Epic Tale - Prologue

Right. This is it. 
Bare with me. 
This is the first time I've ever done this.

I'm actually uploading parts of Epic tale.
And I want the truth(?)
I mean give me criticism but be constructive about it!

The prologue has always been the hardest part for me, it needs to set the back story up more than anything, because my fairy and your fairy could be very different kinds of fairies all together! So this is sort of supposed to set everything up.
Not overly happy with the poetry but it's meant to be a story within the story (The main character is reading it)

So yes, let me know what you think!




"Once, long ago, there were five Kings, rulers of the land and rulers of the Elements Fire, Wood, Sand, Water and Air.
Now these Kings had ruled their lands well and kept their people in order, but one year decided to seek out the Goddess and ask of her a wish to make them better Kings. 

They travelled on for many thousands of miles before reaching the highest point of a mountain. There they waited for a week and day before she appeared before them.  
"Kings of Land, what wish do you wish?"
"I am King of Fire and I ask for beasts of flame, winged beasts that my people may tame." 
"I am King of Wood and I ask for eyes to see what cannot be seen and ears that are sharp and keen."
"I am King of Sand and I ask for better feet to run upon my land."
"I am King of Water and I ask for an under water ability so that my people may live in the sea."
"I am King of Air and I ask for balance and wing so up in the skies your praises we may sing." 

The Goddess obliged them; she gave the King of Fire his beasts and named them "Dragon." She gave King of Wood his sight and his ears and named him "Elf Kind." For King of Sand she mounted his body upon the body of a horse and named him "Centaur." For King of Water she gave him a promise that underwater he would transform into what she called "Merpeople." And finally for King of Air she gave him strong thick wings and perfect balance with the name "Fair Kind."

The Kings went back to their Lands to share their gifts and all was well for many, many  years. But squabbles began to break out amongst the races. Differences began to appear and Land was being taken from all around. Wars began to start, battles to the death. The Five Kings were no better and would continually fight with one another, just to prove who had the better gift. 

The Goddess looked on at her World, bodies lay piled up as a Great Battle happened throughout all of the races. The Lands were scorched, the water polluted, woods chopped, sands kicked and the air filled with awful smog. She ceased the fighting and created great boundaries of the lands, The Goddess then told the Kings that their gifts would be taken unless a peace treaty was signed there and then. The Kings accepted this offer gratefully and went back to their lands, separate ways, never to live in peace together ever again. The end."

100 Challenge 21. War

Nope. 
Don't Ask.
I don't know either.
Total run away twist of Firefly/Titan A.E
...
Just gunna sweep this under the carpet and hope you don't notice. I just need to move on. I'll re-write something when I get fired up again...
Although, best opening lines ever? That's the first thing I thought about when war was mentioned...
War. Huh! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing! Say it again! *sings*

Ahem. I might be a little tired. 
Excuse me.

100 Challenge - 21. War

21. War

"War."

"Huh?"

"What is it good for?" 

"Absolutely nothing." The two drinking bums giggled to themselves, before raising their glasses together and downing their small shots of fiery spirit. They both refilled from the glass amber bottle and toasted again. One of them turned in his seat, a merry look upon his face and raised his glass to a shadow in the corner of the bar. He then turned back to his drinking partner, swallowed his drink, ready for another round. 

"Absolutely nothing." The shadow mumbled, sipping his drink. 

"What you say Cap'n Kale?" A larger man asked the shadow. 

"Nothing Brick, not a thing, must be hearing things again." Kale flashed a smile and shuffled in his seat, straightening himself up. His eyes flashing upwards to the door, then to the window and then to every body within the room, he was never relaxed, was always alert to everything about his presence. Brick on the other hand was taking up much of the seat opposite, He couldn't help it mind, Brick was a huge man, dark skinned with large muscles and very little fat. He stood over six and a half, shadowed everyone he met with a menacing look in his eyes, which faded after a good few pints.

