Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Friday, April 12, 2024

Story time: An Eagle's Flight

Yeeeees, there's a story burbling around in my feverish brain. I'm giving it the working title you see right here, An Eagle's Flight, but it could wind up called An Eagle Flies, or Where Eagles Fly, something along those lines. Don't hold me to the title you see here. But --


-- view this one full sized, and you'll see that this is the same character as the warrior on the cover. Call him Orel (at this point; the name might change later, along with the story title, though I doubt it for reasons that will shortly become clear). This is where the story begins: the reluctant hero, a man trying to outrun his own reputation ... thrice decorated by the Queen of Zarabia after extraordinary feats in battle. But those feats came at a dreadful price. Orel doesn't sleep, he dreams ... he feels possessed by the spirits of the warriors he's killed in the service of the Queen. She's old, and she dotes on him; she's like his grandmother, which is saying a lot. Orel is not native to this country. He's from the east, and arrived as an orphan boy just old enough to walk. He knew only his name. In the common tongue of  Vennia, Orel means eagle. Queen Isabeau gives him his ticket of leave from the regiment and a heavy purse, so  Orel can take his cats and his horses, take to the backroads in a Vardo like those belonging to his own people ... and find himself, get his heart and mind back into synch. But --


-- yep, it was always on the cards. He hasn't been on the road more than five or six months -- just long enough to watch springtime turn to autumn, and start to feel like a human being again (not because he's sleeping better or not dreaming, but because he and his ghosts have made their peace) -- when he runs into a couple of old comrades from the regiment. Gianna and Lynos have just left the service, and have taken soldiering work in the pay of a local thane, who advertised that he wanted border scouts. This was what they signed up for, but Count Radriq double-talked them with a binding contract ... they didn't read the fine print. Now, rather than just scouting up the source of trouble on the borderlands between Zarabia and neighbouring Kedd, Orel's old army mates are expected to root out the trouble. Since it's big trouble and they're massively outnumbered, they're up against a rather nasty wall. If they renege on the contract, they'll never get this work again, and it's all they're trained for. They're stuck, like flies in amber. So, when they meet Orel by chance, obviously they're recruiting. Or at the very least begging for help. The problem is this dude:


His name is Jevenni and he's baaaad. This Keddish warlord is building himself a rogue empire, and the bricks of its foundations are piracy, highway robbery, pillage, people-trafficking, whatever it takes. He has no scruples, and in this last twelve months has become the bane of the local thane's life. Count Radriq wants the Keddish land pirates gone, and he's holding Gianna and Lynos to the letter of a contract they signed too fast, in ignorance. Enter Orel. Help! So...


...they talk him into it, naturally enough. He's not the type to abandon friends in need. There's a couple of things he suggests: they must hire a good lawyer from Queen Isabeau's own staff, get him here, and have him reduce Count Radriq and his documentation to legal confetti. A lawyer from the capital will cost a great deal of money, but Gianna and Lynos know just where to get it. Jevenni has stolen wagonloads of valuables from the nobles of Count Radriq's fiefdom, and generous rewards have been posted. If they can recover even a tenth of what the warlord has taken, a lawyer from the city of Enashla will settle Radriq. Now...


 ...we launch into several episodic misadventures which are the meat-and-potatoes of true quest-fic, and it all leads eventually, inevitably, to this place: the land pirates' stronghold, in the ancient, ruined city of Ul-kedd-innu. To the horizon, the dead city lies smashed as a result of war, earthquake and plague more than a century in the past. Now, it is bleached bones and granite slabs. Jevenni has carved out his citadel in what used to be the palace and fortress, on the highest point, overlooking the fields of rubble-strewn desolation. According to everything his men divulge -- when captured and made drunk as lords -- he's so complacent, he doesn't post guards. In fact, it's a point of honour that he refuses to post guards: sentries and troops would only acknowledge that he is vulnerable in the heart of his own domain -- Jevenni would deny this to the death. With this information, Orel, the much-decorated veteran, favourite of the Her Serene Majesty, browbeats Count Radriq into providing a detachment from his household cavalry. But the force will hold back in the forest, waiting for a signal and letting the three specialists go in by stealth ... on the understanding that one man can pass where an army couldn't, and a specialist in creating havoc might bring the whole edifice tumbling down before the enemy knew it was happening. Under cover of darkness, in we go --


