The Vision: Part 1 The Land-Warden

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I was tending Her altar after Evening Services in the Chapel of the Moonways Temple, when I happened to glance down into the water-filled silver basin. It struck me; blasting the breath from my body; the shimmering surface sucked me in and pulled me under. It shook me as a terrier shakes a rat; an agonizing pain pierced my being. I stiffened in response and heard a metallic chiming as the basin fell from my numbed grasp, crashing to the granite floor. Distantly I felt the splash of water on my sandal clad feet. Wrenched from the peace and serenity of the Temple by the powerful force of it; my astral self-whirled up and away. My senses spun from the blurring speed of my outward-bound travel. Something snagged my spirit, reeling me in like an angler with a fish. I slowed, and then halted. My overwhelmed mind cleared, perspective returned. I beheld the sea raging below my immaterial position. Dimly I recognized the Norton Ocean; I focused on a ship a sail, tiny in comparison to the vast heaving mass surrounding it. It tossed violently as a wicked storm raged around it. Massive waves threw it up and down, wood and sails creaked and groaned in protest. Rain poured down in torrents. Lightning flashed and the thunder was a continuous rumble. My attention focused tightly on the deck. A figure I recognized stood poised near the helm. Sailors worked frantically to steer her. They scrambled to lash every scrap of canvas down tightly. With a sulfuric boom, lightning struck the tallest mast. It cracked at its base and toppled over the side. The far end dug into the seething water; acting as a sea anchor it jolted the orientation of the ship. Instead of facing the smashing waves head on, suddenly she turned sideways to them. The darkest section of the grey sky belled joyously. My eyes discerned a Water-Elemental, a huge glowing blue figure with long flowing hair and beard, flourishing a trident. It wore a crown of pearls and coral, bright fire flashed from its eyes. A wave more massive than the rest raced towards the ship. Axes and knives chopped at wood and lines furiously. The wave broached the ship. The ship tipped over on its side further and further. She paused for a moment and started to roll upright. A second more massive wave engulfed the ship. It turned keel up, and dove deep into the water. I could hear the faint, despairing screams of the crew and passengers as she sank, and the ocean drank them down into the depths. I heard the booming laugh of the Elemental echoing across the ocean. I screamed and then merciful oblivion grasped me.

   “Maeve, Maeve, what happened to you, girl?” The crisp voice of Cheruse Mercia, the High Priestess was insistent. I could feel the light slaps of her hands on the cheeks of my face as my presence returned to the Temple.

“They’re dead! They are all dead! The Duke of Varyle has no heir!” I screamed at her.

“Calm yourself.” She commanded. “Who is dead?”

“My cousin Wyllyam, his wife, his children, the other passengers, and the entire crew.” I was sobbing now.

“What passengers and crew? How do you know that they died?”

“A storm. A terrible storm on the Norton Ocean, caused by a Water-Elemental. The passengers and crew of the vessel Storm Petrol out of Eastshore Bay, Aertathia. Lightning sundered the mast and the waves pulled her under. I was there, I Saw it all.” I moaned in dismay.

“Which Elemental?”

“Poseidon.”

“Let Sister Urtring examine you, Maeve.”

Sister Urtrings’ blocky form grasped me gently. I could feel her Looking at me. I shivered and cried in her arms. The warmth of her presence comforted me.

“It was a True Seeing, High-Priestess. Storm Petrol and all aboard her are gone. “

“Was it really Poseidon?” She questioned worriedly.

“He wore a crown of coral and pearls and carried a trident, who else could it be? Maeve is going into shock now. She needs to rest and get warm.”

“So, matters deepen.” Mercia mused dispassionately. “See to her Sister Urtring. Sister Farice send word to Varyle Keep and to the Capitol Chapterhouse. The King and Duke Varyle must know what has happened.”

“At once High Priestess.”

I was bundled into my bed, the sheets warmed with hot bricks.

“Drink this Child, it will help.” Sister Urtring held a cup fragrant with herbs to my lips.

Obediently I swallowed the draught and let blessed sleep take me.