Kale on the other hand was lean, he was by no means scrawny, but then again he was in no way the peak of muscular stature. Kale saw it that if he could run a good while before getting wheezy, then he was doing alright. 

The door to the dreary bar opened and a cloaked figure walked in, dragging a small silver case on wheels behind them. The fancy grey cloak hood was dropped and a rush of gold locks fell on porcelain white skin. Kale nodded to the new comer and motioned them over. They ordered a drink from the barkeep and made their way over. 

"Fancy?" Kale asked, not bothering to rise from his seat to greet his acquaintance. Fancy was a New Breed and it's not that Kale didn't trust New Breeds, but well, Kale Roth didn't trust many people. 

"I've asked you to stop calling me that." Fancy said as he sat down in chair next to Brick, opposite Kale. He then shook off the grey cloak to reveal a smart silk grey suit. 

"Well I ain't calling you Fer-Raednathavy," Kale said with some difficulty. "Fancy suits you fine. Now what have you got for me Fancy?" 

The New Breed narrowed his pale eyes at the insulting Human, but the arrival of more drinks softened the mood a little. He then lifted the case onto the table, moving their drinks out of the way and clicked it open, towards Kale, making sure no drunks could see in. 

Kale oversaw what was in the case, a little lump catching hard in his throat. Behind a thick sheet of lit up glass was a genuine square of grass, couple of inches by a couple of inches complete with soil, straight from the grounds of Earth. Kale longed to open the glass and touch the fine green blades, rub them between his fingers, take in their fresh scent, but he had a buyer who was willing to pay highly for this square of turf, so Kale thought better of his longing. 

The reason this square was worth more than a grand old painting or sculpture was because of what had happened twenty one years ago. War

100 Challenge - 20. Fortitude

Boo.Yeah! 2 in one week, a roll is happening! (Cursed it now mind!)

Had some fun writing this, I'm on a medieval/peasant-Lord thing at the moment (Merlin's fault!) So when i thought about it, and the word "Fortitude" I liked the idea of something to do with "courageous Knight" in some way, and this was tapped out. 

Make your own back story up. It's pretty easy to 

(Little bit of a mature theme, death 'n' all)

20. Fortitude

There was a horrid crunch as I felt bones break and muscles rupturing. Blood then began to flow freely, hot and sticky against my skin, cooling very quickly in the day’s breeze. The offending sword was sharply removed and I heard gasps from all around.

I could feel myself swaying, my legs going numb far too quickly for my liking. My breathing becoming a chore, laboured and heavy while moans and gasps escaped my lips. A hand grabbed my shoulder tight, my offender, dragging me close to him so he was speaking into my ear. I steadied myself up against him, a bloody hand on his fancy clothes, tightly gripping.

“And what, dear Francis, did that prove?” My eyes widened as his hissed words came at me. God, so much pain, make it end, Gods. Another moan flew from my now bloody mouth. So much pain. “You’ll die and I’ll still do whatever I want to her.” My fear filled eyes darted to Juliana’s. She looked so lost, a deer caught in a trap. “Trying to be the courageous knight in armour?” He pulled me closer, the movement caused so much pain that I wailed out. “You’re nothing but a peasant, an ant compared to me.”

I placed my bloody hand on his face and dragged his ear close to mine. “Never kick an ant’s hill.” My breathing was so painful, rasping gasps now. Lord Bale just shoved me hard, one shot to the shoulder that a smarter man would have been able to defend against, but my feet and my brain were no longer connected so I stepped back a few times before falling down heavy, my arms taking a little of my fall.

I smelled Juliana before I saw here swim into vision, she always smells like summer roses and lavender. She propped me up a little on her, her fair hair falling down in smooth locks. I reached out and played with one a little, my blood smearing over the golden strands.

