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Fel of the Eternal Forest

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the Everjournal

The book, as she read it, eternally changed. Every read through was different, in the fact that it was her life and she was reading the plethora possibilities that it could be. Eventually, Alania would have to stop reading - the journal was telling her that much. The only other thing it could tell her was what had already been.

Her eyes were sore now, made so by the flickering candle-light. This was getting expensive; the local chandler had risen the price on his candles considerably, because Alania bought most of them. This wasn’t a bad thing to him - the other customers were trying to pick up on his stock because it was becoming more elusive, more popular because of it’s rarity.

Funny, they were not even good candles. The wicks went out almost hourly, they smelled of lard (which they were, Ephram just never scented them), they were just the only ones in the region, and now people came from afar to get them, after their relatives had written about how hard to get they were. They were in it for the chase.3

Alania still did not understand the magic of the journal. It had come in a dream some months ago, and she had become instantly addicted when she had awoken to find it there. The journal told her entire life’s tale: from what happened on her third birthday - cousin Ephram, then the chandler’s apprentice had spilled boiling wax on her-, to her deepest thoughts as an early teen. And yet, she knew she must put it down.

The room, she noticed as she finally shut the leather-bound book, had not been cleaned in weeks, the remains of her food still littered the floor. Rats had been here, as she could tell from the scattering of tracks in the dust on the floor. Her bed hadn’t been used in weeks; Alania usually just fell asleep at the writing desk as she read her life’s story. The dust was thick there too, and on the one shelf lining the wall across from the door. On top of that, she found after closer inspection, was the feces of various vermin, along with what looked like a disgusting spider web. She would indeed have to clean. After she took a nap.

Bridging her fingers, the blonde quarter elf yawned, arching, then popping, her spine. She only knew she was quarter elf from the general shape of her features. She was sure she was other things too, probably a bit of orc down the line on her father’s side.

Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would do something else.
Dialogue Sample
Originally done for Creative Writing
This is one scene written in two parts, in reverse order.
To get the most sense out of it,
read Part II first

Part I

“Hold,” the knight before her bellowed in a throaty yet melodious voice, which caused Lyranelle to quiver in both anger and ecstasy-the woman need not yell, the priestess thought, but gods her voice was beautiful.

As the woman on the horse, Lyrenelle attempted to suppress her excitement at this meeting. Quite obviously, she failed, she noted from the dubious look upon the other’s face.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, quickly masking her smile with a scowl.
Kestrel glared. “Ask no such thing of me, witch.” The words were thrown like venom.
“Is your hatred of the light that much, my dearest Kestrel? So much that you masquerade about as a ‘holy avenger’ killing in the name of her Queen? I’m no less a witch than you, my dearest.” Lyranelle wasn't sure what she felt. Was it pride or hatred?

“Filth,” Kestrel spat.

“No, dearest, not filth, I see no filth about my body, but rather, your soul. But I did not risk myself way out here for an argument, just a warning. You will not win this day, but you alone will survive.”

The sun beat down on them like an oppressive master, the priestess was sure she wasn't the only one sweating here, but certainly she was the only one that showed any distaste for the heat. “I do so wish we could do this another time...” she muttered.

The knight glared, massaging the pummel of her sword. “Oh? Who tells you this?”

“The gods, of course. The all knowing.”

“And did your gods tell you of anything more?” Kestrel spat, obviously doubting the gods of good to her bones.

Lyranelle smiled in a flirty way. “It has been long the nature of our gods to keep much secret, as I know your goddess has told you nothing at all. She hates you, Kestrel. Hates you.”
Kestrel laughed. “My goddess hates me not, and when she descends from the heavens I will be at her right side.”

“When she descends from the heavens you will be the first to DIE,” the Priestess smirked, all of her lust gone. She turned her head toward the horizon, and added, “Look, here your massacre begins. I do so hope it’s your last folly.”

Kestrel too looked toward the horizon, hearing the rumbling of thousands upon thousands of horse hooves. The United Peoples Confederation Army was here. Finally.

Part II

Lyranelle stood alone, the sun beating down on her, like the anger of some God or another. She stood on a mesa inside a large ravine, watching the horizon. The priestess hadn't been there long, and she didn't come on foot. Contrary to the heat, she hitched up the front of her dress to further cover her breast, as best as she could atop a horse.

She very briefly scanned the horizons, orientating herself to which direction was east and which was west. The shock of her teleportation spell slowly faded as she focused to the west. There stood an army camp of innumerable size. There was one woman dressed completely in black there, on a horse of contrasting color.

The priestess in white had guessed that the knight in black had been looking for someone like her; they had had liaisons like this before. And of the other sort as well, she blushed to herself. And she was right, no sooner had she looked to the west than the lady knight had begun her descent from the hilltop from which she had stationed herself.

Conflicting emotions warred inside Lyra, one of love and the other of contempt. And, like she new it must, contempt won over. She drew herself up arrogantly, looking down her nose at the coming warrior. At the same time she drew up her war staff higher in her saddle, instinctively preparing for something that she new in her heart wouldn't actually come.

At the same time; the lady knight, Kestrel, she knew, was approaching her head on, sword creeping partially from it's scabbard. Her helmet was off, revealing a beautiful pale face, beset with long black hair tied back in a knot. She knew without seeing that her eyes were jade, those things didn't change often.

Chemistry warred between the two, both love and hate. Both woman's eyes were nearly closed in anger, while simultaneously shining. They both shook, ready for a battle they knew wouldn't come. They would not kill each other themselves, all the while knowing that the other had to die to further their causes. And so, they both stood in battle stances, gripping their respective weaponry while meeting each other's gazes outright. Like dogs, warriors of any creed needed to know that they were the dominant fighter, and could stare each other down until the weaker turned their head.

Lyranelle shifted in her saddle suddenly, almost to break the ice.