High Priestess Mercia faced her clerics, sword straight and solid. “I have summoned you here to consider some tragic news; one of us has had a vision. A Major Elemental, Poseidon himself, has slain all of the heirs to the Dukedom of Varyle. There is something seriously wrong with the Balance.” Mercia stated bleakly. “This matter requires investigation. See to it immediately, Sisters!” She snapped resolutely.

I’ve been looking for the opening scene for this story for some time, today’s prompt provided me the inspiration I needed.

Emily

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge March 12, 2019: Write any kind of piece dealing with the topic of water.

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge March 12, 2019

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Temporal Displacement

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Cretaceous Dinosaurs

I woke up in the thundering rain that drenched my bed. I opened my eyes, the by now familiar vista of the Cretaceous period greeted me. My anachronistic room huddled in a tiny clearing between the towering ferns and conifers. As suddenly as it had begun the shower stopped. Sweat beaded my already soaking face. A large wasp buzzed by. I sneezed explosively; I wasn’t sure exactly which of the many plants I was allergic to, but it definitely existed in the here-and-now. I heaved a weary sigh this was getting old! “Marvin Meldrick Morrison!” I shouted angrily at my grandfather; I was tired of suffering the side effects of his experiments. “Will you please quit playing around with that confounded time travel device!” The lush landscape went silent; the only reply I heard was that of a hungry T-Rex roaring in the distance.

Emily

A Word Prompt a Day: Write a piece about someone who accidently time travels.

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Symphony for the Devil

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Plush red curtains parted, revealing the darkly-lit stage. Sulfuric clouds of smoke rolled across the floor. Pyrotechnics exploded. Robin Leach took the spotlight center stage. “Welcome everyone, champagne wishes and caviar dreams to each and every one of you! Tonight’s program is something extra special, never before seen by anyone neither the living nor the dead, the most blistering symphonic band in existence! Their first song will be their number one hit “Hell State of Mind!” “Master of Hell” will follow it! Then they’ll do covers of  Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” and  The Rolling Stones “Sympathy for the Devil”. The show will end with their infamous “Our Wicked Sword of Love!” and “If I Was your Sinister Sword”. Without further ado, I present to you live and in person The Sinister Screeching Satanic Swords!”

With a thunderous explosion, the band appeared on stage. Naturally, the Devil himself sang lead and played the violin violently. Jimmi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain sang back-up. The Incubi and the Succubi blew their Saxes sexily and soulfully. The Furies piped their flutes madly. Legion strummed their steel- guitars belligerently. The Spectra pounded the drums thunderously. The Gremlins keyed the synthesizers fiendishly. And the Imps, well the Imps rang the bells gleefully. The amps thumped and wailed on overload. It brought down the house literally; it was one Hell of a show.

Emily

A Writing Prompt a Day: write a piece about a sinister orchestra.

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Legends Don’t Die, They Just Fade Away

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Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

This is Caleb Carlyle Curtis reporting live Sunday, February 17, 2019 via web-cam for my blog, Genuine Confessions of a Myth-Taken Freak. I tracked him down here deep in the Wisconsin woods after long arduous months of searching involving the follow-up of false leads, rumors, and word of mouth. Today I shall share with you the truth! I am always awed and amazed at the reality behind our legends. This time was no different. It’s true what they say about people shrinking as they get older, Paul Bunyan is living proof, no longer a robust giant eight feet tall, he has dwindled to a grey-haired mere six-and-a-half feet, he can still swing a mean axe although arthritis is starting to take its toll. He is currently earning a living creating custom-designed log houses. He proudly escorted me around his latest masterpiece. When asked about Babe, Paul admits shame-faced, that when times were hard during the Depression he traveled down South. People down there were starving and as a result, Babe went up to see the Great Logger in the sky; he stated that the great Blue Ox made a wonderful barbecue that fed half the state of Texas.

