thay is not known for cleanliness in even it's larger cities. Refuse and offal smoldered in the heat of the season, the air becoming heavy, and unpleasant to breathe. For this reason, the Vhirkina family has retreated from the city, to a small house in the featureless wastes of the Tharch. The Reeking Heat, however, was not their only reason for retreating.

Within the walls of the adobe dwelling, a small woman sat, wiping sweat from the forehead of a small girl. The young mother's lips were drawn back in an expression of worry. The room lacked windows, and it was considerably cooler because of it. The child's skin was grayed, her breathing labored. Eyelids fluttered in a state of restless slumber as the woman rose to her slippered feet and hurried from the room.

"I just don't know what else we can do...", the woman said softly to a man crouched over a small table. Both were bald, though the man was considerably more pale than the woman he could call his wife, his head covered in intricate tattoos. The man raised his eyes from the table with a weary smile, motioning the dark skinned woman to sit. With a hesitant sigh she did as beckoned, hands raising to run across the smooth skin on her skull. "She's just not getting any better. Every night, her fever gets worse, and she eats less. I feel useless..."

"The required tithe at any of the temples was just too much for this time of year, dear. It's not our fault." The man broke a piece of bread in half. With a tentative smile, he offered the chunk to the woman. "All we can do is pray to the Gods she makes it." His wife wrinkled her nose and brushed away the proffered food, her hairless brows furrowed in anger.

"That doesn't -work-!", she spit out in rage. "Every night, I pray. Less and less, though, do I find myself praying for Talona to spare her from the illness." Licking her lips, the woman raised her hands to her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "...I find myself praying for Cyric to take her soul quickly to his realm, and get it over with."

The husband's lips drew back in a stern frown as he reached out, his fingertips touching her slender chin. "The day we give up is the day we kill her. Stop being so sentimental, we're doing everything we can." Though his touch was gentle, the voice he addressed his wife with was black with anger and disgust. "You can love her, and still accept the inevitable with grace."

Painted eyes fluttered shut as the woman heaved a sigh. "...inevitable."

__________________________________________________ ________


Umolka's slumber was fitful. As her parents slumbered, the fevered girl tossed and turned in her small, sweat-drenched cot. Dark shapes plagued the girl's fevered dreams; spined lizards thrashed at her as she ran in the distorted world, wings flapping, the beasts squealing and roaring. She would wail and cover her head as she ran. Occassionaly, she would stumble over some disgusting creature. Lumps of green and black flesh, acid and bile oozing from their mouths, would peer up at her and cackle. The moment she would take to right herself would be enough time for the beasts to descend on her, the events replaying again.

The girl felt herself being pulled from the dream world swiftly, her eyes shooting open. Though young yet, Umolka realized something was wrong. She had not woken up this easily since illness had beset her, and that fact disturbed the girl. Tugging wet hair from her face she sat up, stray drops of perspiration falling on the girl's bare thighs. Her vision was fuzzy and dark as she glanced across the room to her parents, sleeping quietly in their own thin bed. Cautiously she lowered her feet to the sandy floor and moved to stand.

As she stood, Umolka's knees buckled, her breath catching in her throat. With a helpless gasp she crumpled to the ground noiselessly. The child's perceptions jarred as she caught her breath, her muscles falling lax as she stood once more. This time, the naked girl managed to stay on her feet. It was at this time she realized she was able to see herself move. This didn't alarm the Thayan child, for she had dreamt far stranger things in the past moon. Slowly her body began to move, bare feet scraping against the sand as she made her way for the door.

A rush of warm night air woke Umolka's mother. She stirred lethargically at first, turning onto her side and opening her eyes. She found it strange that there was a breeze making it's way into the hut, but it was not until she noticed her daughter's empty bed that she thought anything of it. With a panicked whine she stumbled out of bed, shaking her husband's shoulders.

_____________________________________________

The four year old's greyed skin crawled under Selune's light, and the chill it's wind brought to her damp form. When first her feet began carrying her, it had been kind of new. But now that they carried her outside of her hut, it was becoming plain scary! Inwardly the child began to panic, her mind screaming against the force commanding her body, and it seemed to have an effect. The girl did come to a stop, though her relief did not last for long.

Her feet had brought her to a halt in the path of a snake.