“Why Francis?” Jen asked, pain scratching at her voice. I could see tears rolling down her face. I convulsed slightly as my insides began to shut down, a moan from my mouth. I could no longer feel my legs and my lungs felt like they were made of lead, every breath so heavy. I took her hand and brought it to my lips and kissed it. I wanted to tell her how I felt, how much I cared for her, how I cherished everything she was and ever would be. I wanted to say that I wasn’t sorry for our love, but I was sorry that she was married to that awful brute.

“Juliana!” I heard Lord Bale shout; he then grabbed her arm roughly and threw her to her feet. I fell back to the floor, my head painfully knocking against the dry mud floor. I saw him tightly grip her arm and slap her hard across the face, her hair flailing wildly across her face. He shook her hard now, screaming in her face. He raised his fist to throw a punch but a strong arm held it back.

I’d love to say I found some strength, some second wind, but I was still sprawled out on the floor, life ebbing away. Instead my words had rung true, “never kick an ants hill,” and my village people were revolting. The men folk had found their strength and courage to fight back and were now surrounding and chasing after Lord Bale. I could heard their roars of anger and a faint cry from that horrible man.

Juliana came into focus again, her face reddened from the slap, a feisty anger in her eyes that I’d not seen in some time. She planted a kiss upon my dry mouth as my eyes flickered back and forth. My body was moments away from sleeping eternally; I was making pathetic sounds, moans and squeals as the pain worsened. It was so much, too much, Gods, God help me, save me. I tried to breathe again but it was too painful.

“You were so brave!” Juliana said, hugging me into her. I felt her tears plop against my pasty skin. She leant down, placed a tender kiss against my cheek, her hair spilling down like a curtain against us and whispered “I love you, my courageous Knight.”

100 Challenge - 19. Grey

Good lord! That has taken me 2 months to write! Some of these blighters are a little hard to do!

First it was happy, love story, blahh
Then it was all angsty and rahh
Then it was about tea (Don't ask!)

Finally sat down and knocked this out and it's okay, but I need to do more "writing" like story/prose style.

(Also, sorry to anyone who thinks I've spelled grey wrong like ten times, I haven't. I'm English and we're kookie like that!)

19. Grey

Grey was the colour of his suit, a medium grey, made from cheap polyester material that caught and clicked easily.

Grey was the colour of his underwear, what were once white and new was now stained and washed together with his black socks, the colours muddling together like his memories.

Grey was the colour of his hair, what was left of it anyway. Not silver like a fox, the rich dark locks gone from his youth, leaving only wisps of this grey.

Grey was the colour of his skin, too much smoking has left him with this tinge, now his face hung and sagged, deep sad wrinkles scattered.

Grey was the colour of his brain, fogged up and old, forgotten thoughts, recollections. Suit? Socks? Wisps of grey? Grey?

“Grey is the colour of my suit.”...

100 Challenge - 18. Under

 100 Themes Challenge - Variation 2

My little brother had just gone to university, the first in my family to actually "go" (like stay in halls and all that, I stayed at home and commuted) And I don't miss him, but I guess somewhere in my subconscious I do because this just spewed out quite soppy like

18. Under

Under all that, little brother, I still see you.

Under your heavily tattooed skin I still see the baby of the family.

Under your facial piercings I still see that cherub face.

Under those sleep deprived eyes I still see the baby blues shining through.

Under all that, little brother, I still love you.

100 Challenge - 17. Blood

17. Blood

100 Themes, variation 2


Gooood Lord, it's very long. I just went for it. Full steam ahead! Aye aye Captain!

I quite enjoyed writing this, the ending is piss poor, kind of unraveled because I wanted to keep writing but if I keep writing it kind of stops being a Blood theme and moving onto what it's all really about.

Points if you can guess? ;D It's oh-so obvious but I enjoy where it's going so I might carry on with this one and see where I end up.

TL;DR? 

17. Blood

The sight of blood knocked me sick; it brought waves of nausea, cold sweats and eventual unconsciousness. My Mother says I was forever being clumsy when I was younger, scraping my knees and gashing my head open. My Father thinks I’m a sissy girl.