...long story short: subterfuge, stealth, swordfights and a liberal dash of strange sorcery, and by morning, the land pirates have scattered like roaches. Jevenni is extremely dead, and dawn finds Orel on the crenelated roof of the old fortress, right above the warlord's lair. Under the free, open sky, he is once again making peace with his ghosts and his father's old gods. The eagle -- for this is his name -- is trying very hard indeed to fly high and free, but will his flight carry him away from trouble, or right to the next battlefield? No one knows. Both Gianna and Lynos are injured, though not badly. They sent up the signal flare; the count's cavalry came in fast to scour the ruins for prisoners, and now Gianna and Lynos are only looking for the warlord's cache. They find it -- but in any case, they have actually fulfilled the contract. They no longer need a lawyer from Enashla. They take a portion of the spoils for themselves, as is only fair, and for himself, Orel takes enough to buy him the time, peace and quiet to begin again...


...and the story ends with a full-circle moment, right back where it began. At dawn, Orel hitches up his horses, stocks the Vardo, and is on the road again, headed away from anything remotely like a battlefield. In his ears, the ghosts' thin voices continue to whisper, but he has made his peace with some of them, and believes the others can be persuaded in time. The new sun is warm on his face, the open sky and moors lie ahead in the west, with snow-crowned mountains ringing a horizon so vast, it looks like the whole world. Now, perhaps the eagle can fly free after all. 


So ends this basic plot. In the writing, the details will change; names will change; a map will be sorted out, and the episodic parts will be tied down into a tight-knit structure. But this is more than enough to get my muse quite excited, and I think I'll enjoy writing this one. The art is not new. These are all 2019-2021 renders, featuring G8 Dae as Orel, G8 Rex as Lynos ... and I can't remember the G8 Female character who appears as Gianna, but she's in the DAZ library somewhere. That's the good old Millennium Horse, plus the DAZ Cat, many, many foliage and furniture props, and the old Gypsy Wagon from Renderosity. Everything here was rendered in Iray; a couple were painted comprehensively in Photoshop afterward. I was messing about with images and ended up, by chance, with these open in Irfanvew, in sequence ... the story just popped out at me! 


Saturday, December 23, 2023

Merry Christmas to all, on Christmas Eve, 2023

 


Merry Christmas

to all,

Christmas Eve 2003


From, our house to yours ...

Hoping for a wonderful 2024, and --

Peace on Earth



"...and then I dropped my cup of tea, because something magical happened that hasn’t since I was a child, no older than Tommy is now. The living room faded away. Every light shone brighter, and snow began to fall gently, silently, around the tree. I’d promised him, if he was very quiet and still, and watched, and watched, it could happen — a ruse, to get Tommy to take a nap on Christmas Eve, while mom snatched an hour of rest where she could. He’d fallen asleep — always the plan … and I hadn’t believed in magic in so many years." 

Sunday, December 17, 2023

Random images fall together to make a pretty good story. This is cool!


A courier arrives on a fast horse -- he's ridden for days in a time of direst emergency, and arrives in the Kingdom of Altheon to seek the aid of a great warrior, the one one who could undertake a quest of incredible danger...
 

Jirrel is no longer young. He's gown old on the war trails, and had returned to his homeland with the intention of remaining there for the rest of his life in quiet -- and in peace, where he might seek the salvation of a soul that's worn and bruised after seeing and suffering far too much. But the emergency is too dire, and ...

...knowing he can't face this one alone, he first journeys into the wild highlands of Calhanna, where is recruits his old friend, old comrade, to ride the trail with him. Bremmer is younger by several summers and hasn't seen so many battles; he's actually keen to undertake the quest, which Jirrel thinks is quite mad. But...

For this one, they'll need horses which have strange and magickal powers. Ordinary horses won't get them there, so Jirrel and Bremmer first head into the forests of Alkwood to ask the assistances of great creatures who have befriended them, and fought with them before. The great stallion, North Wind, agrees to help, for the sake of a friend.


And then it's into the marshes that lie to the west of Altheon and Calhanna and Alkwood. These swamps are not long or wide, but they're infested with the waterfolk, wyrfolk, who prey on travelers and will take the unwary for their food and valuables, their horses -- and their lives...


...and it's not much better once the friends have cut a path through the swamps. From the southwest of the region known as Dirtwater, they follow Desolation Creek, which has always been the fastest way through to their goal. But Desolation is plagued by bandits and cutthroats with wyrd powers, and getting through isn't easy.


Still, perseverance pays off -- and Jirrel and Bremmer at last find themselves on the lakeshore surrounding the city of Longlear. Many people, further east, refuse to believe Longlear even exists, but Jirrel has been there before, and he knows -- or knew -- its old king, from the days of his youth. 