The large brown serpent hissed, it's form coiling up and over it's own body innumerable times. Slowly it rose into the air and swayed toward the girl's position, crimson tongue tasting the desert air. To her parents, who rushed out of the hut at this moment, Umolka seemed serene, her face carrying a smile. The girl's mind, however, was paralyzed with fear. Beyond her own control, her body stepped forward, her right hand balling into a fist.
The snake's strike was clean and instant, and before her mother and father could react, the serpent had disappeared into the moonlit sands. Umolka felt the pain suddenly then, as the force left her thin form and allowed her to reenter. The child swooned and crumpled into the sands, unconscious.

_____________________________________________

"Momma, Poppa..."

The woman awoke with a start at the high-pitched voice addressing her. Dried tears made the effort of blinking difficult, but she did so within a matter of moments and reached out toward the girl. Here they had hauled her to die, both holding onto her small body in a tight hug, falling asleep to the sound of one another's sobbing, and their daughter's failing breath. She felt, under her palm, a cool face drawn up in a smile.

"Momma, I feel good now, can I have some bread?"
Vision clearing, she could see the child's brightly tanned face. She didn't seem to be sick, and certainly, she didn't seem to have a fever. Struck speechless, the mother grabbed Umolka in a fierce hug, beginning to sob. Her husband grumble and shook his head, confused as he came to. Tears clouded his eyes after the realization, his arms wrapping around the two females, holding them close.

Oblivious and unremembering of last night's ordeal, Umolka giggled between her parents. All that was wrong with her was now gone. All she had to show for it was a set of scars on her right wrist, they would later found out. Oddly enough, it seemed the snake had an extra tooth. Never, however, did the parents mention to one another that it appeared similar to the holy symbol of a goddess. A goddess they never wished to visit them again.


OK, you used the word "heat" 4 times in the first paragraph. Since 2 of the uses occured as part of a name "The Reeking Heat" it isn't that much of a distraction. I would change the one "heat" I colored to a different word (or rework the sentence) though.

In the second paragraph you used small woman, small girl. This is totally optional, but I'd probably change the "small woman" part. Unless you are trying to hone in on just how small they are.

"the woman he could call his wife" this would imply to me that the two (MC's mom and dad) are not husband and wife, but they have essentially the same kind of relationship. However, you later describe the dad as "the husband". If they are married, change "the woman he could call his wife" to "the woman he called his wife". If they aren't, drop "the husband".

The two quick occurences of "slumber/ed" and "fevered" I'd change. When you use words such as these they convey powerful imagitive thoughts. When you use them too often they lose that power. And when you used them in quick succession it looks like you are try to emphasize them, but that works better with a different sentence structure.

"It was at this time she realized she was able to see herself move. This didn't alarm the Thayan child, for she had dreamt far stranger things in the past moon" It took me a few times reading this to make sense of it. I'd suggest explaining it differently because there's a chance your reader is going to be confused.

"The four year old's greyed skin crawled under Selune's light, and the chill it's wind brought to her damp form. When first her feet began carrying her, it had been kind of new. But now that they carried her outside of her hut, it was becoming plain scary! Inwardly the child began to panic, her mind screaming against the force commanding her body, and it seemed to have an effect. The girl did come to a stop, though her relief did not last for long."

^ I'd think about reworking this paragraph. The word "her" appears a lot (and this is one of the hardest things to cut down on name, his/her, he/she, etc). Also the "it was becoming plain scary!" sounds like you are talking to the reader rather than telling the story. Consider revising.

"All that was wrong with her was now gone" I think I'd change this sentence. The first part of the sentence seems to says that there still is something wrong with her, and the second says there isn't.

Great story! I'll review "Becoming" ASAP.

[The Vorpal Tribble]

Thanks, Torm.

