Fiador Godfrey is the well-off Captain of Deephaven’s Army. He is intelligent, forthright, yet moderately composed. Fiador’s major flaw is the frequent pretense of disdain, and his supposed appearance as stuck-up and narrow-minded estranges him from most company.
As most enthralling heroes go, Fiador has a dark past. He has gotten fairly good at revealing what’s ‘all right’, but he has also, undoubtedly, lied countless times. With his cleverness, he has gotten the position of reputable Captain. His childhood was meticulous; he was born into a prosperous family, and his parents were traders in cloth and spices, settling down in Torna, a city in the mountains. Fiador’s father, Balifor Godfrey was a man undecided with his allegiance. He grew to lean more towards Matheus, but still didn’t want to commit to either side.
At the early age of eight, Fiador experienced one of the most bloodiest raids in Torna’s history. Lothario’s men came; scores upon scores of them to attack the Torna They were after the grimoires in Torna’s extensive library, the crowning achievement of the city. Fiador’s house was raided, and the soldiers took him into captivity.
Thus, after a long march to the Shadowed Realms, Fiador, along with many other young boys, was installed into a training program. First, the boys learned instruction in service to Lothario, what it meant to be loyal to him. Then at age ten, they began combat schooling, and defense tactics. For six years, Fiador was schooled in dark ideals. Then he decided to escape, after a harsh rebuke by his commander. His escaping was successful, under the cover of darkness. His journey across Maharazhad was the start of a change in his heart. Upon his arrival in Deephaven, he focuses on adjusting to the atmosphere. Fiador is drafted to be a soldier in Deephaven’s army, and over four years, builds his way up to the coveted title of Captain. Three months after becoming Captain, he encounters a young, naïve woman lost in a forest. Little did he know that Elspeth was the fulfillment to an ancient foretelling…. and that he would find himself almost unwillingly in love with her ingenuousness.
Monday, May 25, 2009
"You must know what I feel. Jane, I'm yours. God! I'm yours, I'm yours heart and soul." - Tom Lefroy
So I've been having this want to see Becoming Jane.........really.
It seems like the best movie ever. Its so sweet and rustic. Heres the review from Plugged In Online
http://www.pluggedinonline.com/movies/movies/a0003343.cfm
Its pretty concise, I really like the storyline.
I hope you, dear readers, have enjoyed my story so far. :)
Love, Emily.
So I've been having this want to see Becoming Jane.........really.
It seems like the best movie ever. Its so sweet and rustic. Heres the review from Plugged In Online
http://www.pluggedinonline.com/movies/movies/a0003343.cfm
Its pretty concise, I really like the storyline.
I hope you, dear readers, have enjoyed my story so far. :)
Love, Emily.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
There was a certain place in Maharazhad, where Elspeth loved to go. It was in the runs of Northeastern Deephaven, in a realm called the Forther Main. The Fortress of Varien stands in ruins, the dark stone overgrown with twisting vines and roots of trees… the same trees that felt the magic of your ancestors touch, the same trees that once were young and innocent. The trees beckoning your gaze with their twisting crowns of branches.
It was like the whole world forgot about that ruin. No gardener’s shears tended the waving grass or the rambling vines. Skilled hands never tended the flowers, or the smaller trees. Unused, empty, it had just slipped out of memory. Every so often, an old mage or sorcerer would stumble upon it in his daily walk… and he would remember the Great Raid upon Varien, more than a thousand years ago, in a time almost immemorial. He might hear the faint screams of dying men, the crackle of fires, the creak of the powerful trebuchets, or he might hear complete, overwhelming silence, broken only by the vociferous cawing of a stray rook, or the echoing twitters of birds.
Indeed, the birds and animals there were the only ones who seemed to find Varien every time, or they dwelled there always. Their presence only made Varien seem wilder, yet more comforting. If they had not been there, Varien may have only been the most frightening place, full of vivid memories that strained to let you hear them, see them, taste them.