Emily

Sunday Photo Fiction – February 17, 2019

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2019/02/16/sunday-photo-fiction-february-17-2019/

Discrepancy

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Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr

Rhaelke Drifficent, Dragon-Mage, blinked her eyes at her strange surroundings; everything was boxy and square, not a fluid curve in sight. Flora colors were wrong, bilious greens in place of gay oranges. The sky! It was blue not red. Her eyes watered, it was too bright, no comforting concealment from numerous smoking vents. Her weight crushed down on her lungs, she struggled to inhale; the air was thin, lacking in sulfur. Her guts roiled and churned, gurgling ominously. She could feel her Power fading. Saliva formed in her mouth, tasting of bile, frantically she gulped it down. Carefully she growled out the words for the anti-nausea charm, nothing happened. She tried again, concentrating on pronouncing each syllable exactly. She experienced a momentary relief and then the charm just fizzled. She sought the energy-web of this world. Stunned she found that this world was completely devoid of Magick! Her anxiety rose as she realized that she was quickly losing control of her flame. A loud ‘burppp’ racked her frame. An embarrassingly small puff of flame trickled from her jaws. The landscape wavered, moments later she was safely back home. She swore a solemn oath, “Never again shall I drink queruill-berry juice!”

Emily

Sunday Photo Fiction: February 3, 2019

https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2019/02/02/sunday-photo-fiction-february-3-2019/

An Enigma of Sphinxes

 

“Order, Order! I call this Enigma to order!” Khufu’s clenched claws rapped smartly against the granite dais.

“We have got to do something about those infernal devices that the humans are carrying. I have had three good meals get away from me yesterday alone.” Nur-Adad raged.

“He is right.” Sin-Eribam admitted. “I used the newest riddle I know, ‘What is red and green and goes round and round?’ Within mere seconds, the human had the answer, ‘A frog in a Cuisinart.’ I am starving!” His empty stomach rumbled angrily in proof.

“I have been reduced to using the riddle of the Greek Kallikantzaros, ‘Feathers or lead?’ Ramses confessed  shame-faced hanging his head, but the human was a physicist and knew the answer, ‘Neither, they both fall at the same rate.’ So I had to let him go.” He sighed regretfully.

“We are all hungry.” Khufu said. A sullen rumble of agreement sounded from the grouped Sphinxes. “I have consulted with our most technologically advanced member. He has the answer, Xerxes?”

Xerxes strode forward regally and stood next to Khufu at the dais. “After much research and thought, I have found the solution. There is a device the humans have called a ‘cell jammer or scrambler’, the installation of this item will prevent the humans from using their Androids, iPads, iPhones and other devices to search for the answers to our riddles and we may all fed again.”

“All of those in favor of doing what Xerxes suggests please signify your agreement.” A chorus of growling screams of joy and the beating of massive wings thundered through the crowded arena. “Passed by popular acclaim!” Khufu shouted. “I hereby declare this Enigma closed!”

Emily
A Writing Prompt a Day: Write a piece about a Sphinx’s riddle.

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Unremarkable Man

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Jack Jones possessed the power of anonymity. He patrolled the city in his charcoal-grey business suit attracting no attention; everything about him; height, build, face, hair and eye coloring were all average. He had a single flaw; he couldn’t carry a tune in a ten-gallon pail, something he was currently proving as he casually strolled along tunelessly yodeling the piece he had just written at the top of his lungs.

   “I can go unnoticed in any crowd
   Except of course, when I sing aloud!
   I am Unremarkable Man
   Moreover I have just began!
   I may fall down, but I get up again
   If you are evil then I am your bane!
   I may not have a body made of iron or steel
   Nevertheless, my strong fists you will feel!
   I do not soar through the sky
    For I am completely unable to fly!
    I may be bruised and I may bleed
   However, defeat I will never concede!
   I will accept whatever fate may throw
   To bring down any wicked foe!
   I am far from being a zero
   I am a superhero, a s-u-p-e-r -h-e-r-o—!”

He turned the corner and crossed the street. Totally focused on his iPhone, he never noticed the oncoming cab until it struck him, tossing him bloody and broken into the gutter. The cabbie never even noticed.

Emily

A Writing Prompt a Day: write a theme song for your protagonist.

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