Into Darkness [Silm|Feanor]

He knew he had died before he was dead, which was quite a strange notion. He had seen the horrified looks on his sons’ faces, had felt his strength leave him. He had known the exact moment when his heart stopped beating and when his body crumbled into ash, to be blown about by the wind.

And he had known the exact moment when he understood that Morgoth would never be defeated by the Noldor. The curse that had escaped from his lips was filled with all the hatred and anger from the depths of his heart.

And then he was gone.

Curufinwë Fëanáro stood on a raised platform, surveying the long line of dead Souls. The line was straight, leading directly into large chamber. That was, he knew, where Mandos resided. That was where they were all going.

And that was where he was not going to go.

He would not go there for the Vala to tell him of his mistakes. He will not go there to receive punishment for the deeds he had committed. He would not go there to be told that he was wrong, and his life had been wasted, and everything he had done was for nothing.

And he would not be treated like a child.

Looking around, Fëanáro saw red walls, red floors and red ceilings. He saw the lanterns that bathed everything in an eerie glow. He saw the red light encompass all that was not yet crimson and turn them into statues of blood. He knew Mandos was taunting him. He was not going to fall for it.

Ignoring the flight of stairs leading down to the dead, Fëanáro turned and exited through a corridor behind him. It was flanked by the same repulsive red lanterns and seemed to stretch on for eternity.

All he could see was blood. Blood of his father, blood of his kin, blood of the Elves who had followed him from Tírion that he had selfishly left to die.

Fëanáro gave a cry of fury and struck one of the lanterns on the wall, stifling the flames of the candle. It was satisfying to see that the redness of the corridor had dimmed, if only slightly. He kept walking, blowing out the fire as he went and leaving a trail of darkness.

One by one the lanterns went out, until Fëanáro suddenly stopped in his tracks. A dead end. One lantern yet remained undimmed, its light flickering like a desperate flame of life. He pushed on the wall that blocked his path, snarling with rage, and yet it remained there, resolute.

Cursing hopelessly, he turned around to go back the way he came.

Only to find a long passageway of darkness.

NaNoWriMo '11 - the Lying Division

So. NaNoWriMo is coming up. 50,000 words. 30 days. Consider yourself challenged.

I'll probably change this blog into one where I rant about the failures of my characters, why I can't write High Fantasy, and my plot holes big enough to drive a truck through them. So far I literally only have 3 named characters. Only 1 has a fully-formed personality. Altogether, including my named, unnamed and dead characters, I have 7. Small cast this year.

Let's give a small introduction.

King: Tyrant of the kingdom (of which I have no name). Sole ruler, his queen died of a reason I haven't thought of. Twelve years ago, there was a rebellion, which failed. Since then the king has made a Diplomatic Division, a group of people trained to negotiate and feed lies to the public.

Queen: Originally came up with the Diplomatic Division. As I said, she died.

Princess Aveline: Daughter of the king and queen...yeah okay, that was obvious. She's 17 now, very ditsy and spoilt, and totally in love with Visere.

Visere: The 'Diplomatic Leader'. The Diplomats call themselves the Lying Division as an inside joke. He's 20, handsome, a smooth Liar and an even better assassin. His parents were killed in the previous rebellion, so he will stop another rebellion by any means necessary. He's a mentor to Klyte.

Klyte: My main character. 16 and orphaned, he grew up on the streets. He was found by Visere (through a long-winded story you don't need to know) and brought into the castle to become a Liar.

Unnamed friend (possibly Nephele): Klyte's childhood friend, thrown out of her family for being a girl. Grew up on the streets with Klyte, but didn't go into the castle with him.

Unnamed vigilante (possibly Cyrin or Cyrene): One of the vigilantes of the kingdom who want a rebellion. They're sick and tired of the king's tyranny.

And that's all I've got xD Plus a long-winded, double-crossing, backstabbing plot involving lots of... plotting.

The Lying Division [blurb]

In the style of a query, because I can no longer tell the difference.

Sixteen-year-old Klyte is the new recruit of the Diplomats. Their 'official' job is to negotiate peace with other kingdoms, but that hasn't happened for years.