The ruin was an effectual help for a flight of the imagination. The scarred trees, mostly oak and beech, stretched branches laden with green leaves to the ragged sky. The masses of dark stone lay arbitrary about in the long grass and fronds of slight ferns. Small white flowers sprouted among the stones, their delicate heads swaying. More often than not, the birds would be there, twittering intrepidly about, unaware of the shroud –of what seemed like sacredness— that hung over the ruin. Something there held you silent some times. Other times, you’d feel a euphoric desire to sing and dance. Varien does not have a soul, and is not human. But Varien gives only what you seek. There is an old poem of Varien, written by Ennaran of Ballantyr:
Hidden by shadows, found by the grieving
The greenwood of silence, the peace of the land
Open to wanderers, reaching for seekers
Here is found solace, comfort, restraint
Twisting trees reach above ruins of stone
Grass waving, weaving, chill with the dew
Were once high walls stood, only crumbling stone
Vines overtake and slowly compress
A mysterious beauty, wild and free
The king’s thrones are empty; the people are gone
But here sits the finder, blessed to discover
And the poem was true, the best described with mere, mortal words. Yet, most stumblers who come across Varien are struck speechless as they gaze on the mysterious ruin of the fortress. If they find their voice, out come words they put to paper soon after leaving. These poems and songs have been highly esteemed far and wide, for no one else can match the quality and measure of that finder’s words. Often the finder could not explain how he had written such beauty, so astounding it brought joyous tears to the eyes of the grateful.
I cannot help but try to describe Varien with all the words I know that ascribe Varien its due glory. Amongst the trees, was a feeling of calm there in Varien, a feeling of protection. When one would stumble upon it, and when you pushed past your momentary state of unmoving, you’d marvel over its wonder and find its beauty beggaring description. Under duress, one would leave, trailing a hand over the last stone, pressing your face against the smooth bark of a beech tree, bending to caress the pale flowers, and perhaps tentatively taking a few to bring home.
And you would never find that place again for a long time—if not ever. Some say its location changes after the leaving of another wayfarer. Others say it levitates to rest upon the clouds. Ask Elspeth—she found it many times, but only when she needed solace and comfort in times of demands or folly. Oftentimes, if she brought another with her, Varien would be harder to find. It was mostly because her companion would hold doubt inside, thinking that Elspeth was just going off on to a wild goose chase. Once Varien revealed itself, all doubt would flee, and a childlike wonder would overcome the both of them. Varien is a wild and untamable place, offering a silent solace for wandering, wondering souls. Varien is delicate and embracing. Varien is only a wood to blinded eyes, but to those who see— with more than their eyes, Varien is alive.
It was like the whole world forgot about that ruin. No gardener’s shears tended the waving grass or the rambling vines. Skilled hands never tended the flowers, or the smaller trees. Unused, empty, it had just slipped out of memory. Every so often, an old mage or sorcerer would stumble upon it in his daily walk… and he would remember the Great Raid upon Varien, more than a thousand years ago, in a time almost immemorial. He might hear the faint screams of dying men, the crackle of fires, the creak of the powerful trebuchets, or he might hear complete, overwhelming silence, broken only by the vociferous cawing of a stray rook, or the echoing twitters of birds.
Indeed, the birds and animals there were the only ones who seemed to find Varien every time, or they dwelled there always. Their presence only made Varien seem wilder, yet more comforting. If they had not been there, Varien may have only been the most frightening place, full of vivid memories that strained to let you hear them, see them, taste them.
The ruin was an effectual help for a flight of the imagination. The scarred trees, mostly oak and beech, stretched branches laden with green leaves to the ragged sky. The masses of dark stone lay arbitrary about in the long grass and fronds of slight ferns. Small white flowers sprouted among the stones, their delicate heads swaying. More often than not, the birds would be there, twittering intrepidly about, unaware of the shroud –of what seemed like sacredness— that hung over the ruin. Something there held you silent some times. Other times, you’d feel a euphoric desire to sing and dance. Varien does not have a soul, and is not human. But Varien gives only what you seek. There is an old poem of Varien, written by Ennaran of Ballantyr:
Hidden by shadows, found by the grieving
The greenwood of silence, the peace of the land
Open to wanderers, reaching for seekers
Here is found solace, comfort, restraint
Twisting trees reach above ruins of stone
Grass waving, weaving, chill with the dew
Were once high walls stood, only crumbling stone
Vines overtake and slowly compress
A mysterious beauty, wild and free
The king’s thrones are empty; the people are gone
But here sits the finder, blessed to discover
And the poem was true, the best described with mere, mortal words. Yet, most stumblers who come across Varien are struck speechless as they gaze on the mysterious ruin of the fortress. If they find their voice, out come words they put to paper soon after leaving. These poems and songs have been highly esteemed far and wide, for no one else can match the quality and measure of that finder’s words. Often the finder could not explain how he had written such beauty, so astounding it brought joyous tears to the eyes of the grateful.
