Freewriting & Fragments

[SeleneHime]

Freewrites and idea scraps, that aren't quite enough to be registered as actual oneshots or bits of stories (sometimes novels or fannovels). Some freewrites will be dated, others named. All of the ones that are titled as Title: are usually expansions/continuations on other bits of my work, not standalone fragments.

Feel free to post your commentary in this thread.

Freewrites:
Anubai
Shades of Gray: Mocking
LoZ - Crescent Light Chronicles: One of Shadows
Valkyrie
Power

Story Fragments:
Mageblood: Shattered (Blood Warning)
Mageblood: Raw Instinct(Blood Warning)
Shades of Gray: Trapped
Glas Schild: Battered Freedom

Random Fragments:
Wolf (Scrap 1)

[SeleneHime]

Shades of Gray

Footsteps sounded up the corridor, a gentle breeze slipping through the stone cut windows. Candlelight flickered slightly, before trailing back upwards again. The golden swath outside was slowly fading into the dark cobalt of evening, tendrils of lavender trailing across it. A slight hiss of pain suddenly cut through the tranquility, a small group of warriors rounding the corner. Scarlet dripped onto the gray flagstone, a single figure half doubled over in the ring of white plumaged males. Their partially extended wings gleamed with a golden tinge in the light, in contrast to the female’s deep ebony plumage.

Kyra swallowed painfully, jaw clenching as one jerked the tether that bound her hands behind her back. Woven hemp bit into her already raw wrists, making their point clear. The feminine warrior’s fingers twitched slightly, as if curling around the cold steel of her confiscated lance. She forced herself to straighten after a moment, biting her lip when her aching and torn muscles screamed in protest, trying to remove her shoulder length tresses from her eyes. Refusing to give the satisfaction of utter submission.

She briefly bowed her head as the pace resumed, before finally succeeding in getting the bloodstained umber locks out of her face when she raised it again. Hardened amber eyes, half glazed with worsening illness, soon fastened upon the dagger tucked in the belt of a male ahead of her. Its alloy hilt was well polished, as was the curved weapon’s sheath. Tempting, but unfortunately out of reach. Frustratingly so, considering it could possibly be her way out. Kyra’s gaze flicked to the sides, stifling a sigh upon seeing they were just out of reach of her restrained wings. They had been quite thorough in removing any possible weapon she possessed.

The young woman stiffened slightly as stairs came into view, knowing they’d irritate her still open – and quite possibly infected – wound. Although now two days old, the gash hadn’t even begun to placate. Torn black cloth directly beneath her ribcage remained quite moist, as the offending broadsword had taken more than she’d expected. Needless to say, the wound still bled. Kyra stiffened slightly as they began mounting the stairs, not about to be dragged up them. She’d preserve what dignity she could.

Candlelight steadily increased as the group continued, eventually coming to a halt at an open archway. “Lord Anias?” the lead warrior queried, making their presence known. A now familiar male glanced up from the scroll parchment in his hands, brushing a loose pale blonde lock out of his eyes. The nobleman stood, motioning the others aside. A slight smile touched his lips, even reaching his piercing silver gaze, upon meeting the feminine warrior’s glower.

Anias slowly extended his ivory shaded wings to stretch them, before once more folding them against his back. Having exchanged his simple commoner’s garb for material that suited his rank made a clear difference, the fine white and emerald colored cloth clearly standing out. Both his darker colored breeches and pale tunic were loosely bound together with a deep blue sash, a curved saber tucked underneath the band. “I trust you did not have much trouble after my departure in battle?”

“No, sire,” the warrior murmured, dropping into a kneeling position when his overlord’s wandering eyes fastened on him. Amusement touched the lightly clad young man’s façade upon noticing that his ‘guest’ was the only one to ignore common gestures. Kyra blatantly held his gaze, though silently. Ignoring the order of her foes to kneel at the same time. A sharp gasp was jolted from her when one of those surrounding her suddenly lashed out, knocking the wind out of her as the hilt of his weapon connected with her wound. She slowly inhaled, though stiffened when the now bloodied weapon retracted.

Anias’s brow arched, before shaking his head. “Nay. Stay your hand. One cannot expect the norm out of an opposing combatant, can they? That aside … There are some things I would like to speak of. Commander Kyra’s corpse does me little good.”

[SeleneHime]

Anubai

The young woman gently brushed her fingertips over the papyrus and parchment, slowly inhaling the stale air. Scrolls from Alexandria. Ancient artifacts, of literature and others, filled even the above ground tomb. Annelise withdrew her hand after a moment, gaze traveling around the room. Ornaments gleamed in the amber warmth of her lighter, casting a dim swath in the darkened room. Scattered beads rolled across the sandstone as she moved, some crumbling to colored dust.

Annelise paused, noticing an open vat of still valuable oil, as well as a long extinguished torch. The archeologist passed her lighter to her other hand, grasping the worn wooden handle and lifting it from its holder. Sour odor drifted upwards as she dipped it, before holding her flame near it. Fire sparked, and then burst into existence.

Her crystal blue gaze moved along the now brightened room, inquisitive. Still getting over the shock and excitement of her find, knowing the rarity of undisturbed tombs. So few remained untouched, already ravaged by thieves – Ancient and modern alike. Tutkhamun, young pharaoh though he may have been, had been one of the select few who’s eternal rest had survived in peace for decades, millenniums. Yet, there was no inscription, no name. Another pharaoh lost in the sands of time, perhaps.