Times have changed, and not for the better. The Kings of Longlear have, for centuries, been great sorcerers, and old King Narhagen was once the greatest of them all. But, like all kings, he has enemies, and one of them has become strong enough to turn his own magic against him, plunge him into a wasting sickness from which he cannot recover on his own --


Yet old Narhagen knows exactly who is behind this. It's his cousin, Rhothgand, who made a bid for the crown of Longlear when they were both young and not even fully trained. Thwarted, Rhothgand vanished north, to pursue his studies elsewhere. Now he's back, infinitely more powerful than he ever was, as dark as a barrel of pitch and, some say, driven insane by his lifelong study of arts too dark for sanity to bear. Jirrel and Bremmer must challenge him, defeat him ... it is the only way back to the light for Longlear. So ... it's into the drear Forest of Marnecht, along uncharted ways fraught with evil as well as danger. But at last -- 
 

They come upon Rhothgand in a place where the forest thins, and the black magician has made his stronghold, surrounded by birds and animals he has turned into fiends. The battle is intense, shocking, vile ... Jirrel and Bremmer are armed with the best charms and magicks the sorcerers of Longlear can provide, but it's barely enough. They do defeat Rhothgand, but...


...save for the intervention of Liliath, neither would have survived. Both are badly wounded when the Lady of Windcrest comes to their aid. She is a witch ... ancient, solitary, powerful, but even she could not have defeated Rhothgand before the warriors weakened him. She finishes off the evil and insane black magician, but it's all she can do to convey the warriors back to Windcrest, to heal.


Windcrest is a place of light, a wooded mountain facing the north and east, where the dawn sun angles through the great crystal arches, and Liliath drinks in the power for her own magicks. It is the force that keeps he ageless while the centuries turn and turn. This mountain is her place; no other foot has trodden there in a generation...


She lives with the forest folk, foxes, badgers, martens, squirrels, all of whom are spirits with whom she is in accord...


...and with rare birds who have the ability to talk, and possess the passed-down memories of the eons of their ancestors, of which human beings know nothing ... 


...and of other creatures of the light and air, which come to Liliath's call to sip the power that flows off the ancient witch like the morning dew.


Windcrest is a place of healing and rest, where the warriors of eons gone by would come to be healed of the wounds of both body and soul...


But even the power of Windcrest is not limitless. It has its sunset, just as it has its dawn ... its power fades with the encroaching night ... and before the dawn, when the night is darkest, Bremmer succumbs to wounds that Liliath could not mend. 


It seems the very woodland mourns as Liliath and Jirrel set his funeral pyre. Bremmer had still been young enough to be impulsive -- quick to strike where Jirrel was older, wiser, more cautious. And now, it is the old warrior, sad and tired, who will take his friend's ashes back to the wild highlands of Calhanna, there to be scattered on the morning wind.

Duty done, Jirrel sits on a crag, remembering, and listening to Bremmer's voice in the wind which whips forever over the heaths and mountains of his homeland.

Thursday, May 18, 2023

Hey -- Collateral Damage has been podcast! (And I'm thrilled)


News! ANALOG Science Fiction has podcast my story in the May/June issue -- Collateral Damage. The podcast is online right now, and you can find it here ... happy listening! 


(This artwork here is not from the magazine. I've put this together myself, as a "flag-waver," or an "attention grabber," but this is the character from Collateral Damage, as she appears in one of the other stories, Welcome to Mars, which you can find elsewhere. It's an Iray render from late '21, and it fits the story to a T!) 

Saturday, April 29, 2023

Fantasy, guy candy, fun in Photoshop, and a little fiction...





This batch was a real, genuine adventure. To begin with, the portrait of an elf ... Legolas, if you like ... was rescued from a pretty awful Lexica image: parts of a helmet growing out of his head??? Lines and wrinkles on a young, immortal elf??? A beard line, on an elf??!! Noooo way. So -- it looks like, if we want Legolas, we're going to paint! So be it.

The fantasy woman is an amalgam of five different haphazard attempts by Stable Diffusion to get into the ballpark. Armour segments floating in midair, armour pieces growing out of her skin, hands that looked like demented octopi with waving, backward-jointed extra fingers ... argh. Horrrrrible. So again we painted, and then painted some more more: the best face I could get, the best attempt at the costume, the best hair option ... slap it all together, fix the eyes (one iris waaay bigger then the other one, and the wrong shape, to boot!!), remove the crop lines, from where the machine took bits and pieces of various images and stuck them together not quite at random; paint for a couple of hours; put in a new background... end of the day, you bet I'm going to sign off in the image. I work four hours on something, I danged-well sign it. 