I cannot help but try to describe Varien with all the words I know that ascribe Varien its due glory. Amongst the trees, was a feeling of calm there in Varien, a feeling of protection. When one would stumble upon it, and when you pushed past your momentary state of unmoving, you’d marvel over its wonder and find its beauty beggaring description. Under duress, one would leave, trailing a hand over the last stone, pressing your face against the smooth bark of a beech tree, bending to caress the pale flowers, and perhaps tentatively taking a few to bring home.
And you would never find that place again for a long time—if not ever. Some say its location changes after the leaving of another wayfarer. Others say it levitates to rest upon the clouds. Ask Elspeth—she found it many times, but only when she needed solace and comfort in times of demands or folly. Oftentimes, if she brought another with her, Varien would be harder to find. It was mostly because her companion would hold doubt inside, thinking that Elspeth was just going off on to a wild goose chase. Once Varien revealed itself, all doubt would flee, and a childlike wonder would overcome the both of them. Varien is a wild and untamable place, offering a silent solace for wandering, wondering souls. Varien is delicate and embracing. Varien is only a wood to blinded eyes, but to those who see— with more than their eyes, Varien is alive.
In Which We Are Acquainted With Our Main Character,
And Elspeth goes to Market
Once upon a time, in a separate world, there lived a girl. Accurately, since she was seventeen years of age at this story’s beginning, henceforth we shall refer to her as a young woman.
At that moment, our main character (Elspeth Creed by name) was asleep, lost in a deep dream. This dream was of a city, one Elspeth had never seen before. She stood, in the midst of a crowd, a basket upon her arm. Then there was a flash, and in her head (within the dream), Elspeth saw a horrible creature. She saw a dragon, with ragged wings and foul breath, winging its way through a torn sky. Somehow, Elspeth knew that the dragon she had seen was to attack the town she stood in. How she knew, well… she was not entirely sure. She just knew.
Goodness, if a dragon was to attack this city, why, Elspeth had to warn someone! She tossed in her bed, face one of confusion. If one were to see her tossing and turning at this ungodly hour, it would be found very amusing.
Elspeth saw a man upon a horse. His pale face was almost casual, but his voice was commanding. She felt a momentary hesitation.
“What is this that you come screaming through our peaceful city like a madwoman?” He said, his once one of admonition. Elspeth shook her head confusedly, and the man faded away. In his place was darkness.
Suddenly, in a burst of red fire, the dragon appeared. Smoke drifted up from his nostrils, and sparks flew around his head. Elspeth shrank away, seeing his burning eyes. He opened his mouth and so revealed the jagged teeth…
Elspeth woke, her hands tightly gripping the linen sheets. Her heart raced faster than a swift courser, and her breath was short. What a horrid dream, she thought, her head still spinning just a bit. But, so absurd.
It was not often that Elspeth had such vivid dreams. But leading up to this one, they all had been getting worse and worse. Mayhap she was going mad, or the strain of her work was affecting her. It was a dream and no more, Elspeth thought, almost convincing herself. She sat up slowly, and stretched… tried to calm her breath, before swiftly untangling herself from her bed sheets.
That man… She had dreamt of him before. Black hair and gray-green eyes like the long grass in the meadows. Who was he, so pale-faced and solemn? And why was she dreaming of a dragon…before he attacked a city shed never even seen? Was this an omen? Was she really having visions, like the wise-woman who lived in the forest to the west? That woman wasn’t so received, though most of her forewarnings came true, down to the very detail. Get up, Elspeth. You have a busy day before you.
So she did, dressing in a mulberry-colored dress of rough linen. Over this went an apron-like smock of a heavier cloth, in dark red. Simple brocade in gold thread trailed its way in floral patterns across the bodice.