The heels of her boots clicked on the sandstone as she moved forward once more, this time halting at the foot of the stairs. Carefully testing her weight on the desert rock, before making her way down. Silence surrounded her, lacking all of the supposed animal life other’s had found in tombs. A thin layer of dust and sand covered almost every step, though causing her to pause upon reaching the last one. Annelise brushed a loose umber lock out of her eyes as she raised her torch, almost but not quite touching her hand to the hieroglyphics decorating the wall.

Yet, while she was well versed enough in the language to piece things together, she could only make out one longstanding symbol. Ankh, the mark of eternal life. Her eyes shifted to the floor as she shifted her weight, feeling her boots brush something that felt quite different. She quirked a brow upon seeing nothing, before cautiously continuing to the next room.

What was this? Was it really a tomb? It was lacking almost all of the usual burial markings and gifts, even the artistic hieroglyphics that told the tales of lives. Instead, olden writing was painted onto and carved into the walls. The flickering of her torch brought her attention back to the corridor ahead of her, realizing she had been lowering it in thought. Annelise quickly raised it once more, though this time keeping it level. Writing continued to line her path, inscribed up and down almost every part of the wall. Two ushabti caught her eye as she turned, placed on either side of an opening. Usually tomb guardians, however, now she was not so certain. Their emerald eyes seemed to watch the intruding archeologist, golden scarab necklaces on the statues gleaming under the light.

Annelise’s hand lightly touched the winged scarab at her own throat, resting just above her collar bones. Her inspiration, her motivation. And now, once extinct unease was settling in her. Archeology and mythology always interested her. Why should she be finding this particular place intimidating, unsettling?

Shrugging it away, almost forcefully, the young woman slowly walked through the opening. Tensing slightly, upon seeing lit candles on the far side of the room. This time; proceeding more cautiously. The area had shown no signs of entrance outside, yet candles did not remain lit forever. Her eyes suddenly widened in astonishment – The faint pinprick of light moving further away with each step. “… Hello?” she inquired softly, shattering the silence. How had someone else gotten in? It wasn’t possible for the deities to remain ‘alive’. The days of olden priesthood were long over, too. And, even more importantly, who was it?

Almost inhuman curiosity now spurred the archeologist to continue following the light, against her better judgment. Annelise’s breath was steadily becoming shallower the longer she walked, even the stale air now coming welcome to her. With each corridor, her torch sinking lower and lower. Every turn leading her deeper into what seemed to be a labyrinth, countless other corridors springing up into her view almost every time.

By the time the light finally halted, weariness plagued her. Weak flames licked at the dark air, almost reduced to mere smoldering embers. Amber and now almost greenish light emitted from it, casting a pallid glow. “Hello?” she tried again, knowing that she was not imagining things. Lights did not move on their own; nor did candles stay lit for millenniums.

Another glow, however, caught her attention. A dark maroon. She slowly moved forward again, finally halting in front of what seemed to be an altar, or shrine. Vaguely clear writing still climbed the walls, though unreadable still. Her breath caught in her throat as she touched a hand to the large raised tablet, this time halting in shock.

“Feather of Ma’at … The ankh-staff of Anubis?” Annelise breathed, almost gaping at it. The lean staff was rested diagonally across the entire tablet, a faint maroonish aura emanating from the artifact. As if magical, bringing olden myths to life. She hesitantly finished extending her hand, fingertips only brushing the tempered metal.

Darkness engulfed her.

A faint whisper reaching her ears as she succumbed to unconsciousness, vaguely aware of a fine pelt brushing against what little skin was exposed. “… Perhaps it is time to join us, Banafrit …”



Banafrit – Egyptian term of endearment for females. “Beautiful soul.”

[SeleneHime]

Glas Schild: Battered Freedom

Darkness. Her head was pounding, and her body was screaming in protest when she started to move. Coughing against her arm as she attempted to straighten, pushing herself up on an elbow, the young woman shuddered at the bitter taste of blood. A rib had punctured a lung. That would be buckets of joy while it healed, judging from the last training accident in which it'd happened.

Forcing her eyes open, trying to determine where she was, and a wave of dizziness assaulted the bioroid as she became fully aware of the healing agents at work in her body. The cracked helm made her line of vision fractured, at odd angles. Painfully reaching up, a long umber braid fell out of it as the helmet proceeded to roll along the charred landscape. Mismatched eyes, out of focus with a concussion, returned to the task of figuring out where she was. But blood was staining her Aegis suit in a thick river, a piece of shrapnel lodged in the side of her throat and muscle tissue of her back.

Her vision swam as the bioroid as she slowly pushed herself off the cold desert sands, shivering - The late night temperatures were dropping quickly. And her suit was half shredded, bits of bare skin showing here and there across her toned body. But all of the rips, even if the skin had already healed scratches underneath, were tainted with some amount of blood. Silt brushing against her boots in the ruin-ridden complex, ashes mixing with the every shifting sands. The pale landscape seemed to glow under the light of both moons, cutting across the stark sky overhead. The light made her eyes ache, but the realization had hit her - She was free of the restraints, free of the training rooms. And common sense was telling the half-dead bioroid to move out before someone caught her.

Half stumbling through the wreckage, cradling her ribs as she walked. Each step causing the shattered ribcage to crack audibly, her eyes half clenched shut in attempt to ignore the worsened pain. A hand feebly crawling up her throat after a moment, before jerking the shrapnel out of it - Erupting into a harsh coughing fit, blood unceremoniously spattering the sand. Many lives had been lost in the explosion. That much she knew, as what was considered "normal" had less endurance. But it would be a miracle if even she made it to Ynis Witrin.