Klyte's mentor, Visere, has a better idea. They call themselves professional Liars - an inside joke. Trained in negotiation also means they're trained in the art of lying. Their new job is to spread good rumours of the King, and silence political unrest by whatever means necessary.

Within days, Klyte sees just how good they are at lying. And killing.

There's one thing this Division isn't telling the King: they aren't serving him. Visere says they’re serving the Queen, but she’s been dead for almost a decade. Then who’s sending the orders?

Klyte doesn't care, until he is caught up in an assassination attempt. The King is angry. Visere is furious. He is convinced there are spies within their Division, working for outside sources.

Visere begins killing: left, right and centre, until his suspicions fall on Klyte.

Nirnaeth Arnoediad [Silmarillion]

Depicting the scene of Fingon before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad  (Battle of Unnumbered Tears) when he marches to war. Seen in eyes of young Turin son of Hurin. I may have gone overboard with the description a little, but it doesn't matter.

He saw tall lords upon majestic horses, mail glittering like the sun on rippling water. Heads held high, spirits soaring, they march upon their steeds, towards battle. The points of their spears glistened and shone, their shields dazzled when the sun's rays hit. Tall and proud were the Elves under the High King, and strong and brave and hopeful.

Spears they held, and banners too. Bright blue banners under a blue sky, banners of the High King, of the renewed hope of the Noldor. And so they march, eyes ahead, dark hair flowing freely under their shining helms. Bright smiles on their flawless faces: smiles of hope, of the future, of an end to this war.

The vanguard passed, their banners fluttering in the breeze. Then came the main escort of the High King, taller and sterner than the others. They drew themselves up, proud and cold, but their faces reflected light and kindness. Leading them was the fairest and tallest of all: the King himself, sword buckled in at his waist, sharpened spear thrusted into the air triumphantly. Then in one flowing motion, he lifted a hand and tore his helm off, his long hair flowing freely in the breeze. His eyes shone with a fiery light as he looked towards the horizon.

A new day had come. And with it came a new hope.

So I wanted to depict a scene where Elves were... well, very obviously Elves. Not humans. I wanted to show them almost as angels, something higher than Men. Because in all honesty... that's what I see them as xD Comparing them to us is a bit degrading. For them.

Magic

I am not skilled in the art of poetry...but I tried :)

When I was young,
I thought magic was real.
I sat on my broomstick, and soared into the skies.
I stirred the cauldron, and watched the liquid bubble.
I threw a cloak over my head, and turned invisible.
I waved a stick around, and uttered words of power.


But I am older now.
I have seen brilliant shows of light shine brighter than stars in the night sky
I have breathed underwater and waved hello to the fish
I have felt the world at my fingertips at the touch of a button
I have been on top of the world, looking down at the distant houses.
And I know that magic is real.

NiH

So. There is this very awesome site called Notebook in Hand (www.notebookinhand.com) promoting anything creative ^^ Writing, drawing, sculpting, whatever. As long as you're creative, it's for you! (And I do believe they're reading Game of Thrones right now)

^_^

Alternate Query

This is a first-draft query for my novel Alternate. Any feedback/critiques are welcome ^^

Dear Agent,

Fifteen-year-old Damian Farrow has the ability to stop a speeding car in its tracks, and learns that while he may be unusually lucky, he isn’t the only one.

A single day is repeating over and over again, and the Key to restart time cannot be found. But what is impossible in this world may not be in another—a parallel universe full of malevolent enemies. Damian’s luck is a tool for him to use, and is the only thing which will save him from certain death, if only he knew how to use it.

As Damian slowly learns to control his power, a dark secret haunts their footsteps. The parallel universe is controlled and ruled by their enemies. To find the Key, they must infiltrate the headquarters of the world’s supreme dictator. Drastically outnumbered and outmatched, the chances of reaching that goal are slim. But if they fail, then the human race will be enslaved by the repetition of a single day for the rest of eternity.

ALTERNATE is a young adult fantasy novel at 73,000 words.