Pinning her hair up, Elspeth slipped her cold feet into a pair of her shoes. Let it be known, she only had two pairs.
Turning to the nest of blankets upon the floor, she smiled at her three sisters. To her, Roselyn and Catherine were almost better asleep. Isabel, however, was her best friend. But, given that Elspeth was not the eldest, but the fourth, and that the three eldest were all boys… Well, the girls had to stay together, and defend one another in daily quarrels.
Well, Isabel had to be woken, for their mother needed help with the cooking.
Isabel woke slowly, eyes still closed as she spoke.
“Is it really morning? I don’t want to get up just yet…”
“Isabel, come off it. Mother wants us to help her with preparations for Master Solingen. Remember he’s to come tomorrow.”
“Oh, I did overlook that. But, Elspeth our larder and pantry are near empty. However are we to manage?”
Elspeth laughed at her sister’s large words. True, she had got it from Elspeth. But it sounded much more ridiculous from Isabel’s mouth.
“Mother says we will be fine. We’re to go to Market today, and should be back by nightfall. That’ll give us plenty of time to prepare for the feast tomorrow.” Elspeth bustled about the room, laying out Roselyn and Cat’s outfits for the day, and placing their wooden clogs by them.
Isabel dressed in a green kirtle, over which went a yellow smock. Then, after putting on her own shoes, she and Elspeth clattered down the stairs, into the open kitchen.
In their longhouse, on the very cold isle of Eolas, the kitchen was the center of the house… in location and preference. Everyone seemed to gather there at any time of the day, talking, helping prepare meals, even just sitting, idle.
Their mother, Adia Creed, looked up from stirring a pot of porridge hung over the fire. Her warm eyes smiled even before her mouth did.
“Ah, you are awake. You two look lovely.” Their mother said, setting the long wooden spoon down and coming to quickly braid Isabel’s golden hair. As her fingers moved swiftly, she spoke further:
“I will tell you what we shall do, girls. Since Master Solingen is not to come until tomorrow, we do not need to start cooking until after you return from Market, provided you return as quickly as possible. Are you sure you want to go alone, Elspeth?”
Elspeth nodded earnestly. “Yes, I am sure. I will be just fine.” As she said this, her mother’s eyes twinkled.
Peter Creed, Elspeth’s father, entered the kitchen.
“I hear you’re going to Market alone!” He said. “Are you sure…”
Elspeth grinned.
“I will be fine,” She said blithely. “There’s nothing to be worried over.”
Sitting, her father spoke again:
“Jonathon Kent appears to have a break in his borders, Adia. Something was trying to get in several nights ago, and whatever it was… made a fault in his walls. I am going over there this evening to help repair it, but I have not yet heard the extent of the damage.”
Elspeth looked up from stirring the porridge, eyes wide. What could it have been, that it made a break in Master Kent’s strong walls? She thought. Perchance it was one of those shadowy things that were skulking around. Eolas does not feel safe any longer. What is happening?
The three older boys entered, Andrew, James, and Tom. They were preparing to leave, for their work was in the fields of their landlord, Godfrey Dearing Solingen.
The man, despite his elaborate name, was a simple, high-spirited man, with a considerable paunch. Master Solingen and his son were coming for tomorrow’s supper. Elspeth wasn’t looking forward to it that was for sure. Thien Solingen was just that sort of man who made her feel…well… cloistered, in an oppressive way. He was kind, but overly affectionate.
“I still would like you to take Will along with you. And I am keeping Cat with me today. She wandered off last time you went.”
At this, Isabel laughed. “And the rope-walker man was set to take her up onto the rope.” She said. Their mother finished with Isabel’s hair and then stirred the porridge a bit more.
“Are you two ready to leave?” She asked.
“Yes, Mother. We were all ready last night.” Elspeth said. “We were thinking of—”
“Then your chores need looking after. Isabel, you are to feed the chickens and geese…”
And so, that is how Elspeth got to fetch the water that day. She trudged down the road to the river, the yoke upon her shoulders, the empty buckets swinging.