Any mention of blood makes my upper lip sweat, the sight of anyone else’s brings clanging to my ears and bile to my throat. The sight of my own blood is all of the above plus me eventually passing out in an ungraceful manner. So here I am staring at my index finger pouring with blood, doing quite well I thought.

My upper lip was damp, as was my forehead and I could hear a familiar clanging and buzzing in my ears. I shook it off as best I could as I quickly grabbed the kitchen towel from the counter, wrapping it many times around the slice as tightly as I could. The blood quickly soaked through the four wraps and a little shrill panicked noise escaped my lips. The buzzing returned but I began to sing nonsensical sounds. Laa’s and hee’s were sung at the top of my voice as I raced around the kitchen in the hope it would help.

I noticed my phone lying on the counter and I thought about ringing for help. My Mother would just chastise me; shout at me for being so careless with a knife. My Father would call me a sissy girl. My sister lived in another County and all friends within available radius would ridicule me for such a silly cut. The thought of ringing an ambulance crossed my mind as the tea towel was now soaked through but again it could be nothing and I wouldn’t want to be a time waster.

I didn’t realise I was singing so loudly until I stopped when I then heard the heavy hammering of a fist on my flat door. I slowly swayed across to the door, grinding my jaw as the blood was seeping through the towel now.

“Hello?” I asked, opening the door wide, hiding my covered hand. A tall man looked down at me, thirties, rough dark hair, dark eyes and angular facial features. His face fell straight, no hint of any emotion. I thought he maybe looked a little amused though.

“Are you okay?” His accent was rough too, masculine but rough sounding. I nodded, hoping he couldn’t see how pale I probably looked, or how sweaty I was feeling. He gave me a quick once over, his eyes giving nothing away. “I heard you singing, loudly.” I forced a small smile of ‘Sorry’ and added a nod too. “Do you often do that?” I shook my head, no, afraid to talk to him as I felt nausea ripple through me. A trickle of blood escaped from the towel and slicked its self down my arm. The crimson bead was the last straw; I’d been brave for long enough now.

The buzzing in my ears grew louder, and I could see the man in front of me talking but his words grew fuzzier and my eye lids felt heavy. I don’t remember falling, but I remember a firm grasp holding me from somewhere, slowly picking me up and carrying me.

I hadn’t been out long, minutes, if that. I was now lying on the sofa though, head propped up with a cushion while someone was touching my hand. I rolled my head over to see the man crouched before me, wiping away the blood from my finger with some tissue from my coffee table. It stung like hell but he was gentle in his ways. A small smile was sitting on his lips, he looked up and the smile spread a little further. “You should look away,” he finally said as he stopped wiping.

I gave a little glance down to my finger and made a small retch sound. The cut looked deep, not stitch worthy but messy all the same, a clean slice at the top of my index finger.

“First aid kit?” He asked me. I blinked away a few nauseous thoughts and motioned toward the bathroom across the way.

“Bathroom cabinet.” I mumbled, feeling less fuzzy and more embarrassed. I swung my legs back round and planted them on the floor, sitting upright on the sofa. I took a quick peep at the man in my bathroom, his attire was a suit, a store bought, poorly fitting black thing that he looked so uncomfortable in. I saw a black tie was loosened around his neck as he came back through.

“So, you don’t like blood then?” He asked as he crouched down before me again.

“Never have done,” I replied, not daring to look into his eyes, the embarrassment creeping onto my face. He opened the kit up and wiped the last of the blood away with a wipe, it stung and I made a fuss but he didn’t stir from his occupation. Finally a plaster was wrapped round the wound and he clicked the kit shut. Silently he rose to his feet and went to replace the kit in the bathroom; the man came back and slid the bloodied tissues into his suit pocket. My eye brows hitched up my head at this .

“Oh, oh don’t worry!” He replied to my widened eyes, “I figured I’ll bin them at my place, save you looking at them all the time.” I nodded, smiling a little at his thoughtfulness. “It’s not like I’m a vampire or anything,” He said with a nervous giggle on the end, like there was some big joke and I wasn’t getting it.