Btw, here is the much longer version of Roots that I entered into the Iron Author contest. Would be much appreciated for it to have a full going over :smallwink:

-=-=-=-=-=-

Roots
I awoke with a start, everything around me shaking to and fro. I reached out and rejoicing thrilled through me as I vaguely felt of the fresh water coursing. A great noise then shook me again and I shuddered. Spring was a mixed blessing. Life was awakening and all would be green, but the storms that brought life also brought death. My surroundings parted as I thought the need, and I watched as fingers of light spread out across the sky. I flinched as I always had, but none came down, and the sense of sorrow amongst the forest was not heard as it would if one of their own had been smited from above. This peril only added spice to my enjoyment however as I stick my face into the driving rain and let out a cry of sheer joy as the wind rustled my hair. The last wind I had felt had been bitter and with the taste of frost, and so I had gone into my sleep. It was then that I noticed what had been pressing on my mind. A sense of wrongness. I waited for the next flash of racing lights and peered into the distance. Many of my favorite trees were missing, and in the distance all flora was gone, the soil rendered barren and torn in long rows as if from the claws of an enormous, many-fingered beast. With a cry of surprise and anguish I leaped down from a branch for the familiar patch of soft mosses I had encouraged to grow all about.

When the lights flashed once more it was too late to turn away. Below me was something I had not seen and not expected. It had not been there before. A strange object of blackness was below me, saplings of bark that reflected the light, standing straight up, in perfect lines and their tops coming to sharp points. One such point was driven through my foot as I landed hard. Though I knew that pain would come, I was not prepared for the horrible chill that spread through me. A cold worse than any winter snow and more piercing than a thousand scouring winds. My scream tore through the night. With all my strength I pulled my foot from it, falling hard to the ground below. I felt numb, could barely move, each movement sending icicles shooting through my body. Even when the furry beasts came baying, baring white teeth that grabbed at my long hair I could not endure to move. There was a sharp noise and the beasts released me. I weakly turned my head and outlined in the worsening lightening was a tall shape. It gabbled something at me in a brutal tongue I had never heard and a second joined it. I attempted to reach out to my tree in desperation but all strength left me and the last thing I knew was the smell of mud and wet grass.

-=-=-=-=-=-

"What've they treed this time, Manny?" one of the figures said as he jogged towards the first.

"One o'them blasted negro's gone and tried to escape." the first responded. "And she's nekkid as a colt."

He removed his coat and wrapped it around the downed woman before him.

The second cursed. "Mr. Hunt ain't going to like this one bit..."

-=-=-=-=-=-

"Hey, Miss. Missy?"

A large woman entered the room and smacked the rear of the young boy hovering over the bed.

"What you trying that for? She gotta sleep all she can." the woman admonished severely.

"Want for to ask what as she is, Momma!" the boy said, hardly noticing the whipping.

"Why she's a woman, child."

"Ain't no woman as that! She got ears right the size of a mule's! And she got them green eyes! Ain't none have our skin and them eyes!"

"And how would you know that? The good Lord as made all of us different. It be His way! Now get along, let her have her peace!"

Closing the door behind him, she sat down on a stool by the bedside and checked the woman's foot. She had been worried about it getting disease, but instead of being hot and feverish the poor thing was frigid. Her foot felt like a handful of ice. Though the woman was already wrapped in a cocoon of blankets she added another she'd just brought back from its warming by the fire.

As she layed it over the girl rolled about and whistled like a dying bird before returning to murmuring.

"Leih fasti milliro fai mollife ti'ti sopa... li mae li!"

"Girl, I sure wish I knewed what that was comin' out of your mouth..."

-=-=-=-=-=-

Something poured into her mouth, choking her with its foulness. She sat up, choking between great gasps of air. She found herself sitting atop something softer than moss and far dryer. Strange loose things hung from her, bunching uncomfortably as she moved. Standing over her was a woman that over topped her by over a head, and many stones. Along with a draping of the same thing as she herself had been wrapped within, this being wore an expression of annoyance. This seemed mainly fixed upon the large stain of spewed stew that was soaking in deep.

"Now there ain't no call for that. No one's complained of my cooking before, leastwise none been fool enough to yet!"

"VELLI BANEL!" the strange girl cried and leaped out of the bed only to crumple as her bandaged leg crumpled beneath her. Still screaming, she pulled herself along the floor in the direction of the small window in the northern wall. She tried to pull herself up to the ledge but collapsed again, weeping weakly as she tried to tear off the dress.

The great woman sat down beside her and held her.

"Shhhhh, shhhh, now, now, no cause for that, no cause for that..." she whispered, rocking her back and forth. The girl calmed slightly as she imagined she was back within her tree, the wind swaying her...

-=-=-=-=-=-

"... so you will stay here until we have found what other plantation you have escaped from. I would have you whipped, but if you come from a powerful master I would not wish to damage his own. However, if you disobey me or think of stepping one foot beyond my gates I will forget my hesitation instantly. Do you hear my words?"