And Elspeth goes to Market
Once upon a time, in a separate world, there lived a girl. Accurately, since she was seventeen years of age at this story’s beginning, henceforth we shall refer to her as a young woman.
At that moment, our main character (Elspeth Creed by name) was asleep, lost in a deep dream. This dream was of a city, one Elspeth had never seen before. She stood, in the midst of a crowd, a basket upon her arm. Then there was a flash, and in her head (within the dream), Elspeth saw a horrible creature. She saw a dragon, with ragged wings and foul breath, winging its way through a torn sky. Somehow, Elspeth knew that the dragon she had seen was to attack the town she stood in. How she knew, well… she was not entirely sure. She just knew.
Goodness, if a dragon was to attack this city, why, Elspeth had to warn someone! She tossed in her bed, face one of confusion. If one were to see her tossing and turning at this ungodly hour, it would be found very amusing.
Elspeth saw a man upon a horse. His pale face was almost casual, but his voice was commanding. She felt a momentary hesitation.
“What is this that you come screaming through our peaceful city like a madwoman?” He said, his once one of admonition. Elspeth shook her head confusedly, and the man faded away. In his place was darkness.
Suddenly, in a burst of red fire, the dragon appeared. Smoke drifted up from his nostrils, and sparks flew around his head. Elspeth shrank away, seeing his burning eyes. He opened his mouth and so revealed the jagged teeth…
Elspeth woke, her hands tightly gripping the linen sheets. Her heart raced faster than a swift courser, and her breath was short. What a horrid dream, she thought, her head still spinning just a bit. But, so absurd.
It was not often that Elspeth had such vivid dreams. But leading up to this one, they all had been getting worse and worse. Mayhap she was going mad, or the strain of her work was affecting her. It was a dream and no more, Elspeth thought, almost convincing herself. She sat up slowly, and stretched… tried to calm her breath, before swiftly untangling herself from her bed sheets.
That man… She had dreamt of him before. Black hair and gray-green eyes like the long grass in the meadows. Who was he, so pale-faced and solemn? And why was she dreaming of a dragon…before he attacked a city shed never even seen? Was this an omen? Was she really having visions, like the wise-woman who lived in the forest to the west? That woman wasn’t so received, though most of her forewarnings came true, down to the very detail. Get up, Elspeth. You have a busy day before you.
So she did, dressing in a mulberry-colored dress of rough linen. Over this went an apron-like smock of a heavier cloth, in dark red. Simple brocade in gold thread trailed its way in floral patterns across the bodice.
Pinning her hair up, Elspeth slipped her cold feet into a pair of her shoes. Let it be known, she only had two pairs.
Turning to the nest of blankets upon the floor, she smiled at her three sisters. To her, Roselyn and Catherine were almost better asleep. Isabel, however, was her best friend. But, given that Elspeth was not the eldest, but the fourth, and that the three eldest were all boys… Well, the girls had to stay together, and defend one another in daily quarrels.
Well, Isabel had to be woken, for their mother needed help with the cooking.
Isabel woke slowly, eyes still closed as she spoke.
“Is it really morning? I don’t want to get up just yet…”
“Isabel, come off it. Mother wants us to help her with preparations for Master Solingen. Remember he’s to come tomorrow.”
“Oh, I did overlook that. But, Elspeth our larder and pantry are near empty. However are we to manage?”
Elspeth laughed at her sister’s large words. True, she had got it from Elspeth. But it sounded much more ridiculous from Isabel’s mouth.
“Mother says we will be fine. We’re to go to Market today, and should be back by nightfall. That’ll give us plenty of time to prepare for the feast tomorrow.” Elspeth bustled about the room, laying out Roselyn and Cat’s outfits for the day, and placing their wooden clogs by them.
Isabel dressed in a green kirtle, over which went a yellow smock. Then, after putting on her own shoes, she and Elspeth clattered down the stairs, into the open kitchen.
In their longhouse, on the very cold isle of Eolas, the kitchen was the center of the house… in location and preference. Everyone seemed to gather there at any time of the day, talking, helping prepare meals, even just sitting, idle.
Their mother, Adia Creed, looked up from stirring a pot of porridge hung over the fire. Her warm eyes smiled even before her mouth did.