The faerie warrior and the fly agaric is an amalgam of a Genesis 8 render I did over a year ago, and a photograph I got with my phone last week. This one was a lot of fun, and also a major challenge, to get the colours and resolutions of the two images to agree. One is a render, the other a phone pic. Even at this late stage, I can honestly say I learned something new in Photoshop. Want the original phone pic, for comparison? Here you go: 


The last image is a painting from a photograph at Carrick Hill. There's this one doorway, or gateway...


 ...and how could you resist! It's just begging to become a painting, and a fantasy at that. Delicious. The trick was to get just the right image for the "beyond" part of this. If this is the doorway to adventure, then it had better be a landscape you can't say no to. So I wrote a little drabble to go with it: 

Edgar had heard many times about the gateway -- and according to the locals who lived around Eltenham Forest, several opened into the earth, or into faraway places. He'd always dreamed of finding one, and last summer holiday he spent most of the time investigating old trees and misty dells, with no luck at all. This year, when he'd given up and wasn't even looking anymore, here it was! Maybe the magic worked this way he thought as he ventured closer, and closer ... the harder you looked, the less you were likely to find yourself a gateway to adventure.

Very close now, he could smell the clean, sharp scents of mountain air and hear the calls of strange birds, unlike any that lived anywhere near Eltenham. A chill breeze wafted from the gate, and tendrils of mist crept cautiously through at his feet. Here at Cricklewood Hall, it was a hot afternoon full of droning beetles and the heavy scent of flowers, but far on the other side of that gate, dawn light cascaded down the east side of a range of dragon-fang mountains, and the smell of pine trees prickled his nose.

He was almost to the gate, dying to step through, when he saw the man on the other side -- and the man has seen him!

So there you have it ... this was my fantasy fix in the last couple of days! I might do SF next, or possibly glam, or perhaps SF glam. I'm sure that's a thing ... and if it isn't, it ought to be. 

Monday, April 24, 2023

The Festival of Fire - story illustrations

 






Just finished the suite of illustrations to accompany a story ... nice! The Festival of Fire is a "deep outline" of a fantasy tale ... dragons and cats, a magical city, a many-layered backstory ... at around two thousand words. And I might work this up full-length; it speaks to me. 

The art started life as AI rubbish. And I do mean rubbish. Cats with three tails, one growing out of his chest? Dragons with wings sprouting from their heads? Three-legged humans?! Rooftops floating in mid-air??? Lanterns not attached to anything, floating around by themselves?!! Cars buried in the road surface?!! 

Suffice to say, I took each AI generated disaster to pieces and put it back together. That's over ten hours of painting, so -- you bet your dang boots I'm signing off on these images! They're mine now, no matter where they started life. 

If you like fabulous cats and dragons, and fancy a short read about a boy called Tomas and a felix called Tyree, I've posted it to my writing blog ...thanks for looking!

Friday, April 14, 2023

A story in images... I like it! In fact, let me spin a tale to tie these paintings together!

 

We must begun with a depiction of the peaceful, beautiful life we are willing to do battle and possibly die to protect: gentle snow falls; early blossom shows a brave face to the end of winter, and a sense of almost spiritual tranquillity separates our village from the adjacent city. Here, home, heritage means as much to us as advancement...


The hero who has worked lifelong for the skills to protect this wonderful place -- the fifteenth generation of his family to undertake this commission; his grandfathers were samurai, many hundreds of years ago, and even when he walks the streets of the nearby city, his heart remains in the village that is his heritage, his one great love --


And here is the villain, the rogue son of the village who fled to the city after some heinous crime and never returned -- for he knows that judgment will be harsh ... and the city promises untold riches for one with this man's complete lack of scruple. Now, he's been hired to tear down everything we hold dear, and he arrives back with skills and powers few could hope to match --


He comes to the village, bringing his city ways, city violence, leaving a track of destruction and grief which is the bait in his trap, guaranteed to bring the hero home to face him in a terrible confrontation, on streets as old as time, where peace and halcyon spirituality dwelt only a day before...


The fight is terrible -- swords, guns, energy weapons, in the end, even magic which will take a toll even of the victor, while the loser in this battle plunges into the abyss, from which no power can bring him back. That battle will be fought from the village into the city, and before it's done, all is a chaos of fire and smoke, in which not only the villain but also the one who hired him are destroyed ...