The girl's face was a picture of perplexion at the noises that came from the man. He was even taller than the woman she had learned was called Terresa, and had the paleness of the moon. He sported a large mustache still dark brown despite the salt and pepper of his hair.

"Sir, begging your pardon but she don't make heads or tails of your saying. Ain't from around here. May be newly off the boat." Terresa said.

The man turned to Terresa and furrowed his brow sternly, "Then I will expect you to make her understand."

"Yes, sir. Come on Hama, we got us work to do..."

-=-=-=-=-=-

It was hard going for the fey, or Hama as they called her, short for 'Hamadryad' that she had tried to tell them was her name. She was unable to walk for many months, the wound refusing to heal. She was immediately put to work however, small jobs as she was capable, and began to learn these people's words. They had given her a crutch, though as soon as she had learned its use she had set out for her tree only to come up short against the iron fence that had been erected the previous winter as she hibernated. She had hesitantly touched it only to cry out at the burning cold pain. The dogs had heard her, but she spoke to them softly and the breeze about her developed a sweet scent. They began to yawn sleepily and soon lay quiescent. She reached up and in vain strained for contact with the lower most leaves of the enormous willow. It was Teresa's son that found her curled up, shaking with sobs, several days later.

"Miss, miss, it ain't right you being here. The master think you done runned off! He whipped my mama something fierce. Don't know that I won't hate you from now on for that! You was the cause of it!" he said wrathfully.

"I did not want her to hurt but... my tree, oh my tree..." she cried, redoubling in her sobbing.

"You let my momma get whupped for a TREE?!" he said furiously. "If you wasn' no girl..."

"I'm sorry, sorry, please... please don't... hate me." she said.

The boy sneered and turned when something wrapped about his foot and he fell to the ground hard. He looked to see that a slim root had protruded from the soil and was wrapped tightly about his limb.

"Mus, mus, deeialiio!" Hama cried, turning to the tree blocked off by the fence. She reached down and stroked the root, which slowly loosened and reburied itself in the ground.

The boy looked up at her with astonished eyes. "How can you be doing that?"

"It is my tree. I am Hamadryad." she responded in confusion.

"Lord..." the boy breathed, then clamped his hand over his mouth, knowing what his momma would do to hear him.

Hama and the boy returned to the slave houses and to many unfriendly faces, all lined with anger. Hama tried to see Terresa but one of the men, Teresa's husband, grabbed her by the arm and threw her to the ground outside.

"If you gonna run away then you get. I never turned on any colored man or woman, but if I sees you once more I'll be hauling you up to Master Hunt for as many lashes as he'll give you!" he spat and turned, slamming the door behind him.

Hama stood and looked towards the house despondently. She walked without any direction as the dusk deepened and the latest workers came in from the fields, wielding lanterns. Since the storms early that March there hadn't been a drop of rain and the crops were in great danger of wilting. Many were up to the late hours of night hauling out buckets from the well. An idea then struck her and for the first time in months she smiled as she walked towards the fields.

The boy awoke that night to a strange voice in the air, singing a haunting tune that was both thrilling and frightening. He carefully slipped on his clothes and snuck out through the door, careful to keep from waking his parents. In the moonlight he watched the figure of Hama dancing and twirling. Everywhere she had already been the plants appeared to be growing. With a grin he ran out to join her.

That morning those that headed for the field stopped in their tracks. The rows of formerly dying tobacco were now lush and thick, and their size increased by several weeks growing time. In the thickest cluster Hama lie sleeping peacefully amongst the leaves, the boy curled up nearby.

-=-=-=-=-

Hama became legend amongst the plantation, though her secret was kept from the white folk. She did not age with the rest, but remained youthful as the day she had been found as the years passed...


-=-=-=-=-

~Samuel... Samuel...~ the wind called, blowing in through the window.

"I don't mmbmmrrr..." the boy, now a young man, murmured, the breeze doing nothing to pull him from his slumber. After several minutes a luna moth sailed in and lit upon his nose, its feathery antennae rising up into his nostrils to tickle. It flew off in alarm as he suddenly inhaled to produce a mighty sneeze that sent him sitting straight up.