“Ah, you are awake. You two look lovely.” Their mother said, setting the long wooden spoon down and coming to quickly braid Isabel’s golden hair. As her fingers moved swiftly, she spoke further:
“I will tell you what we shall do, girls. Since Master Solingen is not to come until tomorrow, we do not need to start cooking until after you return from Market, provided you return as quickly as possible. Are you sure you want to go alone, Elspeth?”
Elspeth nodded earnestly. “Yes, I am sure. I will be just fine.” As she said this, her mother’s eyes twinkled.
Peter Creed, Elspeth’s father, entered the kitchen.
“I hear you’re going to Market alone!” He said. “Are you sure…”
Elspeth grinned.
“I will be fine,” She said blithely. “There’s nothing to be worried over.”
Sitting, her father spoke again:
“Jonathon Kent appears to have a break in his borders, Adia. Something was trying to get in several nights ago, and whatever it was… made a fault in his walls. I am going over there this evening to help repair it, but I have not yet heard the extent of the damage.”
Elspeth looked up from stirring the porridge, eyes wide. What could it have been, that it made a break in Master Kent’s strong walls? She thought. Perchance it was one of those shadowy things that were skulking around. Eolas does not feel safe any longer. What is happening?
The three older boys entered, Andrew, James, and Tom. They were preparing to leave, for their work was in the fields of their landlord, Godfrey Dearing Solingen.
The man, despite his elaborate name, was a simple, high-spirited man, with a considerable paunch. Master Solingen and his son were coming for tomorrow’s supper. Elspeth wasn’t looking forward to it that was for sure. Thien Solingen was just that sort of man who made her feel…well… cloistered, in an oppressive way. He was kind, but overly affectionate.
“I still would like you to take Will along with you. And I am keeping Cat with me today. She wandered off last time you went.”
At this, Isabel laughed. “And the rope-walker man was set to take her up onto the rope.” She said. Their mother finished with Isabel’s hair and then stirred the porridge a bit more.
“Are you two ready to leave?” She asked.
“Yes, Mother. We were all ready last night.” Elspeth said. “We were thinking of—”
“Then your chores need looking after. Isabel, you are to feed the chickens and geese…”
And so, that is how Elspeth got to fetch the water that day. She trudged down the road to the river, the yoke upon her shoulders, the empty buckets swinging.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Welcome
"Are you the Singer?" She asked with a smile,
"If you are the Seeker," He replied, standing tall...
This is how the lay of Dernhill and Galadhriel begins. Names are adapted from popular literature. The poem is modeled after The Naming by Allison Croggon.
My name is Emily. This is my place to write my stories. The Singer and The Seeker is only one of my works. The main story to be posted on here is my novel in process, Night Ends the Day.
Im going to try to post on here as often as possible, but no guarantees. ;)
My style of writing is different, combining the main characters personal thoughts with some good descriptions.
For now, I have to sign off. The boys are getting upset over some plastic swords.
Welcome
I dont know if my other post posted. So Im redoing it. :)
"Are you the Singer?" She asked with a smile,
"If you are the Seeker," He replied, standing tall...
This is how the lay of Dernhill and Galadhriel begins. Names are adapted from popular literature. The poem is modeled after The Naming by Allison Croggon.
My name is Emily. This is my place to write my stories. The Singer and The Seeker is only one of my works. The main story to be posted on here is my novel in process, Night Ends the Day.
Im going to try to post on here as often as possible, but no guarantees. ;)
My style of writing is different, combining the main characters personal thoughts with some good descriptions.
For now, I have to sign off. The boys are getting upset over some plastic swords.
"Are you the Singer?" She asked with a smile,
"If you are the Seeker," He replied, standing tall...
This is how the lay of Dernhill and Galadhriel begins. Names are adapted from popular literature. The poem is modeled after The Naming by Allison Croggon.
My name is Emily. This is my place to write my stories. The Singer and The Seeker is only one of my works. The main story to be posted on here is my novel in process, Night Ends the Day.
Im going to try to post on here as often as possible, but no guarantees. ;)
My style of writing is different, combining the main characters personal thoughts with some good descriptions.
For now, I have to sign off. The boys are getting upset over some plastic swords.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
