Bowmaiden: Another Year

Long blonde hair caught on a branch and its owner groaned as she pulled it free. It was interesting that the Commander celebrated Fallowmath…he clearly wasn’t Rohirric. If anything, he was Gondorian. No other country could boast the ability to have black hair, height and a near-constant brooding aura like they could. Not that they were bad people, mind you; she’d met plenty of good Gondorians, and he seemed a sturdy enough Man. Either way, it was a little surprising to hear them speak of starting the fire. Her first instinct was to join in, but something held her back. This held her back.

She completed the small wood pile, fully knowing the fire wouldn’t last the whole week – hell, it wouldn’t make it through the night without her guidance. It didn’t matter; all she needed was to have this private time. A year ago this time, she was in her own land…with her family. The whole village came out for the starting of the fire. It was a special time. It would be ten days from tonight that she set out. She left immediately after the feasting, her parents giving her blessings and gifts for her journey in front of the flames. That’s when she was given her bow. It was well-made and strong…her father was so proud to give it to her.

That same bow was – as always – hanging from her left shoulder. She shrugged, causing it to wave around in the cool air. It was a lot cooler here, but the trees were more diverse. They even had a lot of pine, which was incredible. She actually managed to scavenge nothing but pine branches for her little fire when back home she would be lucky to have even one twig to offer to the flames. Striking flint and stone, her thoughts went as silent as the woods around her.

The small sparks caught the tinder and soon the flames licked and curved their way into the branches. Crackling and hissing were heard as fire invaded wood, turning the former tree into its own fuel to help continue its own existence. Pear-green eyes solemnly stared at the process with nary a sound. She said nothing, only moving from her sitting position to throw another small piece to help the fire in its quest to continue living. Late winter afternoon turned into evening, then eventually to night. Stars began to blink in the midnight-hued sky, watching down on her vigil with twinkling joy.

Hours passed, never moving from her spot nor speaking. Once the stars began to hide from the sun and the sky began to turn a soft pink did Leuedai speak. Her voice was rough with disuse and emotion. She reached to her side and pulled a small bundle of herbs from her pocket. If they were fresh, the smell of rosemary, thyme and sage would waft on the chilled, smoky air. The bundle was held with both hands, as an offering before the fire.

“I offer this to those who came before me, including those who yet live. I will return one day, and do as much good as I may before doing so.”

Her head bowed and blonde strands covered the herbs almost like a blanket. Another long, silent moment later, hair was torn from the dried green as the latter was carefully laid into the remaining fire. The flame took the offering with what seemed to her like gladness and the dried bundle immediately began to crackle. Green eyes watched until it had burned completely before rising and walking away without looking back. Perhaps it was to hide tears, perhaps it was just too cold. No one but her would ever know. So began another year.

Unexpected Conversations: Part Two

Once again, entirely her fault! Part two of what will probably be three. Maybe four, if this last part gets long. This is technically one scene, three characters. I pulled Lempi for one scene, then Tuija immediately after. Given the scenario, it made sense to just mesh them. 🙂


Every day, it seemed to be easier to wake up. Every night, it was even harder to go to sleep. Where was Sky? Was she all right? Did she need help? Was she alive? No mother should have to worry about where her daughter was. But here she was, trudging along in Bree-town, eyes constantly scanning for that familiar tall girl. Finally giving up her vigil for the day, Farra walked into the Mess Hall to warm up before heading out. Maybe even ale today; she was in that foul a mood. She sat down with a groan and signaled the person at the bar to bring her a drink.

A young woman, mid 20s most likely, sat across from her and began to carefully unpack a lunch. This would be a fairly normal sight in the Mess Hall, if the woman wasn’t so…foreign. Pale skin, rich blue-brown eyes, a whole lot of black hair piled on her head, wearing a furred tunic; she screamed “not from around here!” Farra stared for only a moment before being distracted by the bartender. A mug of ale plopped in front of her and she handed over the copper to pay for it with a start.

The out of towner kept her eyes politely averted and on her food. Farra was just about to ignore her in return when a sound erupted from the woman’s bag. At least, she thought it was a bag until the woman twisted it and pulled a baby from it. Now that was a handy little idea! She quickly looked down to her food, only looking up after another few minutes of silent eating. The baby gurgled away happily, chewing on what sounded like bread. On the upward tilt of her head, that was confirmed. A sudden wave of pain swept over her features. That was a baby girl.


She wasn’t thirsty anymore. She shoved the ale away and got up quietly with a polite nod to the woman and child. Maybe she could make it all the way home before crying this time…


Tuija was used to people getting up and leaving when she sat down, but that woman was different. She could almost feel the sorrow emanating from the stranger as a glance was swept down to Lempi before her hasty retreat. Whatever her pain was, the Lossoth woman hoped the Bree-land woman would be comforted somehow. Lempi whined and a small water skin was pulled to quiet her daughter; that worked, silent suckling replacing the noise.