"Whoa, whya..." he said blurredly, blinking his eyes and rubbing his itching nose vigorously.

~Samuel...~ the sweet air breathed.

"What?!" he whispered harshly.

~Come ON, Samuel. The green...~

Glancing about at the others occupying his room, he quietly straddled the window and hopped out barefoot. He heard the faint song in the air and followed it as it grew stronger. In the fresh emerald of the late spring grass he saw Hama whirling about, illuminated by the moon and thousands of fireflies that twittered in the air above and around. It was as if the stars had fallen and had joined the dance. Laughing with delight at the sight of him, Hama held out her hands to him and spun with him.

"Doncha ever sleep, Hama?" he said, not sure to be pleased or annoyed at his awakening. Daylight wasn't but four hours away, and he'd have to be up 'afore then.

"Who says I'm awake?" she said with a fierce grin and he stiffened as he looked at her. Her eyes, odd at the best of times held such a wild, strange look that he momentarily felt a thrill of fear. Instead of letting him pull away she gripped his hands all the tighter. He felt he couldn't have broken away if he had put all his might into it, and the top of her head barely reached his chest. He gave in, telling himself it was his decision anyways. He felt awkward at first, but there seemed to be something in there that put a tune to his step and his heart began to beat to it. The crickets and frogs were the band, the fireflies the conductors, and the moon overhead a laughing spectator. His wildness of eye and dance soon equaled that of Hama and none in the quarters would have recognized him as he capered about with her. All weariness left him and the more he waltzed the deeper rested he felt. The horizon began to lighten after what seemed many nights unbothered by the day had passed. The awakening sun sun filled them both with unexplainable amusement and they laughed until they fell to the ground. Hama continued to clutch his hand as she lie, breathing hard beside him. On impulse he suddenly rolled over top of her and looked into her strange eyes, which still held a spark of the night's euphoria. She rose up to push him off playfully, something she was quite easily capable of doing he knew, but she seemed to lose her strength as he leaned down to her and met her lips. Hama became as rigid as an old twig but this touched something within her and she knew that it was right. She returned his advances with great enthusiasm when the earth begin to shudder beneath them. Samuel broke off and looked around in confusion when number of large roots ripped themselves from the ground nearby the willow. Gripping the iron wrought fence they began to twist and tear, the metal shrieking as they attempted to rip it apart. Hama however shrieked as her arms and hands acquired lines of an unhealthy blue that was rapidly turning black as if from frostbite. The roots immediately released the gate and settled down. It had done considerable damage but had been unable to move them enough to allow Hama through.

She stood and ran for the tree staring at it silently, her hands held out before her as if pleading. Going to one knee and pushing himself to his feet, Samuel cautiously followed. A shudder seemed to run through it and its draping fronds knotted themselves in aggravation. Hama turned from the tree to see the grim look on Samuel's face and her head drooped. With a cry of some word in her strange tongue she ran swiftly for the orchards beyond the fields.


-=-=-=-=-

He hadn't seen her that day and it was with a heavy heart that he sat down for lunch. Such was the depths of his thoughts that he didn't notice for some time that he was the only one that hadn't been served.

He looked around and met the glaring glance of Teresa stirring a pot. He approached her and she turned away.

"Whats the matter with..." he began.

"Whats the matter? Whats the matter? Poor lil Hama cryin'way in a closet all locked up. Didn't see you in bed this mornin' nor her neither. If yuns were just a wee bit younger I'd give you a whippin' not even the masters'd seen the like!"

"Momma, I swear by God's green earth that nothin' like that..."

"Uh huh, well, God's green earth was stained all uppin' down that lass' skirt, so's I don't rightly know that I trust the Almighty's soil at this time." she fired back. "Now's you best be gettin' a'hold of your johns and wait till you's ready for settling down."

Sighing deeply, knowing there was no point, he turned and slapped the frame of the door as he headed out.

"Boy!" he heard a voice call nearby. Approaching was two of Master Hunt's men. "You got some serious 'splaining t' do.

-=-=-=-=-

"Samuel, my men have discovered quite a mess on our boundaries. Our fence has been quite worked out of shape. Words have reached my ears that you were missing much of the previous night." Master Hunt said conversationally, cleaning the stock of a pheasant hunting rifle.

"Sir, I didn't..." Samuel began.