“So where do you live then?” I asked in my most coy-slightly-flirtatious voice.

“Here and there,” he replied breezily.

“Here?” I asked with a little too much hope in my voice. He smiled. Drat! He’d caught me flirting. I coughed and regained some composure. “I meant this building? The area? Town?” Jesus will you shut up! Just stop talking! Again a small smile played on his lips.

“Three doors down, Larry, the guy who owns it, has gone on a fishing trip and asked me to take care of his flat.” I nodded again, I had a faint idea of Larry, I could see a wispy old beard and a leather waistcoat. We’d never talked much, or at all except niceties about the news or weather. The man picked up the very wet and very soaked through tea towel and I retched.

“Do you want me to bin this? Put it in the washing machine? Burn it?” I retched again and felt sweaty all over. He dropped the towel into my waste paper bin and with his clean hand came over and forced my head down so I was looking at my feet. The clanging and chimes began to disappear and I could hear him again. “-deep breaths, deep breaths, push against my hand, deep breaths.” I sucked in some well needed air, pushing back against his hand until he let go.

“Please, get rid of it.” I leant back on the sofa, all this blood just for a small cut on my finger. I heard him tie the plastic bag in the waste paper basket up and lift it out.

“I’ll take it back to my place, bin it there.” For what felt the umpteenth time that day I nodded. “You really don’t like blood do you? You look really pale, pasty even.” I hadn’t even thought about how I was looking. I was wearing cheap blue jogging bottoms and an old grey t-shirt with a faded logo and numerous stains. I had mismatched socks on, one bright pink one yellow and my auburn hair was looped into a rough bun, frizz probably sticking out every where.

“I’ve never liked blood.” I rose to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest. “Childhood trauma or something, just can’t stand the sight of it.” I looked him in the eye. I was very grateful for his rescue, helping my in my hour of need. But he had just called me pasty and I wasn’t having that. I locked eyes with him for a moment, his dark inviting eyes were calculating something but as soon as the moment had come it had passed. I strode across to the door and stood by it, defiantly. “Thank you for all your help...”

“James,” He helped, filling in the space between us in a few easy strides. He was close now, so close I could feel his breath blowing the wisps of loose hair on my head. I felt the heat radiating from his body and those dark eyes looking down at me. Something was pulling me to him, some force making me look up into his beautiful dark eyes, down to his soft wet lips. My arms loosened and fell useless to my sides, but itching to run over his body, through his hair. I could feel my blood pounding in my ears, my mouth becoming dry, lips parting, closer, closer...

I then stepped back, arms instinctively crossing back over my chest. “Yes, well, thank you James, thank you for everything.” I was flustered now; I’d been caught off guard, vulnerable. I scowled at him and held my arm out, showing him the way to the corridor. A puzzle was playing out on his face, like he was trying to do a ten thousand piece jigsaw in his mind. His lips were moving slightly but no words were coming.

“Thank you.” I snapped, almost shoving him out the door, slamming it behind him. I’d feel guilty about it later, probably go over and apologise. Perhaps invite him to dinner somewhere, bottle of wine, back to my place...

I moaned out loud, what was my problem, what hold did he have over me? I stormed into the kitchen, snapped on a pair of marigolds, got a spray bottle of cleaner and a cloth and set about cleaning up the dots and drops of blood. I cursed his name through out, almost forgetting that it was blood that I was cleaning up. 

100 Challenge - 16. Spit

Yes this is a poem. My kind of poem. I honestly don't understand poetry, all I know is it either rhymes or it don't, it's all the same (My English Lit. teacher will be so proud!)

So this is what I came up with for Spit...Honestly, it's a silly theme

16. Spit

There was a young lad,

Who used to spit on his Dad.

The kid’s Father got mad,

Told the boy it was bad

But the brat just laughed like he was glad.