Another woman sat down, this one much more relaxed and open. They seemed to recognize each other as outsiders almost immediately: long blonde hair nodded politely to coiled black. The blonde woman opened a pack with apple, cheese and bread, starting up a small conversation. “Cute baby, there.” She shined the apple on her sleeve and took a crunchy bite.

Tuija nodded politely as Lempi stared openly at the hair. She was no doubt chewing on it instead of her water skin in her mind. “Thanks to you.” She continued to quietly eat her own food, left over roast meat and pickled carrots.

Both women were quite content to leave it as that; they ate in silence, Tuija leaving first when Lempi began to fuss. Maybe she needed a change. Didn’t smell like it, but Leuedai wasn’t exactly an expert on children of any age.

The younger woman turned to watch with a curious gaze as the two departed. That was quite an accent, and her tunic was constructed in a way Leue had never seen before. She idly wondered where the woman was from as another glug of ale made its way down her throat.

What Lurks Beneath the Unspoken

New prompt! Oddly enough, the name was inspired by a line in RP that I typed out tonight (okay, it is the line). I was struck by it, and I may elucidate further on that in another post. Anyway, the meme is called “What Lurks Beneath the Unspoken.” While we all have relatively verbose characters (most of them, anyway) they still have layers of depth to both their personalities and what they say – or in this case, what they don’t say. This is a short exercise in the second of those. I’m taking a line each of my characters have said recently, and then in italics below, pointing out the unspoken subtext.


“Be careful.”
You know I’m not going to sleep half the time until you’re back in my arms.


“I’m jus’ tired. I’m fine. How’s yer apple boy?”
You and I both know I’m wearing myself into the ground, but I have proof. You’ve seen it. I can’t give up now.


“Everything will be all right.”
It will, for you. I’m withering but I will linger for you. Please find happiness.


“Good night.”
A stolen kiss or two will sustain us both for now. For now.


“I hate that cheese.”
We both know Butterbur began replacing the cheddar with Bree-brie within the first week of his noting I was giving it away.


The servers are still down and I’m itching for some creative stuff. Another installment of “Questions” for you all! We all think before we drift off to sleep, and often we’ll tally lists or think about our day. Every question here is unlabeled, and not prefaced. Enjoy this tiny snippet into everyone’s innermost consciousness.


I do love work. How can I ever give that up?


It’s worth it. Right? What if I get hurt?


Why did I come out here again? This is less and less something I want.


Have I found my primrose?


Will anyone ever be able to replace you? Do I really want to find someone who would?

RP Prompts: Flowers

I have been in a prompt mood lately, and I fell in love with the idea once it popped into my head! I love comparing characters to different things, and using certain actions/items in their lives as a way of exploring who they are as little people. The question is the following.

If your character were a flower, which would they be…and why?


A bright yellow gerbera daisy. Daises in general are associated with joy and innocence. Gerbera daisies in particular are also considered to stand for cheerfulness because of their vibrant and happy colors. They are usually used to cheer people up, and she also likes to think of that as one of her main concerns in life: making sure others enjoy life.


If he were a flower, he would be a wisteria. These flowers on a vine grow where they will, with little regard for anything other than getting as much sun as possible. They are often associated with youth and poetry because of their free-growing nature.


The white asiatic lily, as with all lilies, is the classic flower to represent purity and fertility. Its long and elegant petals sway as Tuija does with the winds of change. Their icy-white color match her love of the snow-covered land from whence she came. The bold red stamen and pistils represent her deeply-rooted passion and love for family.


Gladiolus flowers, meaning “sword” in Latin. They grow tall and straight, standing proud. They are boldly colored with deep streaks and sharp leaves. A beautiful flower of severe naming and presence. They are hard to miss, and so is she.


Light purple lilacs, almost a pink hue. According to Greek legend, the beautiful nymph Syringa (lilac’s botanical name) caught the heart of the forest god, who loved her. She turned into the flower known as lilac to escape from his affections. They are known for youthful innocence and first loves. They are nondescript but beautifully fragrant, much like Sky who is incredibly average on the outside while retaining an exquisite strength of character deep down.

Kiss Me Like…

An idea stolen from the absolutely wonderful amimain.. Even if these characters have only kissed one person (or no one yet!), many of them still can be defined by their style of showing affection. It’s an interesting way of exploring different aspects or manifestations of their personality. Hee!


Her kisses are yielding and open. Even when she initiates it, it’s rare for her to lead or be forceful in anything but moments of sheer passion; to the truly experienced, they would realize that’s because she usually has no idea what she’s doing. She makes up for her lack of knowledge with a deep-seated passion, swaying into her lover’s caress. She seems to treat her lengthier kisses as if they were her last. They always build in intensity: any kiss or embrace that starts off warm ends up scorching by the end. Small, sweeter kisses are usually followed or preceded by a kiss on the nose.