Master Hunt waved him to silence, "Oh, I know you didn't do it, Samuel. No single man could have done all that. However, a number of you could have. Who were they Samuel? Tell me and you will not be treated harshly. It is said you left with a woman. Perhaps she would know? I'll have my men..."

"No man's hand touched that fence there, Master Hunt." Samuel said quickly.

"Oh? Then whose did?"

"Nobodies I reckon. Was like that when I'd gone down."

Master Hunt stood, his face growing stern.

"Samuel..." he said grimly, "I know when I am being lied to."

-=-=-=-=-

Samuel was led out and his shirt removed by the hands. A small gather of the slaves had begun to form nearby. Finally coming out, Hama noticed the emptiness of the building which was usually bustling. She walked outside and her brow furled in perplexity as she approached Teresa looking out over the courtyard.

Master Hunt solemnly rolled up his sleeves and unwound the whip at his side with a flick of his wrist. Samuel leaned up against the side of the building, clutching the rough bricks. His hands trembled at thought of the beating he was about to take, but he smiled despite himself as he thought of last night. It was worth it...

"NO!" Hama cried, taking in the situation. She began to run when a calloused hand grasped her arm.

"Don't you do it!" Teresa hissed to her, holding tight, "They'll whip you as like as to my boy, and you can't takes it where he might."

She was astonished when Hama took hold of her wrist, and as if the older woman had no more strength than a babe, pulled herself free.

Master Hunt sighed and lifted his whip for the first blow when he felt it knocked from his hand.

"Leave him alone!" Hama pleaded, a mixture of anger and concern in her eye. "He didn't do anything!"

In the crowd Teresa had dropped to her knees and had begun to pray.

Master Hunt merely glanced to his men who came quickly forward and grasped her by her arms.

"Very well." he said with a nod.

Samuel turned and would have leaped upon them but she looked at him with pleading eyes, shaking her head vigorously.

"Solme mi!" You can't! he called to her.

"Moinbuee simuoI, laquidia lu..." I will be alright... she replied back as reassuring as she could.

She was pressed against the wall and her toes gripped the soil. She breathed in deep and hunched her back.

*SNAP*

She twitched slightly in surprise at the sound, but felt only the tap of contact. .

*SNAP*

It was five more blows before Master Hunt noticed she did not seem to be in the least bit of pain. Through the back of her shirt, now reduced to little more than rags, he saw that her back had become as rough and gnarled as an old tree trunk. The lashes had barely left a mark.

Across the plantation the willow tree's branches swayed in anger and lashes appeared on its trunk, only in one spot a tiny trickle of sap ran.

He then began to wind up the whip with shaking hands. Hama turned to him and her eyes held the same look that Samuel had seen the previous night, but this one held nothing but malice. He waved her on and she walked back slowly, meeting up with Samuel who ran for her. He checked her for injuries only to see smooth, unblemished skin. He hugged her to him as they met with the others. Teresa looked her over and grabbed her up in a great hug.

"Bless ya, child, bless ya!"


They were married several weeks later, quietly, beneath the full moon by the willow tree. It had been oddly quiescent since her lashing, and she felt oddly divorced from it. As they danced afterwards she noticed that it had bloomed in a riot of pinks and whites, filling the air with the sweet scents. Owl and bat, moth and firefly swooped and ducked amongst the petals that flew with the wind as the forest seemed to come alive that night. Eventually the couple were all that remained, and a new dance began...


She knew herself to be with child several days after their wedding, to the delight of Samuel. Teresa scoffed however, saying twasn't no earthly way that she could know it. Hama didn't argue but when she began to show her mother-in-law looked upon her with an even greater respect.

"Anyone can have know about growin' crops, but babies be another. You'll be a fine momma, I ken sure sees that." she replied to the knowledge, with far more grace than the couple had expected.

In fact, to the astonishment of all Hama knew to the day when it would be coming along, and would often comment on its progression. She knew when it was sad, happy, or even sleeping. What was truly the talk of all was that Samuel knew as well. So gradually as to be almost unnoticeable his eyes had began to turn to green and the tips of his ears had sharpened. He and Hama came to know one another's moods even across the plantation. Its birth came on the exact day as had been predicted and all eyes were turned upon Samuel as he suddenly looked up from his tilling that winter and let out a great whoop. Dashing through the fields he came to the house just in time to see Teresa handing it to Hama.

Samuel had seen many odd looks in his wife's eyes over the years, many so alien that only over the years he had managed to decipher. But none compared to the glow in Hama's eyes that seemed to suffuse her entire being as she looked down at the squealing bundle.

"Tamala bui mella..." she whispered. "E' tamala bui mella."
My little one... oh, my little one...


Outside all the fields began to spontaneously sprout from the frozen soil...

-=-=-=-=-

Over the years she gave birth to five children, and amazement had finally passed that she could sense them no matter where they went. She would often take them to picnic beneath her tree, though always wary of their approaching the fence, now beginning to rust. It was one night after such a visit that she dreamt a horrible nightmare, two year old Ivy becoming lost within the woods, having squeezed herself through the fence. She and Samuel both awoke at the same time and as they glanced at one another knew it not to be a dream, but a sensing as they slept. Both hurried out of the house, though Samuel went sprawling as he tripped over a stone in the darkness and landed hard. He waved Hama on as he clutched the twisted ankle. She flew across the fields faster than a fleeing deer and approached the fence. There was Ivy, heading deep into the woods. Hama approached the fence and hesitated for a moment at the dread of touching it. She then saw Ivy heading for the edge of a steep decline into the valley. It was winter and no vines or bushes would cushion her fall. All concerns of the fence fled her in an instant and without thinking she grasped it and clambered up, jumping down to the other side. She dived for the child as it began to tumble and breathed with relief, clutching Ivy to her. As she approached the fence she gasped as the realization of what she had just done. Reaching out to the fence, to her surprise she felt nothing but an object. No pain. Nothing to fear.

A weight seemed to be taken off her shoulder and she turned to her tree to wrap her arms around it for the first time in over ten years. She waited for the familiar contact of their souls, but to her confusion no longer felt the sap coursing through it, or the wind that blew about the spanish moss that clung to it. No hint of its simple moods and subtle thought. No... anything. She realized that she had begun to long for it less and less. The child in her arms however, she felt every beat of its heart and the contentment as it nuzzled against her.

The fey soul had passed from tree to her children, and as is the nature of all things she had adapted, setting down roots in a new soil...

[Tormsskull]

Becoming


The girl's toes curled as she stretched out leisurely. Lathander's rays were just cresting the rough rock and sand that layered the earth in this part of Tyrtauros, the summer's air quickly warming. A loud yawn escaped her mouth as she stood -- Umolka was no older than thirteen passings of Summertide, her tanned body unmarred by the tattoos and scars of her future, almost untouched even by her coming womanhood.

Dark hair shimmered around her form as she sat, after clothing her body in dark blue robes. She was alone in the adobe hut. Sometimes, during the scorching moons, her parents would allow her to come here. The city would always grow unbearable, and she would moan and complain until Mother gave in. More and more now, they sent her there without her prompting. Though she was lanky now, she was soon to be noticed by boys and men alike, and within the next few years, to be married. Probably to one of her father's business associates.

It was not as if she was denied other choices -- Thay was one of the few areas on Faerun where men and women were afforded equal opportunities. What you could accomplish in life depended on your heritage, not your sex. Had Umolka the drive, her parents could have sent her to an academy, where she could be further educated, and perhaps one day, start her own business.

But she lacked the need to advance herself in such ways. Merchant or wife of a merchant? It just didn't matter. The girl broke off a piece of bread, brushing it with a light layer of honey. She washed it down with warmed water from the indoor well, taking all the time in the world to finish her breakfast. She liked it out here because the air was silent. Between the towns and cities in these wastes, there was little do distract you.

On finishing her meager meal, the girl stood, bowing her thin form in a stretch. Fingers ran through her thick hair. Her mother had been on her for years to have it shaved bare. Being of Rashemi descent, Umolka had many an official ask for her citizenship pass. With such long hair, she was often mistaken for a slave. To combat this, she began to wear her hair up in an elaborate wrap, as she had seen foreign travelers do in this warmth. But when in private, the girl preferred to wear it down, no matter the temperature. Eventually, she would need to shave her head. But she was young yet.