Deliberate, patient, and practiced. Never pushing the limits of what his partner seems to be comfortable with, his soft lips almost tease them into wanting more. His fingers play a much larger role than most people’s do; caresses along the cheek, ear, jawline and neck end up being reflexive and common accompaniments. He will often catch his breath through his nose mid-kiss, causing even more tension. Prone to kissing on the forehead after a particularly heated exchange.


Soft. Uncertain. Short. A succession of short but sensual grazes of lips against lips. She will never lead, ever, and the shorter kisses only happen because she pulls away repeatedly. Incredibly inexperienced, she will often need to pull away to gasp for air with an apologetic peck to the corner of their mouth. More likely to be held than to hold, and certainly timid. Deep, open kisses are not what she will ever offer, but rather soft and tender.


Tuija’s quiet and subservient nature pales in comparison to her kiss. She acquiesces to her love’s every move, being able to almost preternaturally match their lead. Her breath is slow and steady; it only ever needs to be caught when something unexpected happens. When her quiet and subdued mask is cracked by a caught breath or indulgent touch, a sudden animalistic fervor breaks out in the form of a low noise and grasp. She quickly reigns herself back in, but the facade is broken; beneath her cool exterior lies a passionate young woman.


She always heads straight to the point, even on a first kiss. Control is rarely given up by her and because of this, her kisses seem to slow the world around them. Easily parting her lips and running her tongue along her partner’s lower lip is almost immediate. Despite her domineering hold on the lead of a kiss, it is always soft. Always sultry. If the kiss is with a lover instead of just a partner (that has never happened to date), she will often break from their lips and instead spend much of her time grazing her lips along their neck and cheek.

At Rest: Hair

Yet again! Up late as hell, and totally worth it. Another short one, given pretty much every single one of my characters ended up having a very interesting night. Another installation of the incredibly addictive “At Rest” meme. I added my own little twist, every single one starts with their hair! Ooh and this also includes a newbie character. 😀


Strawberry blonde hair, silvered far more blonde than red in the moonlight, spread across a pillow. Bright eyes, still awake in the late hours of the night, continued to rest upon her husband. Husband! She grinned widely when she realized – for the third time this evening – that she could say it out loud now. In fact, she was going to do it right then. Curling up to the very unconscious man sprawled on the bed, her mouth eventually found its way to his ear. She whispered, “I love you, husband,” before moving to kiss his cheek. He responded with by taking a deep half-snore breath and grunting at the noise. She smiled softly and continued watching him sleep into the night.


Tousled brown hair shone crookedly in the shaft of moonlight through their window, the near-permanent waves from her ponytail catching it. She pretended to reread the letter for what felt like the thousandth time. As if having to track down an old literate friend wasn’t embarrassing enough, when the letter was read, she about died. Thankfully he was fairly daft despite his literacy and just smiled at her when the letter was read. What did it mean? She knew the campsite all too well, it’s where she entrusted Ian with her life’s secret. Ah, would he be there? That would make her feel much safer. Perhaps…ah! She would show up early, and hide. If she didn’t recognize anyone she trusted, she wouldn’t reveal herself. Yes, that would be the best course of action. This…meeting…worried her. But on the off chance it was true, a real meeting of like minds, she had to attend. She just had to. She clutched the parchment to her quietly and resolved – for the thousandth time – to go and see.


Black hair splayed across a pillow case, free from its bonds at last. Its owner stared at the ceiling, grinning stupidly to himself. A secret romance, eh? If that’s what it came down to, so be it. There was something intriguing about that sort of thing…like a estranged but loyal couple, fighting against great odds! There were no truly great odds; not that she would ever admit it to him. Well, for now he was merely glad – nay, ecstatic – to have the resolution they currently held with one another. Grabbing his second pillow, he pulled it to his torso and held it tight as he drifted to sleep. Fanciful if sweet dreams shortly followed.


Long, straight blonde hair tangled around a calm if tired face. She dreamt of home and hearth, listening to her father’s stories and smelling her mother’s cooking. The bow by her bed was ready as always, standing quietly next to her headrest – only a moment’s reach away. The only implement closer than that was her knife, under the pillow as expected. These beds were not so comfortable, but nothing was to be done for it. Eventually they would reach Bree and she could find real lodging. This Forsaken Inn – what a horrible name – was woefully inadequate, even to one trained to sleep on the ground. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed to sleep outside. She tried.


Jet black hair tumbled over the edge of the bed, wrinkled and wavy. It was attached to a woman waking from a deep if fitful dream. She still hadn’t banished the nightmares from her rest. They were disturbing and frightening. The hardest obstacle to her sleep this night wasn’t her own consciousness, but rather the baby girl laying next to her. She was in the worst of her first teething, and letting her mother know about it with quiet moans and cries throughout the wee hours of the morning. Stumbling to the window, she reached out and broke off another piece of ice and gave it to her daughter to chew upon. Eventually it did its job and she fell asleep, gums temporarily numbed by the ice; but she would be awake in an hour at best, crying once again. Shutting her eyes and begging the spirits to take the horrid dreams away, her mother prayed she could get some real sleep.