Umolka peered out one of the small ventilation openings in the hut, tapping her fingers against the clay. It was hours from Highsun yet, her favorite time of the day. Drawing up the heavy blue hood, Umolka opened the door carefully. A light breeze rose to greet her as she stepped, barefoot, into the warming sand. It rustled her robes as she moved to close the door behind her, the warm wind pleasant as it stirred the area between her skin and her clothing. Eyes aimed at the clearing sky above her, she began to wander.
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ____

The time always passed quickly for Umolka in the wastes, but today was different. Each step began to feel like an eternity. She could almost hear each grain of sand as it dropped from her foot, and was displaced as she stepped down onto it. A comforting heaviness took residence in her temple, something vaguely familiar. It was around Highsun that she became exhausted, and called her body to a stop. Umolka laid herself out in a shallow pile of sand as she panted and heaved. Last she remembered, she was not so out of shape. She shouldn't be this tired. But she was. Head tilted to the sun, her eyes fluttered shut.

She had not shut her eyes but a moment -- at least, this was something she was sure of. What she came to realize would prove to be quite different. Here she was, walking. Where had her robes gone? Why was she wearing nothing? Umolka was gripped by dread fear. She was going to die of heat exhaustion at this rate! Frantically willing herself to turn back, toward the hut that she could no longer see, she realized something far more confusing. In the heat-warped air, she was not seeing through her own eyes. She was seeing herself walking from outside her own body. And she could do nothing to stop herself.

Dear gods, make it stop! Beshaba, please turn your eyes elsewhere...!

After an uncertain amount of time, she ceased her struggling against whatever force held her body in check. She could see now, if she concentrated, bloated black and green forms hobbling along in the distance, warped and twisted by the heat dancing off the ground. Something far larger was just beyond sight, a towering brown mass against the tan background of the desert. Alarms began to sound within Umolka's detached mind. This was something she shouldn't be near, something horrible. Desperately she began to strain at the invisible cord keeping her tethered to her burning body.

Her blistered feet carried her closer to the creature. She could see what frightened her so now, and it only caused her mind to rebel loudly. The massive spiked hide of the Wyvern rose and fell with each breath. It's maw was pulled back in a snarl, revealing it's sharp teeth. What was more unnerving was the state of decay this creature was in. Patches of it's frightening hide were loose and rotting, the smell of rancid flesh assailing the girl's nostrils, even as she could do nothing to move. Inwardly, she began to cry, as her form stepped closer and closer to the monster.

Please, stop, I don't want to die!

As she came to a stop, the Wyvern moved it's hulking form, wings spreading as it raised the tail. Viscous liquid pulsed from the tip of the stinger housed on the wicked appendage. The tail swayed a moment or two before curling around the beast, stinger raised only a foot, perhaps two, from the girl's face. Her right hand began to extend toward the venomous stinger, arm raising as she took a step forward.

Stop! No, what's going on? I don't want this, this is a dream, it's just a dream.

As if able to hear her pleas, the wyvern's head lowered on it's thick neck, a green fire lighting behind it's amber eyes. Umolka's ears did not understand what the creature said, in a series of snarls and draconic growls, but it reverberated deep within her fevered form.

~~Seal the pact, Blightling.~~

No, stop! She cried out inwardly as her body moved without her control, her right palm pressing down with earth-shattering pain on the barb. Her mind lurched in confusion as it was pulled back into her form, her left hand grasping desperately at her wrist. Black liquid began to pour from her upturned palm, where once blood would have. Eyes bulging, she stumbled backward into the sand and landed on her end as she watched the change overcoming her limb.

The bite scars she had since childhood were buried under the dark fluid, which began to encase her forearm as well, the flesh bubbling outward. Her nails took on the fluid, beginning to harden and extend to sharp points, her hand spasming as the skin burst under the desert sun. The fevered girl let out no more than a soft whimper as she collapsed into a heap in the sand, her nude form heaving with shallow breaths.
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ____


The sky was dark once she awoke. She could smell the sickly sweet smell of bile in the sand beside her, and turned her head with an anguished groan. To this side, she could see large imprints in the sand, suggesting of the wyvern's existence. An exhausted moan, and she pushed herself upward to her knees. She was back at the hut, not dead. A glance to her right hand, blackened and deformed, confirmed that it had not been a dream. Something unique had just happened.

But by the gods, she wished it hadn't.

This is very well written. There are only a few parts that sounded odd to me. I'll work on writing up some suggested changes.